It’s Probably Against The Law
In the middle of my junior year in college, I walked into the classroom on the first day of class , not knowing I was hungry for what the encounter with this man would do for my life. It started out simple and probably even fairly common. Respect and admiration were feelings many young women had toward men in authority positions. I was naive but this power imbalance didn’t feel wrong if there was mutual consent. The man who garnered my affection commanded attention and demanded diligence. I began to count the hours between the occasions I would see him in class and almost immediately, I began to seek him out more than just at class.
I sat waiting in a large classroom with rectangular tables and chairs set up in semi circle, stadium style. I glanced quickly at the front, saw a man at the lectern and took out a notebook and noticed several students I knew. I was a Criminal Justice major and I was beginning to recognize others in my major. After the majority of students were seated, the professor at the lectern cleared his throat and when the room was quiet, introduced himself to us.
“My name is Professor F. This course is Introduction to Criminal Law. I will read the class list now and you will arrange yourselves into alphabetical order, quietly and with haste. We will not waste any time in this class. When you are all in your assigned seats, I will pass out the syllabus and we will go over my expectations and grading policy today. On Thursday, come to class having completed the required readings. Let’s get started now. Starting in the front row of the section on my left, first chair, Mr. Ackerman…”
On the second day of class at exactly 2:00pm, he took the seating chart and began calling on students from behind his lectern, in the following manner,
“Mr. Harrison, please tell the class which of the amendments protects the right of a individual to not incriminate himself by his own testimony?”
The questions asked would come from the readings we were expected to read prior to class, according to a detailed syllabus. Each question came rapid fire and if unanswered immediately, it would be posed to another student after a slight irritated sigh.
Based on what I have described so far, one could question what would lead to me to have special feelings for this man. I might as well point out at this time a few other counter intuitive attributes in this man. He was an old man, at least sixty. I was twenty. He was a bit rough around the edges and could be quite impatient. He didn’t say much except what was necessary. He certainly would never be considered warm and fuzzy. But I didn’t need warm and fuzzy, I needed someone to wake me the hell up. I knew something had happened to me right because after the first week of class I changed my schedule so I could be one of the first to enter the classroom. I was aware I was running a risk by making changes but i felt this one could be covered up easily by a reasonable excuse. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I left my off campus housing at 730 am for an 800 class. After my early morning class, I had an 11–12:50 class and I had planned to eat lunch at the Bagel Deli, on State Street and look over my notes on the readings for Law class, start time 200pm. The next class day, I grabbed a lox and onion cream cheese bagel sandwich and diet coke to go. It was balmy for a January afternoon in Michigan so I stopped at a bench, behind a tree, near the entrance to the Lecture Hall, I finished my lunch and watched the door.
At one thirty pm, Professor F. entered Essex Hall, fumbling while holding his briefcase, pointing stick and any number of other necessary items, like an umbrella and occasionally, galoshes. He always wore a tweed hat, which sat a bit askance on his graying brownish hair. His overcoat had seen many decades and sometimes got caught in the closing door, when the wind reared up behind him. I waited a few minutes after he had gone in before I headed over toward the door, all the while watching to see if any of my fellow students were coming ahead of me, quickening my pace if they were. Inside the hall, runners stretched from the entrance and to the split hallway were muddied, smelling moldy. If I followed the professor closely enough, the scents of his Old Spice, spiked by cigar smoke, faintly remained. Walking down the left hallway, I saw a couple of students parked outside our classroom. I walked slowly past the doorway, peeking in and looking for the appearance of the first student or students. Not wanted to seem too obvious, I didn’t go in until I wasn’t the first. Luckily, a student named Mr. Vanderleyden was the first seated, in the far right section, across the room from where I was assigned. I entered the room and walked to the third row, fourth seat on the left third of the room. I tried to sneak up to my seat without much fuss and avoided looking directly toward the lectern until I had all my materials laid out in front of me. Within a few minutes, a gravelling, lower register voice announced,
“Good afternoon Miss Brown.”
