Earning extra credit.

Professor Swanson took a moment to walk around his desk and took a seat in the swivel chair.

“Jasara, what do you know about Black History so far?” he asked.

“Not much really,” I answered honestly.

I had spent too much time with my pledge sisters partying and not enough time on studying. I was up to date on the other first-year subjects that I was interested in but had ignored Black History so far thinking I could skate by with a passing average. I’d freaked out when I learnt the conditions on my scholarship specified I must pass all my units and not just average a pass.

“That much is obvious,” my professor remarked harshly but fairly. “Think smaller Jasara. What about the Black History of this city?”

I’d shrugged at that point. I didn’t know anything about the Black community of this city.

Getting to his point, Professor Swanson opened the desk drawer beside him and took about a pamphlet. He placed it on the desk in front of me. It was for an urban soup kitchen operating in the ghetto area downtown. I’d never set foot in that area and had no intention of doing so.

“The soup kitchen was set up by my top student last year. A fine African gentleman by the name of Baas. For extra credit, I want you to visit this soup kitchen. Meet with Baas, talk to him and help out. Come Monday morning I want 1200 words on the struggles affecting the Black Community of this city. 8 am, before the first class. No later.”

I nodded my head and picked up the pamphlet and opened it. With a sinking feeling I read that the kitchen operated on Friday nights only. My sorority had its biggest social of the semester and I didn’t want to miss it. “Can I do it another weekend please Professor Swanson? I have a thing on Friday and I…” I tried asking.

“Of course. Go some other time,” The Professor had said, “and enjoy telling your parents why they have to pay the $40,000 tuition your scholarship covered.”

I’d been left speechless by that point. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I’d always been given special treatment because of my good looks.

“That is all Jasara. You can go now.”

I’d been dismissed.