Page 3 of Dad's Best Friend Professor
“Why is that?” she asks curiously. “What’s so interesting about it? Honestly. It’s my least favorite subject. It seems to me there’re lots of facts to memorize and little to think about.”
I laugh. “Have you told that to your dad?”
She shrugs. “All the time.”
“Hmm.” I think about what to say to her. Frankly, John wasn’t the most inspiring teacher I’ve had, but I must credit him for motivating me to apply to grad schools and get into Harvard. “I don’t think it’s your dad’s fault, but I might blame your previous history teachers for that wrong impression. History is a lot more than just a bunch of facts. Sure, there are facts, but they’re up to interpretation. And that’s the fun part. You’ve got to have a critical mind if you want to see the truth. Otherwise, you’ll be deceived. Historians are human beings who might be biased.”
“So, you’re interested in history because you like to discover the truth?”
I pause. “You’re probably right, although I’ve never thought of it that way. But I’m more curious about why we do things we do. I’m intrigued by the fact that humans or humanity seldom learn from history. We repeat our ancestors’ mistakes again and again. We know wars have terrible consequences, and yet politicians keep resorting to military actions.”
Her eyes twinkle as she gazes at me as if fascinated, and I know I got carried away. “I’m sorry. It’s an occupational disease. I forget I’m not a history professor at the moment.”
She smiles. “Go on. My dad does it a lot, so I’m used to it.”
“Nah. I should stop. You’re welcome to come to audit my class if you wish. I’m going to teach History 2020, Modern Wars, this summer.”
“Really?” Her eyes widen. “It isn’t a general education course, is it?”
“Probably not. It’s open to history majors or minors,” I say. “But I’ll give you the consent to add. Maybe you’ll become one of us after you take my class.”
She chuckles without a response, obviously not planning to do what I suggest.
“I need to get going,” I say to Anna after I rinse the utensils in the sink after lunch. “Call or text me if you have any questions. I have two meetings and some preparation to do, and I should be back at around six.”
“Okay. But I’m sure I’ll be done before that,” she says.
I have the wish to see her before she goes, so I ask her, “Do you have a swimsuit? I told your dad you could use the pool.”
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t let such a great opportunity pass.”
“Good, swim to your heart’s content. The pool guy was here just yesterday.”
“Perfect. Thanks!”
“And let me pay you now just in case I don’t see you when I’m back.” I push a hundred-dollar bill into her hand. “Is it enough?”
Her eyes widen. “Yeah…that’s way too much.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re worth it.”
“Oh!” She grins. “I promise I’ll do a good job.”
“Great. Thanks. I’ll see you soon. If not, then in two weeks,” I say with a wink and watch her face turn pink again.
Sunnyvale College is a small but charming campus. I park at the staff parking lot and stroll along the path among rosemary and thyme toward the history department building. After I graduated from here, I’ve been to many prestigious universities to study or work. I’ve seen plenty of historical buildings and modern architecture, but I’ve always missed it here.
The campus hasn’t changed much. The giant ficus tree is still towering over the administration building, and the herb garden looks precisely the same I remember. The noticeable change, though, is the shining technology building at the far end of the campus.
I’m inside the history department’s conference room a moment later, sitting at a round table with my new colleagues. Besides Anna’s dad, Dr. Smith, and a couple of other professors I remember from my college days, most faculty members are strangers. When we spoke over the phone a few months ago, John told me that he was impressed by my take on the causes of warfare, but he also made it clear that many of my new colleagues disagreed with him.
So, I’m prepared for the hostility. I’ve been to enough universities to know that they’re no different from other workplaces and are filled with power struggles and interpersonal conflicts. It wouldn’t be exaggerating to say it’s a mini warzone. People fight to get tenure and attack their colleagues’ viewpoints in the meanest way to sell theirs, although they might do it under the pretense of academic debate or scholarly conference. I’m okay with that. Professors might be highly educated people, but we’re still human beings, and we don’t lack vices.
Dr. Davis, the associate chair of the department, a tall and skinny woman with short greying wavy hair, suggests we include a brief introduction of our area of research concentration and which school of thought we belong as well. She lets another new professor and me go first after welcoming us to the department.
“Hello, I’m Mike Miller… I mean, Dr. Mike Miller,” the young fellow says with a chortle. “Still getting used to the title. I got my Ph.D. from the University of South Carolina just three months ago. This is my first fulltime teaching position. I did my dissertation on Conservatism and US Foreign Policy. I don’t belong to any school of thought. I believe each school has its own merits, and no one school can explain every aspect of human history.”
Polite nods follow his statements, but I also see the disdainful look on some of my new colleagues’ faces. While I understand the young man is trying not to make enemies in this new arena, I doubt his approach is wise. Clearly, he isn’t making any allies either.
