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A comfortable perch Learning and bonding across generations

– Vincent Cleary

mosaic by Cynthia Fisher, bigbangmosaics.com "BIRDS OF A FEATHER FLOCK together." As I sat in on my first class of Biology 544: Ornithology, expertly taught by Bruce Byers several spring terms ago, following my retirement from the classics department in 1997, my mother’s childhood admonition kept recurring to me, but with a different emphasis from the one she had in mind. My mom, of course, meant to encourage me to choose my friends wisely as I grew up, some of whom I surmise she didn’t completely favor those many years ago. When I looked around 203 Morrill III, I realized that I stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. As we awaited the arrival of the instructor, here was I, a gray-haired, 65-plus retiree, sitting in a class of bright 20-somethings, a wizened crow among fledglings. A number of questions came to mind: Would I, two generations removed from most of these students, in their parlance, a member of the “geezer” generation, be accepted as a bona fide member of the class? Would I, as I hoped, be able to make a contribution to the course based on my longer life experience? Or would I be listened to politely but relegated to the position of “over the hill,” “not to be taken seriously,” one who had little of value to contribute? One thing for sure, I loved birds and had been observing them for more than 50 years, so I was hopeful on that score. Perhaps I knew a thing or two that these energetic undergrads and grad students didn’t, and I would share this knowledge with them. Still, in this first class I was more apprehensive than confident. I was taking the course as an auditor – I could have taken it for credit – because of the university’s generous policy, allowing those 60 years or older, seniors like myself, to enroll in undergraduate or graduate courses, tuition-free, as long as the course is not overenrolled. This perk is also extended to seniors in other Massachusetts state schools, quite a benefit, in my view. My fears proved totally unfounded. As the class progressed, I was treated by professor, TA and students alike as a valued member of the class. My ideas were taken seriously, my questions unfailingly treated with respect. I never felt patronized or tolerated, and within a few short weeks I was on a first-name basis with a number of students. There were even times when I felt the wise old owl among those about to test their wings. One of these times occurred when we were tracking the spring migration through the Pioneer Valley, an important part of our fieldwork. To post the first sighting of a species on the Morrill sign-up sheet gave the birder special status. One morning I spotted four wood ducks on the Connecticut, beautiful, exotic birds. I raced to school and was in the act of penciling this in when I noticed, dated two days earlier, the inscription, “Six wood ducks, Connecticut River.” My enthusiasm now considerably dampened, I had to settle later for the much more prosaic, “Flock of robins, South Amherst.” When I shared this story with my lab mates, it was met with knowing sighs. Some of them had had a similar experience. The second moment of acceptance happened on the field trip to the Bronx Zoo in late April. There we were treated to a tour of their remarkable collection – birds from around the world living in an environment as close to natural as human ingenuity can devise – by the zoo’s world-class curator, Don Bruning, a friend of our professor. Later, while wondering where I would eat the brown-bag lunch we had been advised to bring, two students approached whom I had befriended in class and lab sessions. Using my first name instead of the usual “Sir,” they asked me to join them. We three spent the rest of the afternoon together, touring the zoo and enjoying the balmy spring day. The peacocks observed roaming the grounds could not have felt prouder than I did by the students’ invitation. Our mutual interest in birds proved stronger than any difference in age. I had become, overcoming all my initial fears, a full-fledged member of the flock. –

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A comfortable perch

Perch: Larger image