When I was in University working on my BA, I became friends with three other women, A, F and L. I don't know what drew us together, except that we were all scholarly in a girly-sexy kind of way. One of our boyfriends at the time dubbed us the "Commie dykes", a moniker we adopted with relish. Note that said boyfriend also divided vegetables into left- and right-wing; carrots were definitely right, while eggplant was way left. We loved eggplant, and still do.
F was perhaps the first to exhibit teacherly ways. My first memory of her took place in our College's lounge. F flew by, dressed in a short red leather skirt (revealing a set of awesomely long legs), a pair of safety scissors in her hands. She was preparing a presentation for a class. Safety scissors scream "teacher". Today, F teaches at a college and has done so for ten years. She was the first among us to work within an academic institution.
L was the most voracious reader in a group of already voracious readers. Born to a very mixed and disparate family, she counted among her stepfathers a poet of some renown. She told tales of bonding with her biological father in complete silence as they both read at the dinner table. L now works at a university in Ontario.
A was born to a family of scholars and activists. She worked for a while in a completely different profession before making an about-face to teach at a local college. I visited A's office today and interrupted a meeting she was having with one of her students. I witnessed the care and respect I know she shows to all her students as she patiently explained the requirements for an upcoming assignment.
Me? My mother taught elementary school in Rouen, France before marrying my father and moving to England. She proudly wears a medallion presented to her for preventing German soldiers from billeting in the school where she taught. Temporarily abandoned when the bombardment of the city became too great during WWII, she managed to convince the invaders that the children's return was imminent. Now, I have a tiny foot firmly planted in a hall of higher learner.
A, F, and I met for a quick dinner this evening. Earlier, F had said that it was a shame that we weren't all teaching at the same institution. I smile at the thought of the reunion of the "Commie dykes", and what we could accomplish together. In the meantime, I have a craving for ratatouille.
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