Hospitality

In my mid 20's I had the privilege of hearing Jacques Derrida lecture at UC Irvine for an entire evening.  In these later years, he was enchanting to say the least, as he had me thinking deeply about the origins of the word hospitality, but in the best way, like a story.  His seamless logic was seasoned with tender emotion as we explored the word from its deepest known roots to all of its modern applications.  I was not the only one entranced; the giant room was overpacked.  I imagine that if he had discipline problems he'd have chuckled them off with a stunning quip sure to instantly put any aggressor into his or her place.  He was that good.  He rarely wrote on the chalkboard, but when he did it gave me an ethereal chill. Sitting on that hard linoleum step in that awfully florescent and drab beige forum of a classroom for four hours, my stomach roared, and callouses began to develop on my busy and led-stained first fingers, while classmates yawned and fidgeted.  It was time to leave with my bus.  I really wanted to stay.   All classrooms should feel so hospitable.  But then, he would probably say this would rouse suspicion.  You know; because authentic hospitality is impossible.  Or is it?