I know my stories are tiresome, but sometimes I can't help myself. It's part of my nature.
So thinking about that professor reminded me of a story about him that my mother liked to tell. The professor in question was a German Jew, who escaped Germany just ahead of the Nazis.
So anyway, when he had scheduled tests, they'd do a review of the subject matter on Friday, and then, at the end of class, he'd say, "Go home. Go see the football game. Go have fun. Do not study for this exam!" He was insistent about it."
Somewhat out of character for a teacher, no? Somebody finally worked up the nerve to ask about it. In answer, the professor started naming people, dozens of names nobody had heard. He said, "These are my friends, men I went to university with. They were brilliant men, the pride of our university. They all worked so hard, studied so hard, all wanting to be the best. They're all dead. I'm the only one that survived. All that effort and study was for nothing, because none of them escaped the Nazis. You're young, you're alive, go enjoy it while you can."
I'm not sure I agree, but that story always touched me.