Going to School

Years ago, as a grad student, I led a discussion section of a large lecture course in history. Sections like that are scheduled in any available space, and this one happened to meet in a chemistry classroom. Prominent warning signs informed students to wash their hands and keep shoes on because of the chemicals.

One student came to the section (and the lecture) barefoot, every class period, well into autumn. She wasn’t bold and outgoing, but quiet. As I recall, whenever we broke into small groups, she usually paired with a talkative student and opened up more in that setting. The classroom’s warning signs didn’t influence her style choice!

Among the numerous years I was in school, I remember going barefoot to class only one time. It was a summer course–not in a chem lab—and I didn’t really like the instructor—although in hindsight I’ve compassion for him because he was just starting out. I hope he continued to grow as a teacher. Anyway, I decided I might as well be relaxed during the two or three hour class so I tucked my sandals into my book bag.

What a pleasant memory: feeling the classroom building’s several stairs and cool hallways underfoot, watching my toes stroll and hearing the incongruous pat of my footsteps upon the college tiles, and then tuck my feet below the chair for a couple brain-hurting hours of class.