Educated

children.” He smiled at me as if I knew what he was talking about. And I did.
I smiled, and for a few seconds we were in agreement.
Then: “But what if you were a woman, and somehow you felt exactly as
you do now?”
Josh’s eyes fixed on the wall for a moment. He was really thinking about
it. Then he said, “I’d know something was wrong with me.”
I’d been wondering whether something was wrong with me since the
beginning of the semester, when I’d attended my first lecture on world
affairs. I’d been wondering how I could be a woman and yet be drawn to
unwomanly things.
I knew someone must have the answer so I decided to ask one of my
professors. I chose the professor of my Jewish history class, because he was
quiet and soft-spoken. Dr. Kerry was a short man with dark eyes and a
serious expression. He lectured in a thick wool jacket even in hot weather. I
knocked on his office door quietly, as if I hoped he wouldn’t answer, and
soon was sitting silently across from him. I didn’t know what my question
was, and Dr. Kerry didn’t ask. Instead he posed general questions—about my
grades, what courses I was taking. He asked why I’d chosen Jewish history,
and without thinking I blurted that I’d learned of the Holocaust only a few
semesters before and wanted to learn the rest of the story.
“You learned of the Holocaust when?” he said.
“At BYU.”
“They didn’t teach about it in your school?”
“They probably did,” I said. “Only I wasn’t there.”
“Where were you?”
I explained as best I could, that my parents didn’t believe in public
education, that they’d kept us home. When I’d finished, he laced his fingers
as if he were contemplating a difficult problem. “I think you should stretch
yourself. See what happens.”
“Stretch myself how?”
He leaned forward suddenly, as if he’d just had an idea. “Have you heard
of Cambridge?” I hadn’t. “It’s a university in England,” he said. “One of the
best in the world. I organize a study abroad program there for students. It’s
highly competitive and extremely demanding. You might not be accepted,
but if you are, it may give you some idea of your abilities.”
I walked to my apartment wondering what to make of the conversation. I’d
wanted moral advice, someone to reconcile my calling as a wife and mother