Attachments

“Good morning,” he blurted out. They responded weakly, a bit anxiously. “This is your lucky semester. You had the good sense to enroll in this class. Believe me, I am not patting myself on the back. The material in this class is just inherently interesting. It is interesting from a psychological point of view and from theoretical and conceptual points of view. And it is interesting, most likely more interesting, for some of you from a personal, relevant, practical perspective.” “Would you like to have a better romantic relationship?” Some of them nodded. “Would you like to be able to find someone more appropriate for you?” More nodding. “Would you like to be able to avoid the same sorts of not so great dating partners that you continue to choose or maybe they choose you?” Some knowing smirks. “You just think that they are choosing you.” “How about your parents? Would you like to choose better parents? Just kidding, I know you cannot do this, although I am certain that some of you wished to exchange a parent for one of your friend’s parents at least sometime in your life. Some of you have truly wonderful relationships with Mom and Dad. Some of you don’t. We will certainly speak about those folks who raised us, how they did it, and why they did what they did. You are to a significant degree a product of their efforts. However, I cannot emphasize enough that this course is not about blaming your parents or whoever raised you. No parent bashing. In fact, I would hope that by the end of the semester you are blaming them less because you understanding them more.” “In short, how you were raised, the kind of attachments you had affects all subsequent attachments and so much of your life, not just the relationships with your parents and boyfriends and girlfriends but the kind of student you are, your self esteem, anxiety, how you cope with stress, with loss, either temporary separation or death, the ultimate separation.” He leaned back in his chair and swept the room with his eyes. “Relevant enough?” he asked. “And you get three credits and we are going to have fun. I promise you.” They were alert, tuned in, and it was going to be another good semester. “Let’s stop for a moment.” He took one of the piles from the desk and asked the woman to his far right to take one copy of the syllabus and one of the surveys and pass them around. For some reason he had never understood, it always took much longer to accomplish this simple task than he thought it should take. He gave them a few minutes to scan the syllabus because he knew that they frantically searched for the words, “exam,” “presentation,” and “papers.” This gave him a chance to look them over more slowly. At least two-thirds were females and almost all were in the traditional eighteen to twenty-two age range. Not a bad looking class, he thought to himself. There were a couple of young ones who were pleasing to the eye, and he would look at them more often during each class. There were two older women, closer to his age, and one of them was rather attractive. As they continued to look over the four-page syllabus, he began walking around the room, placing an index card on each desk. The three top cards went to the three best looking women. “If you would take the index card and give me the following information.” He went to the blackboard and wrote a list of requests including name, address, email address, and phone number. “And on the back of the card would you tell me in one sentence why you are taking this class. Please be honest. If it is the only class during this period that you haven’t already taken, then just say so.” Again he scanned the room, slowly, this time focusing on their faces, not the wall above their heads. They were busy with the index cards and he could spend more time on particular ones without appearing too obvious. He enjoyed teaching, especially this course, but pretty students made going to class just a bit more interesting.