You wouldn’t believe how smart I used to be. I once had a professor who at the beginning of each class would ask rhetorically, “What is the meaning of life?”
And I’d answer him. Confidently. He probably appreciated the humor, but he mistook my response for sarcasm. It wasn’t.
My brash arrogance made Kanye West look like the bald version of Andre Aggasi. I was the kid in class who never met an argument I couldn’t win. You know who I’m referring to. Maybe it’s you, or maybe you’re the one doodling in class pleading for a meteor to rip through the ceiling and squash him/her.
But I’m a changed man now. Not entirely, although I’ve mollified my abrasiveness and even completely altered my previously unyielding opinions on certain issues. For example, after studying the UN’s successes, I no longer flippantly discount its utility. I was once an apologist for the war in Iraq, now I’m a vocal critic. I used to righteously decry all drug usage, now I’m pro-decriminalization. I used to ridicule religious republicans, now I let them do it themselves.
People change, and we should anticipate and appreciate these changes. Especially for those (like me) who needed the makeover. And while it can be a humiliating process to admit previous wrongs, it’s more challenging to convince others you’re new direction is sincere. It’s like we carry a picture in our pockets of the way people were, unwilling to acknowledge who they’ve become.
My brother never lives down his chubby label (even as he’s thinned out). A friend of mine complains he’s labeled the class clown and not taken seriously because of a few jokes early in the semester. We become caricatures. And for those who’ve made dramatic changes, escaping a cloudy past is almost impossible.
One of the most influential classes I’ve taken is taught by AU professor Colman McCarthy. McCarthy invites former criminals to address the class, attesting to their rehabilitation. I wasn’t immediately sold. I was taught from an early age that a leopard never changes its spots. The first few guests in our class I welcomed as warmly as a pop quiz. They were despicable people I judged, convicted of heinous crimes. Their fledgling dedication to peace and mentorship didn’t excuse their prior offenses. Enough said.
But as class progressed, my shield weakened. Instead of immediately scoffing at these folks, I lauded their attempt for reconciliation. They had changed. They wanted a second chance. And the amount of effort expunged to prevent youth from replicating the mistakes they made demonstrated they deserved one.
Admittedly, some feign change for expediency sake, others change for good.
Perhaps I’m optimistic, but I believe Michael Vick’s apology is earnest, and he’ll no longer abuse dogs. I believe Alex Rodriguez will hereafter abstain from using performance-enhancing drugs.
I even believe Christine O’Donnell isn’t a witch anymore (although I remain unconvinced she’s still not an idiot).
And I believe my previous desire to assert dominance has dwindled. Life experience and graduate school humbled me. I’m no longer the brightest in the class and instead of anxiously awaiting my soapbox to proselytize, I listen to my colleagues who offer valuable insights.
I doubt my undergraduate buddies would recognize the insouciant demeanor I presently exude. They remember me foaming at the mouth.
Now, I witness those who act like I once did, eagerly repudiating their ignorant classmates, and remember how smart they feel sans humility.
Bob Dylan put it more poignantly, “Ah, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” Amen.
Conor Shapiro is a graduate student in the School of International Service and a liberal columnist.
edpage@theeagleonline.com
