Aflannel-sporting, all-'90s-era hip-hop-music-knowing, depression-recovering English grad student lopes across campus three days a week. Walking with purposeful, elongated steps, Geoff prides himself on his English-teacher-in-the-making style: tanned loafers, slacks that are a bit too big, a loosely fitting maroon-colored oxford and a tattered leather briefcase-bag slung across his chest, bumping gently against his thigh as he strides by with his thermos always in hand -- tea, of course; he scoffs at coffee.
The first thing Geoff gave me -- before any formal "Hellooo," any handshake or any answers to questions yet unasked -- was a hug. "Much appreciated, Geoff, but why only one pat?" I asked. "You'll get more once I get to like you better," he responded. "You know hugs are one of the few things that are free to everyone. And who on a college campus doesn't love free sh-t?"
He spits the truth. No, literally. As he said the word "doesn't," a tiny droplet of spittle, glimmering in the sun, arched gracefully through the air, its trajectory predicting a safe landing on my right eyelid. I was hit -- hard. I tried to act as if nothing happened, but Geoff noticed my act and apologized without embarrassment, showing a measured display of poise.
Feeling as though we could now interact on a more intimate plane, I dove into some questions. "Why English?" (Besides the fact that he fits the part better than an Elizabeth in a Victorian-era romance novel. Bahaha!)
"It's my therapy," he said, never undermining what he claims to be the link between melancholy and genius.
But it's not just his recently conquered depression (another English-teacher-in-the-making characteristic) that contributes to his genius. It has nothing to do with his DNA, his IQ, nature or nurture ... it's napping. Napping is key. Napping is vital. Napping on Wednesdays, in particular. That's his easy day, when his nap neatly partitions the day with two classes on either side of dreamland, like book-ends. "I love Wednesdays," he exclaimed, "because of naps and the word of the week." He thought last week's word was the best in a few weeks: "Arcanum -- a secret; a mystery." How fitting for my enigmatic new friend!
When awake and out of class, Geoff loves to spend his free time watching the cooking channel but never attempts what he sees. He has a goldfish, his third this month, and he's determined to make it through the week with this one. He hates math but carries a mini-calculator with him everywhere he goes. "Better safe than sorry" he said. "You never know when you may need to know the product of 27 and 32. It could be a life or death situation. And if it ever is, I'll be ready." I told him that he might be on to something. Selling mathematics in such a badass light could probably increase standardized math scores across the states.
But how might I sum you up, Geoff? I could "Thoreau" some quote in here to make it seem like you're a live-by-one-particular-phrase type of guy -- but I won't, because one thing, among the many things Geoff has to teach, is that you don't reduce yourself to English grad student stereotypes or let your swagger wholly define your character.
In spite of yourself, Geoff, you smile at the days approaching, greeting each one with a peculiar welcome -- a hug, of sorts -- inviting them to share with you your life, every quirk and every malapropism, just as I share you now. And with that, I think we can all learn a little something from you. I think we can, despite occasionally ragging on your psuedo-intellectualism, embrace our contradictions of character, lay our heads down for an energizing nap and remember, always, that every person we encounter is a potential freebee hug. And who on a college campus doesn't love free sh-t?
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