It happened again today: I was bluffing my way through some material in my Property class about which I knew no more than what the teaching manual told me, it being the extent of my researches on the topic. On such occasions I present the subject in the pompous style in which professorial banalities are often uttered, meaning thereby to prevent student questions by elevating myself to the regions of the unquestionable. God forbid one of them should start thinking deeply about the stuff and expose the limits of my knowledge.

Then it hits: all of a sudden my voice transforms itself into a parody of my father's voice, an imitation of the voice he used when he was doing his best to assert pompous authority. How does this happen? My voice seems to have acquired a will of its own as it seeks to lower itself into the resonant ranges his had as a gift of nature. My sisters and I would often burst into giggles when our father assumed this style of dominion. The students at least won't giggle, having been beaten down by myriad professors into resigned acceptance of – nay, into slavish respect for – pompous authority. And even if I were to revert to my natural voice I wouldn't succeed in getting it back to normal. Compared with the phony version of my father's it would sound like a whine, and I would find myself correcting it into something utterly alien. Better stick with Dad's until the class ends.