Two Professors

Two professors

One, handing back a research paper marked angrily with a 'D', tells me to see him later. "This paper was obviously plagiarized,” he accused me. “I'll allow you the opportunity to take an essay test here in my office to prove that you know the material.

I re-wrote and re-worded nearly five or so pages from the fifteen page essay I'd originally submitted. He read through it with a frown, said that he was still skeptical that I could write something of that caliber. He was convinced, in fact, that it had been plagiarized, that I had somehow managed some tom-foolery right there in his presence, in his office, under his scrutiny, while taking the test, and that he'd just been unable to locate the source of the original material.

Based on this reasoning, he agreed to give me a 'C' for what he admitted was likely an 'A+' paper.

Somehow, my 20 year old self, hurt and confused, felt that I really had done something wrong.

Somehow?

The second professor, to whom I had been presented like a potential poster boy, a sort of 'noble peasant', read through my poetry, questioned some of my imagery, my inspirations.

He asked me pointed questions about my feelings and beliefs on culture, the responsibilities of a black artist, my purpose.

He then deemed my works and motivations not sufficiently 'black' enough to serve as an appropriate device for the advancement of the race or the souls of black folk or something of the such.

I'd been instructed by two very well-respected college professors that my words, my writing, my perspective, though very good, was either much too black or not black enough to be real.

Again, at 21 or 22 years old, I couldn't understand this or properly form a rejoinder. i was instead crestfallen. My folly confirmed. I stopped writing soon after. Or at least, I stopped writing with any real intent to share.

Moving beyond that now. Still leery of well-intentioned educators though. I keep these things in mind while writing now, comfortable with the guided evolution. 

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