It was the spring of my freshman year when I had Abnormal Psychology every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. The subject matter thrilled me, even when I engulfed the information too deeply and diagnosed myself with each disease we covered. I worried about being histrionic one week, schizophrenic the next. Even when we studied narcissism, I thought, "Finally, this is something I know I don't have," followed by, "Wait, isn't that what a narcissist would think?"

What brought the already amazing course to another level for me was the professor, Dr. Vinson. Soon after I'd sit down, Dr. Vinson would walk in. She had a closet full of the same black top she wore to every class. Her spunk and peppiness would draw you in even during the most boring lectures. She was genuinely cheery, she was very personable, and she was fair. After the final, I thanked her for teaching the course and told her I would see her in the fall. Midway through the semester I had decided to take another class with Dr. Vinson, and after scrolling through the course schedule, settled on Psychology of the Personality: a class where both the subject matter and the professor would fascinate me.

I never saw Dr. Vinson again. I walked into that same classroom in the fall, expecting her to walk through with her smile and black top. Instead, a plump, balding thirty-year-old man plodded through the door. As I can recall, here's how he explained his presence:

"No, as some of you can tell, I am not Dr. Vinson, and if you knew I was teaching this class, you probably wouldn't have signed up for it. For some reason I have a reputation for being too hard, but I'm trying to change that. It'll be tough, so hopefully you're the last class that will have to suffer."

Scared, nervous, disappointed... no, that's not how I felt. Betrayal, anger, amusement... that's closer to the truth. After reviewing the syllabus of ridiculous demands and uninspired learning methods, I daydreamed about racing back to my dorm room and dropping the class. I did exactly that ten minutes later and replaced Psychology of the Personality with Advanced Principles of Criminal Justice, a class I ultimately loved.

Today began the spring semester of my junior year, possibly my next-to-last semester of college. I walked into my first class with similar expectations as when I walked through the Psychology building a year and a half earlier. Last semester I completed Research Methods in Criminology with Dr. Brank. In a few months she inspired and helped me more than any professor yet. I needed her as a professor again, to teach me, to motivate me, to excite me. Three months ago when I studied the spring course schedule, I saw my destiny in between the gibberish of section numbers and meeting places: Psychology and Law, Dr. Brank. A course covering my two favorite subjects, diving into my future profession, being taught by my favorite professor.

Dr. Brank stands at her podium early, about fifteen minutes before class starts, so I expected her to be right by the door as I opened it. The seats were growing crowded with students, but no teacher was in sight. Soon after I took my seat and unpacked my bag of a notebook and black pen, a young, large, plain woman walked through the door. I recognized the lady as a TA in one of my classes from sophomore year. I remembered how rude she was, how apathetic she acted whether discussing criminology or listening to a problem I had with an assignment. I remembered how after months of frustration, I concluded that she would never amount to professor who could inspire me. And here she stood, in front of the class, holding syllabi, only she, with no Dr. Brank in sight. Here I felt stood my omen to a terrible semester: the class and professor I most yearned to have would be replaced by a tepid version of the course taught by a dull professor.

To my delight, I had damned myself prematurely. My former TA explained that she was the TA for this class. As for our professor, Dr. Brank was sitting in a courtroom, called for jury duty, but assured she would return by next week. As for the syllabus, when scanning the area of topics, I almost got physically aroused by the phrase, "Defendant Competence: insanity defense, diminished capacity."

My excitement and enthusiasm carried throughout the first day of classes, as I found potential for fun and benefit in each course. Of course, the potential also exists for sleepless nights of paper writing and library research, but hey, I'm all for the fun and benefit part.