I Lived It: Somebody In My Seminar Said “If I Could Just Push Back On That Point”

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting him to build off of the build-off of the piggyback, but this caught me totally off guard.

It was a Tuesday, 2:27pm Eastern Standard Time. The sky was clear. Too clear. In Hopkins 001, the basement air buzzed with a hushed hubbub—ENG 152 was about to start. I sauntered into class, cappuccino in hand, and sat in the innermost concentric circle of seats.

That was my first mistake.

After the day’s announcements, Professor split us up into small groups to discuss Chapter 14 of Catcher in the Rye. I graciously turned my seat to the back to face my co-scholars, and we got to talking. I think it was Maxwell who first brought up Holden’s relationship to femininity. “I so see that,” I said. “It’s fascinating how the male teenage mind has grown to equate ‘femininity’ with ‘weakness’ or ‘badness,’ almost. Like, Holden, essentially, alienates and objectifies the women around him, and the femininity in himself, because he hasn’t come into contact with any positive feminine figures in his life. If that makes sense.”

“Oh, totally,” Maxwell said.

“Seconded,” Phoebe chimed in.

And with that, Professor called our attention to the front of the class. “If we could have one person from each group share out, that would be great,” she said. 

Armed with the confidence that the larger group would receive my point like Maxwell and Phoebe did, I raised my hand. Like a fool.

“Yes, Ella?” Professor said.

“A couple of us were talking about how, as a result of Holden’s problematic upbringing, the complete lack of female role models in his life has, sort of subliminally, if not consciously, led him to equate ‘femininity’ with ‘badness’ and ‘weakness,” I said.

And then it happened. Ezra Peterson ’27, who was manspreading two rows behind me, slowly raised two fingers.

“If I could just push back on that point…”

My face went red. I broke into a cold sweat. His words faded into a blur. All I could make out was, “Unfair generalization … something, something, dichotomy … younger sister … ak-shewally …” This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening.

That day, I vowed never to take a leap in class again. I would stick with the group, merely piggybacking, echoing, and nodding ’til I drop. If I had an “idea” of my “own,” I’d save that shit for office hours where no peers could disagree with me. Where I’d be safe.

How much of the reading had I done, you may ask? I’d give that a solid 60%. The other 40 had been lightly but meaningfully skimmed.