I've Gotta Crow!

"I know you!" I stared at the guy talking to me as I prepared to take over his tennis court. He looked familiar in the way that lots of people do up in these parts. Definitely a bit younger than I, but clearly a decently well heeled suburban dad. So it wasn't really a lie when I responded that he, too, looked familiar. But I highly doubted that we actually knew each other.

He was quick to help me out of my obvious confusion. "You were my favorite professor in law school!" Okay, it was starting to seem plausible, although I felt certain my "most favorite" status had little to do with some deep and meaningful educational experience. It took me a few seconds -- he told me his name but that didn't really help -- and then it all came flooding back to me. He was one of my first students, twenty years ago, give or take a year or two. I would have been about thirty-two. He would have been about twenty-three, the same age my oldest daughter will be in a few days. Yipes.

Sometimes, when life has you down and you're feeling about as low as you've ever felt, some higher power intervenes (my money's on my dad) and sends you a sign, a sign that you were once okay and you might very well be okay again. I remembered Ted not because of his great legal mind or his superior writing skills, but because he is the first person who ever told me I looked like Sheryl Crow. Not feeling like much of a rock star as I stood there in my baggy shorts and my greasy pony tail, I blurted out my fond (albeit shallow) memory without thinking it through. As it turns out, dad was still watching over me. "Yes. You still do!" Even the guy he had been playing tennis with nodded in agreement, admitting he had thought the same thing.

I've laughed every time somebody has told me this over the years, and each time I've thought fondly about Ted, even though his name had long ago escaped me. Mercifully, Sheryl does not, as far as I know, follow my blog, because I am guessing she would not find the comparison as uplifting as I do. If I could, I would soften the blow, remind her that I cannot sing or play the guitar. And I bet she won't be moving into a double wide any time soon.

The other thing I remember about Ted is the visit he paid to my office one day, maybe to talk a bit about a writing assignment, but mostly to talk about the girlfriend who had recently dumped him. (As you can imagine, Professor Jill's office hours always included a lot of schmoozing and amateurish therapy.) "I wish I could find someone like you, just ten years younger," Ted had told me. I wasn't sure whether to be offended or complimented, but I do remember being amused.

I hope Ted has since found happiness with a younger and much saner version of me. He certainly looked content. He told me he never practiced law, and instead got into various business ventures, did really well, and is now retired. He told me he can't remember the names of any of his law school classmates, but has always remembered me, his favorite professor.

Hot damn. Maybe I did give him a deep and meaningful educational experience after all.