propped their laptops open, but instead of taking any notes, they typed instant messages to their friends and moved things around on some social networking site. Before class, I’d heard a few of the other students strike up a conversation about how much they’d drunk the night prior. In graduate school. I couldn’t believe it. I liked a good microbrew as much as anyone, but I couldn’t help thinking that these people didn’t understand something fundamental about graduate degrees. You didn’t go get one because you didn’t want the party to end. You pursued one because you found yourself lacking in some area of knowledge that was important to you.
Some of these people were likely here because they hadn’t found a job with their first degrees. Some of them might want to save themselves the trouble and go turn in an application at Macy’s.
But then I had to turn that thought inward and wonder if I wasn’t the one wasting my time. Hadn’t my dad as much as said so? Hadn’t I already been wrong about so much, including the moral character of at least one girl my age?
“In short,” said the professor, and we all snapped to attention because his voice rang of dismissal. “In short, methodology is the hook on which you should hang your cap.”
Whatever he said next, he said to his belly and shoes. The class sank back into their seats.
I’d been giving some thought to methodology in regards to my study of Dr. Emmet—although my problem at this point wasn’t how to conduct a study. I thought I could probably figure out how to study her if I knew what result I hoped to find. But that didn’t sound very scientific.
I raised my hand.
The professor stopped in mid-mumble and looked up from his gut. He seemed surprised that any of us were still in the room. “Yes, uh?”
“Nathaniel Barber, sir.”
“Professor Van Meter, Mr. Barber. Fine to meet your acquaintance.” His head nodded down but buoyed back up in time so that I also heard the next bit. “Do you in fact come from a long line of hair-trimming professionals?”
The class shuffled in their seats. The two girls glanced over, took a look at my hair. “No, sir. I don’t believe I do.”
“From a long line of sociologists, perhaps?”
My dad’s dad had been a farmer, but that hardly seemed the sort of thing I wanted to say to my entire class of cohorts on the first night of class. We had to study side by side for the next several years and compete with one another in ways I didn’t understand yet. “I suppose you could say that I have some field researchers in my family tree, sir.”
“A leg up, then, Mr. Barber. Now what could be troubling you so early in the semester?”
“I wondered, Professor, how you choose your method of study if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”
To my surprise, the rest of the class turned from me to Professor Van Meter to hear what he’d say.
He shook his head. “Dear Mr. Barber. The point isn’t necessarily to choose what you’re looking for, but to choose to look . If you choose to look in a way that is serious, consistent, methodical , and scientific, you will find. If you look with open eyes and open mind, Mr. Barber , you will find a line of questioning that you can expand and explore .”
This seemed wise and impassioned enough to applaud, but then I wasn’t quite sure what I’d learned. Except that it seemed I could start my study of Dr. Emmet at any place and time that made sense, even if I didn’t know what I hoped to discover.
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
“Of course, of course.” The professor tucked his chin into his chest and was silent. When his head rose again, he said, as clearly as anything he’d said so far, “Class dismissed.”
As we gathered our materials, the professor stood, put his chin down, and left the room.
“Whatever you did and however you did it, do it again next week,” said one of the girls.
“What?”
The guy on the other side of me clapped me on
Some of these people were likely here because they hadn’t found a job with their first degrees. Some of them might want to save themselves the trouble and go turn in an application at Macy’s.
But then I had to turn that thought inward and wonder if I wasn’t the one wasting my time. Hadn’t my dad as much as said so? Hadn’t I already been wrong about so much, including the moral character of at least one girl my age?
“In short,” said the professor, and we all snapped to attention because his voice rang of dismissal. “In short, methodology is the hook on which you should hang your cap.”
Whatever he said next, he said to his belly and shoes. The class sank back into their seats.
I’d been giving some thought to methodology in regards to my study of Dr. Emmet—although my problem at this point wasn’t how to conduct a study. I thought I could probably figure out how to study her if I knew what result I hoped to find. But that didn’t sound very scientific.
I raised my hand.
The professor stopped in mid-mumble and looked up from his gut. He seemed surprised that any of us were still in the room. “Yes, uh?”
“Nathaniel Barber, sir.”
“Professor Van Meter, Mr. Barber. Fine to meet your acquaintance.” His head nodded down but buoyed back up in time so that I also heard the next bit. “Do you in fact come from a long line of hair-trimming professionals?”
The class shuffled in their seats. The two girls glanced over, took a look at my hair. “No, sir. I don’t believe I do.”
“From a long line of sociologists, perhaps?”
My dad’s dad had been a farmer, but that hardly seemed the sort of thing I wanted to say to my entire class of cohorts on the first night of class. We had to study side by side for the next several years and compete with one another in ways I didn’t understand yet. “I suppose you could say that I have some field researchers in my family tree, sir.”
“A leg up, then, Mr. Barber. Now what could be troubling you so early in the semester?”
“I wondered, Professor, how you choose your method of study if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”
To my surprise, the rest of the class turned from me to Professor Van Meter to hear what he’d say.
He shook his head. “Dear Mr. Barber. The point isn’t necessarily to choose what you’re looking for, but to choose to look . If you choose to look in a way that is serious, consistent, methodical , and scientific, you will find. If you look with open eyes and open mind, Mr. Barber , you will find a line of questioning that you can expand and explore .”
This seemed wise and impassioned enough to applaud, but then I wasn’t quite sure what I’d learned. Except that it seemed I could start my study of Dr. Emmet at any place and time that made sense, even if I didn’t know what I hoped to discover.
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
“Of course, of course.” The professor tucked his chin into his chest and was silent. When his head rose again, he said, as clearly as anything he’d said so far, “Class dismissed.”
As we gathered our materials, the professor stood, put his chin down, and left the room.
“Whatever you did and however you did it, do it again next week,” said one of the girls.
“What?”
The guy on the other side of me clapped me on
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