An open letter to my cattle judging professor:
I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. You sent out a post-class email hoping we had fun today. You asked me during class if I was having fun. You try to be engaging and energizing. It’s not your fault.
During introductions on the first day you asked for our judging experience. “I ranked nationally,” said one girl. “I’ve been judging since I was 10,” said another. Countless more were in FFA or 4H showing and judging animals. It’s not your fault I never saw a cow in real life until I was 17.
You called on me in class because I hadn’t spoken up yet. “I like her udder,” I said, trying as hard as I could to think critically. You glanced at the cow, back at me, back at the cow. “Are you sure?” You didn’t know it, but that hurt. I went home and reviewed my notes and cried. It’s not your fault I don’t know what a good udder should look like. It’s not your fault I can barely tell a guernsey from an aryshire.
“Are you having fun?” You asked, so young, so hopeful. “Yeah,” i responded, knowing how to lie. What I didn’t say speaks volumes. I can’t have fun because I am so far behind my peers I will never catch up. I can’t have fun because there’s too much stimulus and I’m overwhelmed. It’s not your fault I’m from a city and chose a major I have no experience in.
I will not end up on your judging team. I will not end up knowing more. You can take your judges and go to the national dairy expo and I’ll take my C and go to my dorm room. It’s not your fault.
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