Pink

Last week, the student sitting behind me in French class was wearing a pink shirt with a tie.

Since the time I finally finished University, after three degrees, I have taken a few night classes. Currently, I am nearing the conclusion of my third French class. I have taken 4 or 5 writing classes, and a bunch of photography classes, mostly so I could get access to darkrooms, before I went digital. Dylan went electric; I went digital, and one person even called me Judas.

Last night, the student (a different one) sitting in front of me was wearing a pink shirt. I believe that he is the source of the noxious gas. It makes me wonder if he saves it up for our class. Why, I want to ask, but I am not really sure if he is to blame.

As an aide, I look back on my early days at University and wonder where the energy came from. I procrastinated then, but not as much as I do now. I am unrepentant. But then, I could procrastinate and then stay up to 3:30 AM writing about early modern political theory. Don't ask me to do that now. I can stay up for nothing.

There was a brief period of time when I wore pink. I had a pink golf shirt (collar down, if you must know) and a pink dress shirt that I often wore with a tie and sometimes a jacket. I often felt that my rugged masculinity contrasted nicely with the soft pink - the whole combination making the ladies swoon.

Test number two was last night and I had a strong nostalgic feeling. I had no panic, mind you, just a feeling like I had never left high school. I cleared my desk of all books, but retained two pens. I watched our prof hand out the test. Then, when the word was given, I scribbled my name and proceeded. I am not convinced that a test-based curriculum is the best way to instruct adults in learning a second or third language.

Tim was probably the first man I knew who felt that he was manly enough to wear pink. After a week at the construction site, he could break free on weekends: pink shirt, tie bar, shiny shoes, too much after shave, and a bit of classic rock (which, in his definition, was Phil Collins and Queen). It may have been his gay-positive side leaking out, but I am sure he would deny it. Oh, and there was Bill, too. I think he wore pink to reaffirm his masculinity, but we all knew he would eventually come out. Not that's there's anything wrong with being gay.

I have no plans to bring back the pink. As I get older, my wardrobe gets darker and darker. I must be in mourning.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.