Sorry to Disappoint you

One of my favorite things to overhear:

"I just took this Women's Studies class, and like, OH MY GOD, it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

One of my favorite professors said to my Feminist Theories Class that Women's Studies should be just as hard as brain surgery. "Why," she said "do we associate the ultimate in mental rigor with brain science? We always hear 'well, it can't be that hard, you know, it's not brain surgery or anything!' My brother got a degree in medicine and is a brain surgeon....and that's lovely, but it took me two years longer to get my degree in Women's Studies."

This bolstered my enthusiasm for the major because, after all, it was true that the most difficult, dense reading I'd done had been for those classes. It was in these classes that I would fear getting B's.

What I also find fascinating about the major is that what goes on in a Women's Studies classroom appears to be an utter secret to those who have never actually sat through one whole lecture. In a History class we expect that, although we may not be there to see it, they must be teaching, well, you know: History. We think the same thing about Math and Literature and Astrophysics. But never in my life have I heard such tall tales as those told by people relaying what they are SURE must go on in a Women's Studies classroom. I've heard everything from man-hating pop quizzes to pagan rituals. I think that if these folks knew the truth, they would be profoundly disappointed. Not only do we NOT sacrifice babies to the Earth Mother or sit around and talk about how we would all just be so much happier as lesbians, we actually come prepared for discussion having read some of the most brilliant yet mind-bending articles ever written. We go home at night and have stress dreams about upcoming essay tests and cry with each other in study groups when no one understands how to apply the concept of intersectionality to the "So-and-so v. So-and-so" case of 1985. We loose points for not coming to class. Our papers are rife with red markings and 3-paragraph commentary at the bottom. We walk away from our computers after having written a paper on The Politics of Breastfeeding as though we are walking away from a brain surgery we ourselves have performed.