A Model for Living

by Julie Miller

When I was a teenager I lumped the people of the world into five age groups: little kids, young adults (teens through early twenties), middle-aged (all parent types), old (all grandparent types), and ancient (great-grands and beyond). I had some pretty stereotypical beliefs about all these age groups, too. And not only did I view people of those age groups through those stereotypes, but I fully expected to fit myself right into those stereotypes as I aged.

When I hit my mid-twenties it was time for me to become a parent type. I had a baby. I stopped wearing cute, fun, sexy-chick clothes and moved on to demure matronly outfits. I was supposed to get a short, easy-to-manage hair-do. My mom and mother-in-law always said that women who wore long hair after high school just looked silly. My days were devoted to raising my children, keeping my house nice, volunteering at the school, gardening, and finding new recipes to feed my family. That's what middle-aged moms do, right? The ones who don't are just tacky. That's what my momma told me.

I assumed at the time that I'd gradually slide into the old people mode as my children aged, just like my mom and mother-in-law had done. I expected to get rounder, slower, grayer, more wrinkly, and more fuzzy around the edges until finally I was a full-fledged old person who hated young people's music, didn't understand young people's clothing, and longed for the good old days when things were simpler. That's what old people do. And if I was lucky enough to reach the level of ancient, I figured I'd just sit and nod and smile or bitch and moan, like "those people" do.

Then I hit my mid-thirties and the most wonderful thing happened. I met Professor Patty O'Malley* and all my stereotypes had to be thrown out the window. A year earlier I had screwed up every ounce of courage I could muster and enrolled in college for the second time around. I was pursuing an education certification so that I could use my chemistry background in the classroom instead of going back to the lab after 10 years out of the technological loop. For my first three quarters of classes, I had both classmates and profs who were younger than I. They did nothing to change my opinions of aging. Then came Dr. O'Malley's class. If only I had met someone like her years earlier.

Growing up, I had only matronly southern women available to me as role models. None of them shared any of my interests, so I always felt like a bit of an odd duck. I wasn't a "normal" girl. Also, unbeknownst to me at the time, my mother is a lesbian and her ideas about womanhood made it even harder for me to learn to be a "normal" girl. I never worried much then about the fact that my mother didn't try to encourage me to date or wear make-up or cute clothes. Even in retrospect, I don't regret it. I never really yearned to do most girly things, anyway.

Ironically, though she's never come out and announced it, I'm pretty sure that Dr. O'Malley is a lesbian, as well. But that really has no bearing one way or another on her place as a role model in my life. What Dr. O'Malley has that I admire and aspire to achieve myself is the ability to roll with the changes. She lives outside of all stereotypes (except maybe for a slight tendency to the Irish heritage ones). She maintains an amazingly positive attitude, invites challenges, shares her wisdom and experience with grace and gentleness, and makes every person whose life she touches better for it.

I ended up taking two courses from Dr. O'Malley during my three years of extra education. I would have taken more if I could have. Our last class together was four years ago, in the spring of 2000. It was a small class--only 7 students total. There were four women (myself, a woman in her early 40's, and two young women who were traditional undergraduates), and three young men (all traditional undergraduates). The class was "Methods," which is a stepping-stone course to student teaching. We spent about half our time in high-school classrooms, observing and doing small teaching assignments, and the other half at our college, doing group activities and discussions.

I think that both the small size of the class and Dr. O'Malley's style were factors in creating a very tight-knit group of people that quarter. We spent a lot of time sharing our frustrations and insights with each other and becoming good friends. At the end of the quarter, we all decided to go out to dinner together after the final exam period. Dr. O'Malley was enthusiastically included. All of us felt a bond with her as much as we did with each other. We've continued to stay good friends. For the first year after our last class with her, the women of the class were all still going out to dinner together every couple of months or so. We've celebrated birthdays together, met each other's families, been to each other's homes, and given each other a lot of moral support, advice, and just listening ears over the last few years. And we span four decades in age.

I remember that first time we all celebrated Dr. O'Malley's birthday together. She was turning fifty. I was so astonished that I was gaping when I found out her age. Not because she looks so incredibly young for her age (she probably could pass for mid-forties now, in her mid-fifties), but because I just never think of her as being any particular age. I told her at the time that I only hoped I could still be as in touch with the rest of the world at fifty as she is. She just seems to love life and people and learning and teaching in a way you don't find with many people. And she's never afraid to try something new.

She surprises me almost every time we talk. One night we were all out having a few beers and one of the younger girls was showing us a little tattoo she'd gotten recently. I mentioned rather hesitantly that I'd thought of getting one, too. I was hesitant only because I thought they'd laugh at me for wanting to do something so silly. Tattoos are for young people, right? Then Dr. O'Malley grinned her impish grin and pulled up the leg of her jeans to show us the shamrock she'd had tattooed on her ankle for her fortieth birthday. We all laughed with delight!

Something I almost forgot to mention is her physical disability. Probably because it doesn't seem to disable her at all. I've never heard the story behind it. Dr. O'Malley never speaks of it and I've never heard of anyone asking her about it. My assumption is that she may have been a child of thalidomide. Thalidomide was a drug given to pregnant women in the 1950s that turned out to cause some horrible birth defects in babies. They were sometimes born with deformed or missing limbs. In Dr. O'Malley's case, her right arm ends short of normal length with a very small, underdeveloped hand with tiny unfinished fingers that can't be used for grasping. I hesitate to even include it, now, but for the fact that it only adds to my admiration for her that it is such a total non-issue.

When I left the teaching profession after only a year out of the program, I felt a lot of embarrassment and shame. I felt I had failed a lot of people, including Dr. O'Malley. She always gave me so much encouragement and seemed so genuinely proud of my successes in the classroom that I thought that I wouldn't be able to hold my head up in front of her or the others from my class. The first time they all asked me to join them for dinner after I'd quit my teaching job, I almost refused to go. I'm so glad I didn't. She still makes me feel good about myself, no matter what I'm doing.

Every woman needs a woman like Patty O'Malley in her life. Someone to show her that she can do anything she sets her mind to if she's willing to try. Someone who exemplifies living life with joy and compassion. Someone who is not judgmental, rigid, or overly critical. Dr. O'Malley is not only an outstanding teacher in a culture that makes that an extremely hard thing to be, she is also a wonderful human being, mentor and friend.

*This is not her real name, but it reflects her heritage, of which she is quite proud.