The one who said, “Call me by my first name—or not at all.”
THE ONE WHO SAID, “CALL ME BY MY FIRST NAME—OR NOT AT ALL.”
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Remember that first day, walking into those hallowed halls, buzzing with a mix of excitement and the weight of expectation? We were ready for the gravitas, the titles, the unwritten rules of intellectual discourse. Then came that professor. Not just brilliant, not just challenging, but utterly unconventional from the jump.
The air thick with a silent understanding of “Professor Lastname” deference, they leaned back, a mischievous glint in their eye. “Good morning,” they’d begin, pausing just long enough for us to brace for the academic onslaught. Then came the twist: “Before we start, let’s get one thing straight. You can call me by my first name—or not at all.”
Silence. A collective intake of breath. It wasn't just a casual remark; it was a gauntlet thrown. A subtle yet profound subversion of the traditional academic hierarchy. It stripped away a layer of formality, inviting us not just to learn from them, but to engage with them, as fellow intellects, albeit ones with vastly different levels of expertise.
It was a lesson delivered before the syllabus was even discussed. About authenticity, about challenging perceived norms, about the true nature of mentorship. It set the tone for a semester (or year) of groundbreaking insights, where the biggest lessons often came wrapped in unexpected packages. Those are the moments that truly stick, aren't they?