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阅读理解
I don't ever want to talk about being a woman scientist again.There was a time in my life when people asked constantly for stories about what it's like to work in a field dominated by men.I was never very good at telling those stories because truthfully I never found them interesting.What I do find interesting is the origin of the universe, the shape of space-time and the nature of black holes.
At 19, when I began studying astrophysics(天体物理学), it did not bother me in the least to be the only woman in the classroom.But while earning my Ph.D.at MIT and then as 3 post-doctor doing space research, the issue started to bother me.My every achievement-jobs, research papers, awards-was viewed through the lens of gender(性别)politics.So were my failures.Sometimes, when I was pushed into an argument on left brain versus(相对于)right brain, or nature versus nurture(培育), I would instantly fight fiercely on my behalf and all womankind.
Then one day a few years ago, out of my mouth came a sentence that would eventually become my reply to any and all provocations:I don't talk about that anymore.It took me 10 years to get back the confidence I had at 19 and to realize that I didn't want to deal with gender issues.Why should curing sexism be yet another terrible burden on every female scientist? After all, I don't study sociology or political theory.
Today I research and teach at Barnard, a women's college in New York City.Recently, someone asked me how many of the 45 students in my class were women.You cannot imagine my satisfaction at being able to answer:45.I know some of my students worry how they will manage their scientific research and a desire for children.And I don't dismiss those concerns.Still, I don't tell them "war" stories.Instead, I have given them this:the visual of their physics professor heavily pregnant doing physics experiments.And in turn they have given me the image of 45 women driven by a love of science.And that's a sight worth talking about.
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