Chapter Text
Did you know that the man who coined the word ‘Big Bang’ actually rejected the theory? Fred Hoyle held many unorthodox views, sometimes completely against the mainstream ideas of his time. Apparently he felt like “it is better to be interesting and wrong than boring and right”, while also fighting and feuding with other people in academia. He believed flu epidemics happened whenever solar winds were at a minimum. He received a Nobel Prize for Physics.
Likewise, Fritz Zwicky was the first to theorise that supernovas are stars exploding at the end of their life, and he did this even before Oppenheimer published his paper about neutron stars. He was also an absolute killjoy and referred to people he didn’t like as ‘spherical bastards’. Among his awards is the Gold Medal of the Royal Astronomical Society.
Apparently Newton was a weirdo, too. He once stared into the sun for so long he had to spend time in a dark room to recover.
What I mean to say is, academia has always had people with crazy ideas and bad social skills. Apparently, I am one of them - but I'm not going to take home any prizes for it.
Sorry, if I sound bitter, but it’s frustrating. I had so much to give, so many ideas, limitless curiosity, but apparently it’s been decided that, no, Ryland Grace, you do not fit here. You should’ve been warned by the tone of the peer review. You should’ve kept a lid on that temper of yours. And I know, I know, academic circles are traditionally full of gatekeepers. So many people get pushed out, or don’t even get their foot in the door. Women, people of colour.. and here I am – a white man undergoing a similar fate.
You’d think that means I have actually really monumentally fucked up. I must have. Why couldn’t I get this right?
These are my thoughts as I walk home. I normally ride the bus, but my body needs to move to get rid of some of the anger, because it’s just so unfair. I had potential, and so much of it, and just because-
No. Nope, that’s the same circle I’ve been going in for the last ten minutes and it’s not helping.
Time for a new solution.
Maybe I should kick something.
A whole horde of teenagers suddenly piles onto the sidewalk. (I can’t kick those, that would land me in even more trouble.) Huh. I must have been so busy foaming like a cappuccino machine that I didn’t realise I passed by a school.
Unsurprisingly, I used to love school, and seeing these kids laugh and chat and tease and run is actually not a bad reminder that not everything is awful. I watch them grab their bikes and climb into cars, notebooks being exchanged, and some very complicated handshakes. It’s nice. It pulls me out of my own angry head for a little bit.
Once the rush has passed, I start walking again, and my thoughts feel calmer. I’m reminded of something my uncle used to say sometimes. ‘Those who can: do. Those who can’t: teach.’ My uncle isn’t a very nice man, and there’s no doubt that he meant it to be an insult. And yet. My feet slow down, I glance over my shoulder.
Clearly, I can’t.
I got kicked out, my funding cut, my name tarnished so that I will never be published again. My feet turn themselves around and I start walking back towards the school. They can kick me out, and I won’t come back. But I can inspire teenagers to be curious and open-minded, I think. I can encourage girls to get into science. They may think they’ve gotten rid of me, but I can send generations of replacements who will struggle but emerge in academia. I can.
It may sound stupid and it’s definitely spiteful - but it may turn out to be genius.