“Couldn’t. I think I’m learning.”
“Well, then, what are you learning?”
“That I’m not as terrific as I thought I was and . . . that I can be better than I am. That loving someone requires making allowances.”
He frowned. “What kind of allowances?”
“I didn’t know until a few weeks ago that both his parents are dead. When I found out, I was insulted he hadn’t told me, and I was so busy stewing in the insult that I didn’t stop to consider why he hadn’t talked about them. It was just too painful for him. I couldn’t understand it because I’ve never had that kind of pain. Frank’s been anything but sheltered and I’m tired of being sheltered. I’m sick of being so damned comfortable. I guess I’m sick of myself. I want to take those education courses and then teach for a while. I want to get out there and do something.”
“Those who can’t do, teach.”
“Stop it. You of all people know better than that. I’ve had plenty of professors who aren’t half the teacher you are.”
“How would you know? You were never in a class of mine.”
“I had friends who were.”
He spread his fingers out on the arms of his chair. “I should know better than to try to change your mind. But let me exercise the ancient parental prerogative and give you some advice. I know I told you academic life was not reality—whatever that battered term means. And maybe it is a niche, but it’s one that gives you plenty of spare time, and time is freedom. If you teach in a high school, you’d better be prepared for some intellectual shrinkage and a drastic trimming of your ideals. And don’t think that your enthusiasm for your subject is going to spill out and saturate all your students. There are rewards, but they’re quite different from what you’re used to. I liked it the first few years, but then when you kids began to grow up, somehow it got stale. Maybe it’ll be different for you. At least you won’t be starting out as a parent.”
“Maybe not.”
“For God’s sake, you can at least wait for that! Don’t build your fence on all four sides.”
“Do you think I’ll make a good mother?”
“If your kids are like Frank, yes. God help you if you have just one who turns out as headstrong as you are.”
I said good night by pressing his shoulder and kissing his hair. I knew he was disappointed, but that the disappointment would pass. As I climbed the stairs to my old room, I was confident that he, like myself, would be more than pleased with everything I did.
It was true Frank opposed my leaving the Ph.D. program and joining the masses in the small auditorium of the Education Building. Dr. Denning, the chairman of the English Department, greeted my decision with absolute repugnance. I had to pedal very softly with him for two reasons. During the past four years he had assumed a regard for me that was as paternal as it was academic. And in addition to hitting him with this decision of mine, I had to ask him to use his influence in getting the Education Department to allow me to take their three sequence courses all in one term. At first, he countered by offering me an instructor’s position for the spring term and practically promised me a job after I got my degree. When he saw I would not be swayed, he granted my request, but not before telling me that given the odds, my leaving the program would most likely be “terminal.” As I put on my coat to leave, he stood up and, actually misty-eyed, offered his hand; he assured me his door was always open if I ever needed him.