First Lecture

The Doctor was standing at the front of a small room, numerous books cradled in his arms, staring at the empty seats with wide, haunted eyes. On the chalkboard behind him, someone had already scribbled his name, Doctor, and the name of this lecture, which apparently was 'Elementary Writing Principles'. New teachers always did get the most boring classes, didn't they?

A few students shuffled suddenly into the room, and the Doctor practically dropped his books on the table below him with a resounding thud. The students glanced at him curiously as they took their seats, their bookbags old and worn beside them. Right. Early 1930s. Depression in America. World War Two building everywhere else. Not an easy time for anybody.

The Doctor cleared his throat as the class settled, now twenty people strong. His eye scanned the room and took inventory. All male. All white. All wearing the same stuffy uniform. The Doctor gritted his teeth. Why hadn't he gone a little further into the future? To a time when humans were a little more tolerant and a little more tolerable?

It was at this point the Doctor realized they were all waiting for him to say something. He was now a minute over the official start of class. "Good morning, everybody."

In unison, the class responded, "Good morning, professor."

The Doctor was taken aback for a moment at the drone, slightly creepy murmur they had just addressed him with, but blinked himself back into focus. "So, today, w-we'll be talking about, ugh…"

He flipped through the books on his desk, some about physics and some about botany, and finally found one that resembled a writing textbook. "Writing. Elementary Principles of Writing; right."

A boy in the front row slowly raised his hand, staring at the chalkboard. The Doctor gestured for him to speak. "Um, professor, I'm sorry; what's your name? It's just, it only says 'Doctor'."

The Doctor nodded. "Just Doctor is fine."

The boy's hand faltered, slowly lowering to his desk again. His brow creased in confusion. "Just...just Doctor?"

The Doctor looked around the room awkwardly, noting that half the class was staring at him with empty eyes and the other half was fiddling with their pencils and fingernails. It was all he could do not to run out the door and fly far, far away. Maybe the weather was nice on Mars at this time of year. Probably a bit nippy, but…

"Alright!" The Doctor clapped his hands together and the class jolted in their seats, most of them straightening upright in their chairs, reawoken from a daze. "Writing is one of the most important things you'll ever learn, so I suppose you'd all better pay attention. This class might just save your life one day. Or help you save someone else's life."

He turned a few pages in the writing textbook and then slammed it shut, instead walking in front of the desk and leaning on the front, holding onto the wood with both hands beside him to ground himself. "How many of you have ever read something that really stuck with you?"

Two or three students reluctantly raised their hands. The Doctor pointed at the boy furthest to the back. "What was it?"

The student turned to his friends for help, then cleared his throat and started, "Well, it was an article. About the Hoovervilles in America. And how, well, a lot of people say that the government isn't helping much with the depression."

The boy beside him nudged his arm roughly, and he shrunk into his seat. Softly, the boy murmured, "That's just what the article said, I mean."

The Doctor responded immediately, "No, that's good. That's good. Articles like that are supposed to make you feel something. Did you agree with what it said?"

The boy's eyes went wide. "I...don't know. Maybe some of it, yes."

The Doctor smiled, trying to make eye contact with the boy but he was staring at his fingers. "It's alright to have an opinion. And it's alright if your feelings are mixed. That's best, actually. If you can see all sides of the story, that will make you more compassionate and more aware of the world around you."

A student on the far left side of the room raised his hand, more confident than the young boy earlier. "Is it always best to agree with both sides?"

Images of wars and arguments and Daleks and soldiers whizzed through the Doctor's head. "No. Not always."

The boy lowered his hand and asked, "How do you know if you should pick a side or not?"

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling, mind racing for a good answer. An unwitting smile danced across his face, and finally he felt himself really getting into this whole 'teaching' thing.

"Sometimes there are arguments or debates that have a lot of sides, and all of them have good, arguable points. But sometimes there are things that can't be debated. People might try and influence you with sensational words or pictures, but they don't have any real, supportable claim. Or their claim is so unsupportable that it even breeches basic morality or common sense."

The Doctor pushed off the desk and put his hands in his pockets, gazing around the room. The class was watching him now, alert and attentive; not one student folding a paper airplane.

"Over the next few years, I think you'll all be faced with a lot of conflicting arguments and you'll start to wonder what the truth really is, or if it matters or not. Everyone's alibi will have a degree of imagination or emotion rather than rationality. But you have to look for the truth regardless. You have to accept that most problems don't have an obvious solution, and issues are almost never the fault of one person or one group. The world is wide and people can convince you of a lot of bad, untrue things. Let your conscience be your guide."

The Doctor gritted his teeth as he racked his mind for Dumbo's release date, seven or eight years in the future. Quickly, though, he let this thought go as he looked around the room and found students scribbling notes and eyeing him with awe. As he turned back to the textbook and tried and get back onto the topic of writing, or whatever it was he was supposed to be talking about, a smile came onto his face. Perhaps he could get used to this; maybe even change a life or two.