After a week of this, I picked up the phone and dialed Morrie’s number. Connie brought him to the phone.
“You’re coming to visit me,” he said, less a question than a statement. Well. Could I?
“How about Tuesday?” “Tuesday would be good,” I said. “Tuesday would be fine.”
In my sophomore year, I take two more of his courses. We go beyond the classroom, meeting now and then just to talk.
I have never done this before with an adult who was not a relative,
yet I feel comfortable doing it with Morrie, and he seems comfortable making the time.
“Where shall we visit today?” he asks cheerily when I enter his office.
In the spring, we sit under a tree outside the sociology building, and in the winter, we sit by his desk,
me in my gray sweatshirts and Adidas sneakers, Morrie in Rockport shoes and corduroy pants.
Each time we talk, he listens to me ramble, then he tries to pass on some sort of life lesson.
He warns me that money is not the most important thing, contrary to the popular view on campus. He tells me I need to be “fully human.”
He speaks of the alienation of youth and the need for “connectedness” with the society around me.
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