It is a rainy day.
He gets up, alone, going through the usual morning routine. He makes coffee to go, and heads out for the lecture.
The walk is short; the rain, relentless.
The professor stands in the front of the room, silent. The student scans the room for his friends. As he approaches, one of them tells him he looks tired and stupid. He calls his friend old.
The time comes.
The professor begins the lecture. He’s a legend. A practiced public speaker, interesting and humorous. Students look at him with awe. His unique approach and signature humor make for a far more engaging course than your average computer scientist wishing to return to their dusty, dimly lit room—to get lost in the research that, this time, surely, will put their name on the map.
“The material in this course is so weird, isn’t it?“ He asks a friend.
“It’s very conceptual. Once you understand it, it’s not actually hard. The hard part is getting it in the first place.“
Someone raises their hand. They ask a question. Utter silence. The professor stares with a look of disbelief for just a little too long. Awkwardness permeates the room., the silence reaching every corner, cranny and cobweb covering the containing construction.
And then it happens.
Their group gets stuck on a problem. They look at each other.
“But I asked last week” one exclaims.
It’s okay. He raises his hand, signaling for the professor to come.
The professor sits down.
He feels uncomfortable—like he’s being weird, stupid, annoying. A nuisance.
“Well, what is it then?” the professor asks, his voice masking annoyance.
Their eyes don’t meet.
“I was wondering if you could help us understand this? You see, we tried—”
The professor sighs, loudly, interrupting him.
Other groups turn to look at them before turning away, pretending not to listen.
“It’s not that hard, it’s simply…”
The group listens.
But he still doesn’t get it.
He asks another, related question.
The professor moves his hand to his forehead, places his elbow on the table and leans on it as he answers.
But he still doesn’t get it.
“Do you understand it yet?” the professor asks.
He still doesn’t get it.
“Sure!”
The professor leaves.
And he still doesn’t get it.
The seance repeats.
He watches as another group asks a question. The professor looks, incredulous, pausing before deigning to come over.
Later that year, before exams roll around, the students teach themselves everything, and never think about the course again.
A recent note I want to share
A quote I want to share
The correct analogy for the mind is not a vessel that needs filling, but wood that needs igniting - Plutarch
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