My professor is the archetype.

I’m sure you know the sort – engaging, enthusiastic, knowledgeable about virtually everything, full of stories and anecdotes, personable and yet professional. He appears in every movie that portrays education professionals in a positive light. Indiana Jones, John Keating, and (laugh at me if you must) Rupert Giles. Simultaneously intellectual and completely badass, a combination that is becoming ever scarcer both in fiction and in reality.

Doctor C is the Professor of cinema, that rare specimen who has actually done years of what he teaches and has the experience to criticise the conventions of his own bailiwick. He has the demeanour, the enthusiasm, the knowledge, the stories… All he lacks is the requisite tweed, which I suspect is solely the fault of the local climate.

I’ve taken statistics and action research under him this semester, both subjects in which I admittedly held limited interest until Doctor C exploded in a sforzando of linear regression analysis and research cycles, crushing any possibility of apathy. He has been extraordinary, a confluence of intellect and charisma and aggressive pedagogical passion. There need to be more like him in higher education.

I have no reason to suppose that Doctor C reads this blog, and no reason to suppose that anyone who does read it will ever come into contact with him, but if anyone does, I dare you to propose to him that ‘those who can’t do teach.’ Like a certain Doctor of my own invention, I suspect he’d take your head off. Politely.

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