The first time it happened was on the third day of class. Arriving early enough to be a student entering alone, who would then be greeted by the Professor. When he said my name for the first time, I actually shuddered. He would call me by name as he did other students during class time. In the beginning, the only words spoken between us were this before class greeting, and the occasional calling of my name to answer a question( which I must say, I always answered correctly.) In the second week of class, I began to approach Professor F. after class to ask a few questions about the day’s cases. This type of crush, fascination, obsession had never happened to me before but I felt compelled to do something more.
Another change in my schedule required more planning and bullet proof excuses. The Professor had office hours at the same time as class but on Mondays and Wednesdays. If I were to attend those, my weekly workout schedule would need to be adjusted. On Tuesday and Thursday, since I was off work those evenings, I ran near my house, before dinner. That wasn’t an option on work nights, but getting up and running in the morning might work. I could do a weights workout and wouldn’t be too sweaty when I showed up at the Professor’s office. I have attended office hours for other classes, finding it helpful to ask clarification questions and many times other students would also be there with their questions, giving me further insight into the material. The problem this time was I didn’t want to spend my time with him asking questions on the material and I certainly did not want to share my time with him with other students. I was happy on a few occasions, I was the only student there and I wanted to tell him all about myself. I told him my grandfather had been a Judge and my uncle and my mom were both attorneys. He talked a bit about his work as a defense attorney. I did ask a few questions relevant to class to make my time there appear more appropriate.
My college was not on semesters but on quarters or terms as we called them. This was winter term and it was only ten weeks long. I never thought about what would happen beyond the scope of that term. Through my interactions with Professor F. both during class and in office hours, something amazing had occurred. My mind had cleared from the fog of brainwashing and abuse I was living under. On Christmas Eve, I got engaged to a fellow student, DJ, whom I had met in October and was living with already. He promised security and certainty and basically everlasting life with him at my side and Jesus in my heart. The slaps across the face, forceful relations and the rules I needed to live by were small prices to pay for the rewards I was promised. I was alienated from my friends and family. He put me on a strict diet and exercise routine because hell told me “my body was a temple.” I had been searching for some meaning in my life when I met him and I stopped looking when I was wrapped up in the blanket of forgiveness and salvation. My always curious mind had been lulled to sleep by the verses of the Bible. The problem, though I wasn’t aware, was the questioning mind of mine was meant to be permanently put to sleep.
By the end of the term, I knew I needed to break away from DJ. I had recovered my courageous spirit which had helped me with rough patches in the past. It would take me a few more weeks to contact an old boyfriend, who remained a friend, and ask him if he would come and help me move out while DJ was at work. I also called my ex-roommate who I had abandoned back before Christmas and asked if I could sleep on her couch. At the time, the only phone I had was his house phone. Our money commingled into one account would need to be separated. For the time being, I would withdraw some money and worry about the rest later. On a weekday evening around 10pm, I jumped in a car with my belongings. I had left my ring(which had been his mother’s) with a note on the bed. I told him where I was but not to contact me until the next day. I said we would meet somewhere to talk. And it was over.
The title of this piece claiming the “thing with my professor” was against the law was an overstatement. It was never inappropriate and I had mistaken intimate feelings for what really was, unbeknownst to Professor F.,an intellectual reawakening. I never told DJ but then again, I didn’t tell anyone. In thirty-two years, I never told this story of Professor F. even though it changed my life, saved my life. The Professor represented my rational mind, the part of me who knew the conditions I was living with were not right for me. I was so hungry for freedom from the cage, which I allowed myself to enter and remain in. My eyes had been closed to a possibility of escape. The forbidden love in the story here actually ended up a self love. My self confidence and sense of worth was compromised. Seeing myself with someone like the Professor allowed me to turn the mirror back toward myself and see that I was so much more than I had been relegated to be.
Many years after my mother died(when she was 56 and I was 33) I found a letter she had wrote to me, during this time of my life. She had gone on a plane trip and wanted me to know that she knew I was searching for myself and that she was confident I would find my authentic self. I never knew this. We never spoke of what had happened or why. She was just relieved, even though I didn’t tell her the extent of my abuse and imprisonment. I was free and that was all that mattered. The lesson here is self love is never forbidden. If you are feeling unworthy or self loathing in a love relationship, remember you don’t need to have a savior, SAVE YOURSELF.
