In our darkened classroom, this striking image of a boy fills the screen. It looms, oversized and mesmerizing. His doleful eyes are downcast. Angular shadows of light stripe the wall behind him. Stubs of what used to be his arms protrude from his T-shirt. Two dozen university students and I are silent as we absorb what we see. This is nine-year-old Mahmoud...
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The writing assignment for my second-year university students was an opinion piece. I instructed them to select an issue they genuinely care about so their passion for the subject would animate their work and fuel them through the research and writing. When I read their submissions, I sifted through the usual topics reflecting Gen Z university student...
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A Barbie. A bike. A Nancy Drew book. As a kid, my Christmas wish list rarely veered from the typical wants of a middle-class American grade schooler. I wanted some shiny stuff to play with, and I wanted to read about the escapades of my favorite teen detective solving yet another soft crime. I am decades away from childhood. Shiny stuff has lost its sway,...
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The small university where I teach has about 1300 students. We break Hollywood typecasting and look more like a suburban apartment complex than the stately collection of neoclassical buildings favored by filmmakers. Because of our small size, the professors here aren’t grouped by discipline and siloed into separate buildings. We are all together in two...
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I was in early adolescence when I saw Alfred Hitchcock’s 1963 film “The Birds.” Critics were mixed in their reception. I wasn’t. It terrified me. Before I watched the film, I’d thought of birds as benign and decorative. I saw them as accessories. They looked good sitting on docks, perched on phone lines. They made nice sounds. And they fly, which is one of...
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