May We Be Forgiven

the table. “Apologies,” she says. “I don’t think I’m supposed to drink while I’m on this new medication.”
    “I didn’t know you were on new medication,” I say, sobering up.
    “Yeah—a whole new regimen.”
    “Do you think maybe the new medication prompted this whole thing tonight? How do you know it’s what you actually want to do and not some strange side effect?”
    “I don’t think the desire to explore a swingers’ club is listed under side effects. Like I said, I’m curious; is that a bad thing? And, honestly, I like the idea of having sex with some guy and not having to do his laundry and make his lunch and shop for his socks. …”
    “Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks.
    “Just the check,” I say, noticing that now several other “couples” from the party have come into Friendly’s, pink-cheeked and laughing too loud.

    I dress for my last class, solemnly. I wear a suit and tie; there is a seriousness of purpose, like for a funeral, I suppose. I enter with my head held high, having checked my underlying grief and sense of betrayal, carrying only an old oversized cassette recorder. “Today’s class marks the closing of a chapter of my life,” I say as I’m setting up. “In honor and memory of Richard Milhous Nixon, I am going to record my comments.” I set the recorder down on the hollow lectern, thumping it several times to get their attention. The thumping on the hollow wood is amplified, thump, thump, like the pounding of a gavel—hear ye, hear ye. I press “play” and “record” simultaneously and clear my throat. “Testing, one, two, three … testing, testing.” I hit “stop,” then “rewind.” I play back the test; the tone is as expected—classically metallic.
    “I come before you on this, our final meeting together, with the power of history foremost in my mind, the awareness that if we live only in the present, without consciousness of the past, we will have no future. Imagine, if you will, an America without Richard Nixon, a country without a past, a world in which it is truly every man for himself and there is no building of trusts, alliances between men and countries. Think of your own moment in time. Your history—your culture, your behavior—is perhaps more documented, scrutinized, than any previous generation. Your image is captured dozens if not hundreds of times per day, and the line you are expected to walk is thin and unforgiving. Consider for a moment the Internet posting that doesn’t go away—remains perpetually present, doesn’t allow for a kind of growth, progression, or forgiveness.”
    I pause for breath.
    “Today’s class marks a passage in my life: my last performance on the academic stage, a curtain call of sorts. I thought I’d take the opportunity to simply share my thoughts with you.
    “But first I am going to ask you to turn off all your electronic equipment and imagine a morning meeting in the Nixon White House—the President, his Chief of Staff, Haldeman, Haig, Henry Kissinger, and a select handful of others—and imagine each of them holding in one hand a cup of Starbucks coffee with his name and the contents annotated on the side and in the other hand brandishing some kind of electronic device on which he is e-mailing, tweeting away, texting, whatever. Would Nixon think they weren’t listening? And instead of writing his thoughts, his middle of the night musings, in ink on legal pads, would Dick Nixon break out his smartphone and tweet away or text himself volumes of digression on the devolving state of the union?
    “Think about it as you power down your devices—this is my last stand, and I want your full attention.”
    I pause for an extended moment; assorted electronic goodbyes chirp around the room. “This is the nineteenth time I have stood before you—in a place that has been a center of learning for so many years, shaping minds and lives for generations. In all of my decisions, in the materials that I presented to you, I have tried to do what is best. I felt it was my duty to make every effort to introduce you to your history and the history of this country and to make every effort to educate you as to the relevance, the value of both knowing and questioning the past. Today is in some ways a resignation. In order to teach, one must have students, eager learners. I am aware that many of you took this class to fulfill a requirement that you take a history class. I know, via scuttlebutt,