A couple days ago, Eleni gave me some advice: Balls to the wall, Mom. She was encouraging me to move full-speed ahead on some endeavor. Frankly, I was a little taken aback, thinking it an odd suggestion to give to someone who is distinctly ball-less.
Now I’m wondering if she wasn’t onto something.
This morning, two of my (male, of course) students at a certain Silicon Valley college got into a shouting match in the middle of class. Within a millisecond it had escalated to threats of violence, by which time I had run toward them. As I threw my body between them, I think I wondered, Do they respect older women in their cultures?
Cut it out! I declared in my most authoritative voice. I waited for a blow that never came. However, one student reached around me and threw a hard object at the other.
I reached for the thrower, a powerful and menacing young man well over six feet tall. I took a firm hold of his pulsating bicep and, in front of his 30 classmates, led him outside. Even in high heels, I was a dwarf next to this solid mass of testosterone.
Outside, I reached up to grab both of his arms. Look me in the eye! I commanded. Then I remembered my eyes are wimpy blue and not at all threatening. Yet for some reason, he obeyed. Flashing my ineffectual peepers at him I warned, Tell me this won’t ever happen again.
At that moment he could have squashed me with his little finger.
There’s much more to the story, but that’s enough for here. I reported the event to the department dean and my supervisor. Genevieve and Eleni said, “They don’t pay you enough.”