White and Privileged Too

"Unfortunately, I have proven unable to take his sound advice."

--my last sentence in a very long email to the English instructor named "Yes, I'm White And Privileged Too"

The advice being what the Advisor said, rather indirectly and sympathetically, that I should toughen up my skin when I'm in the classroom.

"I'm mostly playing devil's advocate," the English instructor says to me as I'm already leaving the table in the classroom with my belongings slung over my shoulder.

"It's group think," I say as I'm walking towards the door. I half-expected the other students to shout "Heil Trump" as I was leaving.

Minutes later, I'm bawling in my SUV, tears streaming down my face, the whole ordeal. I haven't cried in years--the medication just zaps you of the ability to express your emotions that deeply.

But I cried anyway, and felt ashamed because I left lecture, and let my fellow classmates know that they got to me--that they struck some soft spot inside of me.