While I’m at it — reminiscing about my undergraduate days — I’ll mention one more related memory that recently resurfaced.
When I was a freshman at Williams, my dorm-mate Grant and I used to interpret each other’s dreams. We didn’t have any real basis for doing this; it was just for personal amusement. (Grant was pre-med, but was hoping at the time to go into surgery, not psychiatry.)
I don’t remember my analyses of Grant’s dreams, but I do remember Grant’s interpretations of mine. This is easy, because there was really just one interpretation, which he applied uniformly and confidently to each and every dream: I was exhibiting a lack of self-confidence.
As I recall, this interpretation really took hold in response to the Peter Rabbit dream. I was hanging out in some waiting room, ready to try out for the role of Peter Rabbit in some theater production, as were a bunch of other people. The thing was, all of the others waiting to audition were little kids. That was about the extent of the dream — me hopping around amidst these kids, looking over the script and nervously awaiting my turn.
When Grant delivered his predictable diagnosis — this was another obvious manifestation of low self-confidence — it sounded to my rabbit ears like criticism. Apparently I needed to stop selling myself short and audition for the ADULT play, or something like that. But maybe he was trying to say: you don’t have tons of self-confidence yet, and that’s OK. Or maybe he was projecting some of his own insecurities; maybe he was the rabbit.
Whatever Grant’s intent, his interpretation was plausible. As an 18-year-old, I didn’t really know what my strengths were, what I stood for, what people liked about me.
Thirty-plus years later, I finally have a clearer sense of what I bring to the proverbial table.
This past spring, once I knew that I’d be returning to Williams for the celebration of my old running coach, I suggested to my faculty contacts in the biology and chemistry departments that they host me for a seminar that Friday. This was a bold move, coming from a community college instructor with no research lab to speak of, whose visit would overlap with that of a higher-profile biologist — but I knew what I was doing. With the help of Prof. Thuronyi, I convened a small group and explained my Test Question Template (TQT) framework. I confirmed that, even at an elite school like Williams, many biology and chemistry students struggle to generalize from specific examples to broader problem-solving patterns, many faculty struggle to help them with this, and my TQT approach offers them all a potential path forward. It’s a novel contribution of intellectual interest and practical value, and that’s no dream.