Who's an American?

Starting class on Monday, two distinct fears were running through my head as I hustled down Duncreggan Road en route to the Magee Campus. (The photo shows my route to class.)

1) I wasn't going to understand a word my professor was saying.

2) The material was going to start so complex, so specific that I might as well walk out the door as soon as the syllabuses are handed out.

Perhaps I overreacted a bit.

My Monday class, "Parliament in Irish History" started off on the right foot, about ten minutes late, when a small, balding man sporting a green sweater vest and tweed jacket finally walked into the room, set up his notes stand, and began handing out our syllabuses. (Is it syllabi?)

As we glanced over the text he said, "Any questions? Right then, let's begin lecture."

As he began rattling off facts about pre-Norman Anglo administrations, I couldn't help but think it was going to take adopting coffee as my new drug of choice if I was going to survive three hours of straight, breathless lecture.

Then, of course, my professor reminded me this was Ireland, not America, and just like my church mass on Sunday, the emphasis was on get in and get out not take the whole bloody morning.

So, about 40 minutes into his lecture, he put down his notes, closed his folder and said, "Right then. It's time for our morning coffee break. See you back here in twenty minutes." And then, we all headed to the campus coffee shop, sipped steaming cups, and reassembled after a nice break. After 40 more minutes of lecture, the professor again shut his book, closed his folder and said, "Right then. Lecture's over. Time for your seminar." He then turned on his heels and walked out.

In walked a Ph.D. student -- our seminar teacher. In sharp contrast to the old, Oxford-looking chap that talked before him, this teacher sported a leather jacket, an earring, and - no lie - bleached blonde hair spiked into a mohawk. My unofficial "F--K" count in the corner of my notebook also revealed he dropped the F-bomb no less than 15 times during his 20 minute talk where he educated us on the library, finding our readings, and why we didn't need to try to anything more than pass our classes.

I haven't the slightest idea what I'm supposed to be reading for next week but already I find the Irish educational system bloody brilliant.

Even more reassuring, I found that I followed the lecture quite easily and that, if I do the reading, I should keep up just fine. I actually talked to our blonde-topped T.A. at the end and he also reassured me that most of the students in the room (7 total) haven't gotten more than a basic background to Irish history. Perhaps the best part of class, however, came at the class close. As we all gathered our things, the T.A. stopped us and said, "Is this it? Just 7 students?"

I said, "Yeah. They say more will join us on Wednesday from the part-time group."

"Ah, he says, " I thought you'se was gonna have a bloody American in this group."

The class laughed. "Guilty!" I said as I raised my hand.