For those of us who grew up with Hillman and now see a different face in the mirror, Netflix’s new generation offers something we didn’t know we needed: a chance to remember who we were—and appreciate who we became.
I used to climb the stairs of my college campus in high heels.
Today, I walk some of those same halls in tennis shoes—and I may huff and puff a little on the way up.
But here’s the beautiful part: I’m still there.
At 50, I am an adjunct professor at Texas Southern University, teaching in some of the same classrooms where I once sat as a student.
And tonight, instead of working on another project, answering another email or watching another news broadcast, I’m doing something I almost never do anymore.
I’m binge-watching an entire television series in one night.
It’s A Different World—the Netflix reboot.
I didn’t expect a television show to give me this many full-circle moments.
But here we are.
For those of us who were teenagers when the original series aired, Hillman College was more than a fictional campus.
We watched young Black people fall in love, make mistakes, protest, study, dream and figure out who they were going to become. And somewhere along the way, they taught us a few things, too.
Kim Reese reciting Nikki Giovanni reminded chocolate sisters to love the skin they were in. Dwayne crashing Whitley’s wedding and professing his love gave us one of television’s most unforgettable declarations of love. And Jaleesa, who arrived at Hillman at 26 after a failed marriage, reminded us there was no expiration date on getting an education.
I would eventually learn that lesson for myself.
I was a “nontraditional” student, giving birth to my son as a freshman and my daughter as a junior. My HBCU allowed me to raise babies while raising my expectations for myself.
Some days, that meant bringing my children to campus. Professors held my active little ones while I finished assignments—long before moments like that became heartwarming social media posts.
Today, those little people I once carried on my hip through those halls are pursuing higher education themselves. And their mother somehow ended up back in the classroom, too—this time standing at the front.
I earned a master’s degree, built a career in media and communications and eventually returned to my alma mater.
So, yes, Hillman hits a little differently now.
What I appreciate about this new A Different World is that it doesn’t try to recreate the original.
This new class has its own personalities, problems and plenty of charm—including a new campus heartthrob in Ron’s football-playing son. (Lord, to be 19 years old again with THAT one…. yesssss.)
They fall in love, make questionable decisions, challenge authority, test friendships and occasionally do things that make those of us in our “wiser” years shake our heads.
In other words, they’re college students.
But every now and then, the past walks through the door.
The students we watched grow up at Hillman have become professors, parents, politicians and university leaders.
And they look like it.
Maybe that’s what caught me off guard.
Syndication allowed us to keep them young for more than 30 years. Seeing them now offers a little grace to those of us who occasionally look in the mirror and wonder what happened to the person in those old pictures.
She grew up.
So did they.
So did I.
Somewhere along the way, I became so busy living the life I once dreamed about that I forgot what it felt like to simply enjoy it.
I work. I teach. I mother. I manage projects. I meet deadlines.
But tonight, I’m sitting here, all menopausal me, watching episode after episode and loving every minute of it.
I’m laughing at these kids. I’m rooting for them. And I’m catching the little nods meant for those of us who were there the first time.
Maybe that’s why this show feels like exactly what some of us need right now.
Not because we want to be 20 again.
The original A Different World came into our lives when some of us needed to see where we could go.
This one arrived when many of us needed to remember where we’ve been—and how far we’ve come.
We can look at the faces we remember, then at the face in our own mirror, and understand that neither was supposed to stay the same.
Maybe that’s what the best art does.
It lets us recognize ourselves—not just who we were, but who we became — complete with the laugh lines, the gray hair, the weight gain and the Botox fillers, for those of us who choose to indulge. 🙂
And, if we’re lucky, it reminds us there is still more becoming left to do.
