A Lesson in More Than Just Literature

I'll admit it, I was always more of a ladies' man than an academic. Yet here I am at 50, teaching English literature with the same enthusiasm I had when I started my career three decades ago. It's not like I expected anything to happen under that old oak desk in the corner of my office, but you can't really predict such things. One afternoon, after class, a student, let’s call her Sarah, stayed back. She looked lost and confused as she handed me her paper on D.H. Lawrence, which wasn’t particularly bad; she was just struggling with the assignment, it seemed. I offered to help her understand, but my offer of assistance took an unexpected turn when she asked if we could sit down together for a few minutes. To be honest, Sarah was hardly my type, more bookish than anything else, but as we sat and went over some literary theories, the conversation somehow moved from the Romantic poets to something much more tangible. Before I knew it, her hand brushed against mine under the table, sending a jolt through me that had nothing to do with Keats or Shelley. Now, before you think this is going somewhere sordid, let me just say: we talked and laughed for a bit longer until she thanked me politely and left. So yes, it was a lesson alright, but in more ways than I ever expected, and certainly not one to be taught at the same desk where I grade papers. Still, it’s funny how things can change when you least expect them.