The phone had a message from Professor James White, my contact at the school, asking if I could come an hour or so early to sign some books for his students. I showed it to Lee, who eyed it like a snake.
“I’m beginning to hate that damn phone,” he said, sighing. “But I guess we should head out then,” he sighed ruefully.
This signing went as good as, if not better, than the first one. There weren’t nearly as many people at this one, which gave me even more freedom to chat with the students.
I gave my prepared speech on the history of art in comic books. The hall was about half full, maybe sixty or so students. I was half-way through when I noticed yawns on the faces of some students and saw there were a couple of kids scattered throughout the lecture who hadtheir heads down and were obviously sleeping. Was my presentation that bad?
The sight threw me for a minute, and I stumbled in my speech, losing my place. I felt my heart rate and breathing speed up. Shit! Shit!Shit! Not now… I glanced around wildly.
My eyes wandered frantically over the room until they landed on Lee, seated in the front row. We locked eyes for a moment then he just nodded at me. Okay... I cleared my throat.I could do this, I thought, grabbing hold of his gaze as though it was a lifeline.
My therapist and I had practiced for this. My eyes remained glued to his. All I had to do was just pretend I was talking to Lee,onlyLee. I took a deep breath and finished the lecture in record time. I almost ran off the stage at its conclusion, ignoring the half-hearted round of applause.
I was standing off stage with my head against the wall, trying to regain my composure, when Professor White walked up, followed closely by Lee. Professor White looked like the quintessential crazy professor. He was a little on the shorter side, his white hair and beard just a little bit tousled. His tie was slightly askew, and his suit coat unbuttoned.
“So, um, what’d you think,” I asked as they got near, forcing some normality into my voice. “How’d it go over?”
Lee looked torn, like he was unsure what he should be saying. Professor White’s shrewd eyes locked with my own.
“Mr. Cameron, that was a very…” he coughed and cleared his throat, “…informative speech. I don’t think I’ve ever seen quite that much information compiled and shared so… completely,” he said, one hand clasping his coffee mug, the other a folder with papers inside.
I groaned.
“So, you’re saying it was longandboring?” I asked, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth at his discomfort.
“I wouldn’t say that…”
Nope, I thought, you are way too polite to be honest.
“Mr. Cameron, if I might share a little advice…?” the Professor asked.
“Of course,” I said, feeling about two inches high. I knew he was going to rip into me and uncover what a fraud I was. What had I been thinking? I couldn’t do this or be this person. Mason Malone didn’t deserve to be here. Mason Malone was just a jumped-up prostitute, a son of a whore. What had made me think I could do this? I couldn’t, obviously…
My thoughts began spiraling downward so fast that I barely heard what he said next.
“Mr. Cameron, your lecture was about comic book art history, right? Is comic book art history something you are… passionate about?” he asked, cocking his head questioningly to one side. His gesture reminded me oddly of an owl.
“Um… well, sort of…” I lied. “I mean, those who don’t study history are bound to repeat it, right? So… um,” I paused as he eyed me, both eyebrows now raised skeptically at me. “Okay… No. Not really,” I finally sighed. “It was the only thing I could think of that I knew enough about to give a sixty-minute lecture on,” I said, a bit shame-faced at my disclosure. “I guess I kind of think…” I paused, not wanting to offend him. “I kind of think art history is boring and early comic art sucked.”
“Hrmph.” He muttered, shaking his head at me. “I thought not,” he said, smiling at me. “Successful teachers know that if you want to teach a student,anystudent, you have to be willing to share something of yourself with them,” he continued. “It can be something you love…” I could have sworn his eyes glanced over at Lee behind me when he said that, but I might have been mistaken. “…or it can be something that you despise or fear. But above all, it has to be somethingyouare passionate about.”
I shifted from one foot to the other, some of what he said starting to sink in.
“You can teach anything, if you feel strongly enough about it!” He exclaimed. He started pacing a bit, his hands picking up speed as he became more involved in his mini-lecture. I jumped back to avoid a splatter of coffee.
“Say you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. If you want toteach someone about PB&J, you don’t just give them cold hard facts. Don’t tell them about calories or fat content, or how much time it takes to make one,” he said, shaking his hands dismissively, sloshing more coffee as he gestured.
“Tell them what it is about PB&J that makes you passionate. What is your emotional connection to it? Was it a snack your mother made you when you were sick? Was it the first meal you learned how to make for yourself? Was it all you could afford to buy when you were a struggling young artist? Share the things they can connect with. Share what is in here…” he said, tapping my chest. “Not just here.” He finished, tapping my forehead gently.
I looked at him, comprehension finally dawning.
“Thank you…” I whispered. “That… that’s exactly what I was afraid to do. I guess if you are teaching, you’re going to have to share some of your... your heart with people. It just makes me a little uncomfortable. It makes me feel... vulnerable,” I said, squirming inside.
“It does,” he agreed. “That vulnerability is what makesyourelatable. If you are relatable, your student will understand your emotional connection. That understanding will mean more to them than ten thousand ‘facts’ ever could.” He grinned at me, the years chased away from his face for a moment. “And don’tevenget me started on strawberry over grape jelly. Countries have warred over less!”
We all three laughed, and I couldn’t help but feel how right Professor White was. I had to do better.
“So, now that I have imparted the wisdom of my advanced years, when do you want to try again?” he asked.
