To a great Professor

Just found out that my favorite French professor from college died. He was the one who kicked my butt and inspired me. He showed me that learning French wasn't torture -see, I'd taken it from pre-K through high school and finally stopped because it was awful, I hated it, and still couldn't ask where the bathroom was.

His lectures were legendary - he'd jump on the table, sing and dance to make a point. By the end of each class, he was dripping with sweat. He had crazy red hair and a huge smile, kind of like a French Ronald McDonald-Pee Wee Herman mix. He was all about tough love - I hated him and cursed him under my breath every time he called one me in class. And then, at my final exam, I remember him saying to me - all in French - "you corrected yourself, which is a sign you're learning the language well. Have you thought about studying in France?" and I realized he was toughening me up because he thought I was good.

So, Prof. Williamson, thanks for inspiring me. It's indirectly thanks to you that I am in France.