The summer before my freshman year, I worried about what I was going to do in college. There was so much pressure to grow, to get involved, to build that résumé. One day, I received a copy of The Michigan Daily in the mail. And I thought: Why not?
The year was 1960, and tearing through the farmland on his motorcycle was my grandfather Helmut Krenz, age 20. A few hours later, he would be jailed in a cold East German prison cell, imprisoned because he tried to escape his authoritarian government.
In a fit of extreme agitation the night before our first class, I haphazardly threw together another three lesson plans. Anxiety meant that sleep was improbable and creating increasingly incoherent worksheets honestly seemed like the best option.