An ogre sits in the fourth row of the classroom; he’s there to learn and trying to pay attention. He appears both bemused and uncomfortable observing the flirtation rituals of his classmates. As a storybook monster, he feels self-conscious about the differences between his green skin and sharp pointy teeth and the more typical appearances that surround him. Despite his otherness, the ogre notices that those who don’t regard him strangely tend to simply ignore his existence all together. He is the lone — or one of a handful — graduate student, stuck in the middle of a primarily undergraduate classroom.

Undergraduates may not actually see us graduate students as ogres, but there are times when we simply can’t help but feel like one. Sean Herring, a master’s student in the Jackson School of International Studies, is himself such an “ogre.” He is enrolled in an undergraduate-saturated Chinese class. He has a boyish quality, despite his 30 years. On the inside, however, Herring has been out in the world beyond the university for some time and returned to attend graduate school as a fully-fledged adult. Herring describes his condition as “the Billy Madison effect,” a state of being the oldest student in a class and trying to find one’s place among the social and educational machinery that organically emerges in a classroom.

“There is a slight crisis of identity,” Herring explained. “We remember cliques and quiet dramas that filled our collegiate days. Now, when the class splinters into cliques, we don’t want to be involved, and yet, a part of us misses being included. We are torn between who we were and who we’ve become — which is often adults who care more about honing our acumen in a subject than figuring out who we are the way we did in college.”

Because graduate students are often in different places in their lives, friendships or casual conversations can be awkward with their undergraduate peers. When we are having a group discussion and mention our child or spouse or mortgage or simply our different approach to poverty, we feel our skin glowing greener. We realize that our lives appear alien to the people in the desks next to ours. A particularly uncomfortable aspect of this is when our desire to find a study partner is misunderstood as a means to prey upon younger classmates.

“It’s always strange when you approach someone on a group project or with a question and they mention immediately that they have a boyfriend,” Herring said. “You feel like the creepy old guy they see instead of the friendly person you were trying to be.”

In addition to how we are perceived by others, graduate students also struggle with the ogres inside ourselves when sitting in a class or section led by a teaching assistant.

“Once you have taught students, graded papers and planned lessons, you become acutely aware of the differences between you and your TA’s style,” Herring noted. “It’s hard not to be critical, even if your TA is terrific, simply because they aren’t you.”

There is no way to avoid the awkwardness of the situation. Our solution is to gather with fellow ogres in bars and recount our awkward moments to one another and laugh in support of our common humiliations, accomplishments and frustrations. Despite being ogres, we are not the last of our kind; we are comforted by being part of an ogre family.

Reach columnist Elizabeth Brady at lifestyles@dailyuw.com.