BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I wasn’t the most popular kid in school.

Hell, let’s be honest, I wasn’t popular at all. I was the target of bullies who were looking for someone to beat on. I was the subject of cruel pranks by popular girls who thought it would be great fun to convince me they “liked me” in that adolescent raging hormone sort of fashion, only to turn around and deride me in front of our peers, en masse, all for the purpose of a giggle at my embarrassment.

Of course, I sort of brought it on myself depending upon how you look at it. I’m not “pretty.” Just sort of average looking. However, when you take average – or even pretty – and hang a scientific calculator from its belt, then give it a pocket protector and a briefcase… Well, you’ve got “Revenge of the Nerds” happening right in front of you. Yeah… That was me. So, in effect, I painted a target on my forehead every single morning – usually around a big ol’ cyclops zit, but that’s just standard puberty for you.

So… Where am I going with this? Someplace different, actually…

You see, my daughter just started Middle School – what we used to call Junior High back about 1000 years ago. Of course, since she’s reaching that “age” there are more and more moments when my wife (E K) and I are persona non grata. Just the old ‘rents that have to be ignored, because we are so out of touch and never ever, ever were her age, so we just can’t understand. However, in between our annoying tendencies to do ‘rent stuff, such as reminding her to do her homework, withholding her allowance when she neglects her household chores, or even sternly explaining why it’s against our rules to leave a half-eaten cheese sandwich under the couch, we have our “moments.”

What I mean by that is we have a pretty great relationship with our kid, and there are those times when she actually converses with us on a one to one level, without disdain, eye-rolling, or “you-just-don’t-understand sighs” punctuating every sentence fragment.

And so, I had one of those moments just the other day. Our brilliant child (seriously – she’s in the gifted program, but I’ll refrain from bragging. For now…) Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah… Our brilliant child was babbling incessantly to me as we headed to the store. Having just started Middle School, everything is new and different. Fun and exciting. A brave new world, so to speak… She paused for a moment and then said, “What was your favorite part of school, Dad?”

Well, as I started out with this blog, you can probably tell that school was sort of a self-contained hell for me. However, like our daughter, it too had its moments. I really enjoyed learning new stuff. I still do. That’s part of the allure of school, even though academia, in and of itself, is not my thing. They didn’t have a Gifted program when I was “in the system.” The best they could do was try skipping me grades which was a social nightmare and was nixed by my parents. So, that led to me being an underachiever for part of my primary education. Fortunately, that only lasted a couple of years, because I discovered extracurricular activities that were actual learning venues tied into classes – The school radio station, the newspaper, the yearbook, the school literary magazine, and even Drama Club… All of these provided me with a creative outlet as well as an advanced learning opportunity. I loved all of them. They literally kept me from pissing away my High School years, even with all of the bullying. Of course, there are certain teachers who were directly responsible as well – I’ve mentioned them here before – Martha Ackmann, Martha Osthoff, Mary Martin, Edward Ross, and others…

It was also during this time that I began honing my sarcastic sense of humor, primarily as a defense mechanism against the bullies, some of whom were even members of the extracurricular clubs that were keeping me interested in school. I was bound and determined that these bullies would not take THOSE away from me too.

But, I need to avoid being maudlin here… That’s not really what this is about. It’s about my kid asking me what my favorite part of school was. It didn’t take much thought for me to answer. I proceeded to “wax poetical” for several minutes about how wonderful the Radio Station, Yearbook, Lit Mag, Newspaper, and Drama Club were. How I looked forward to them, and how they tied into classes, and how I still hold truly fond memories of them today.

After my verbose, detailed, and flowery soliloquy, I paused.  Glancing over at the O-spring for a brief second, I asked, “So, what’s your favorite part?”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “I like the lockers.”

Sometimes it’s the simple things… And, I guess when you get right down to brass tacks, it’s all just a matter of perspective…

More to come…

Murv

I went to college.

More than one of them, actually. I have all sorts of college credits racked up in different areas of study. Odds are many of them have expired, much like a gallon of milk from 1991, but I’m sure there are a few that still haven’t reached their “use or freeze by” date. However, one of the things I don’t have to show for all of that studying is a piece of paper. Well… I have all manner of pieces of paper, to be honest. What I’m talking about is the proverbial “sheepskin.” That piece of faux parchment, vellum, what-have-you, that officially attaches a pair (or more) of letters from the alphabet as a suffix to my name.

So, nope. I don’t have an AA. Never even been to a meeting. I have, however, ridden on their airplanes more times than I care to count.

And, I also don’t have a BA, Baracus or otherwise. I do, however, “piddy da foo” who thinks s/he is better than me just because they have a couple of letters that allow them to wear gaudy jewelry.

Nor do I have a BS, even though I’m pretty damn good at spouting it when I need to do so. All you have to do is check my blog for evidence of that fact. Truth is, I should have a PhD in BS. An official Piled high and Deep in BullSh*t. Yep. That sounds like the perfect degree for me, but alas, I have neither.

I also don’t have a MA. I had one, but she passed away back in 1987. That’s a whole different story. And nope, no MS either… Well, actually that’s not quite true. E K doesn’t do the Mrs. thing, so I guess I sort of have a Ms. Although, one doesn’t really have The E K. She has you. It’s sort of a control thing with her.

So… Why didn’t I ever bother to get myself a set of letters to append to my name? Or, if the college recruiter who was courting me so hard back in nineteen-cough-cough had been given her way, a D and an R to put in front of my name – in the form of an MD sort of Dr.

Well, in her case it’s because I don’t particularly care for sick people, but that’s another story entirely.

In the case of any of the other paired up, tripled up, or screwed up selections from the alphabet, it’s simple. I became fed up with academia. Why? Because I figured it out too soon. What did I figure out? That’s simple too. I figured out that sticking a mess of letters behind my name wouldn’t make me happy. They wouldn’t accomplish much of anything, really, other than wave a flag to the world that was meant to say, “I know a whole bunch of sh*t because all of these other people say I do.” Besides, all I’ve ever really wanted to do is write books, and that’s what I do. If I was writing a textbook about Quantum Physics I could maybe understand the need for a PhD (although, as I said, all it does is denote that someone else thinks I know what I’m talking about – right up until they disagree with me.) Truth is, I really don’t see where a degree would convince people to buy fiction—

“Hey, Joe. Have you read those fictional suspense-thrillers by M. R. Sellars? He has a PhD in Basket Weaving.”

“Well damn, Fred… A PhD? I’m going to rush out and buy the whole series!”

Yeah… I just don’t see it.

Now, I’m certainly not diminishing the accomplishment of those who seek those letters. I’m just saying I wasn’t cut out for committing a mess of silliness to memory so that a bunch of folks who really don’t give a rat’s ass about anything other than the size of their office, or where the next grant is coming from can certify that I know it. Truth is some of my best friends are packing around AAs, BAs, BSs, and MAs. My niece is sporting a PhD. Am I proud of their accomplishments? Hell yes. Do I feel like I need to spend 250K (minimum) to get myself some Alphabet Bling for my name?  Not so much.

There’s also the issue of what to do with all that memorization once I, well, you know, memorize it. Teach? Why? So that I can tell a bunch of other folks that they know what I know? Doesn’t really seem like true critical thinking to me. (Don’t take that the wrong way. I also have many friends and relatives who are teachers and I think they are great. If that is what they love doing, I support them and I also think they are NOT paid enough. So, I have nothing against teachers. I just think that I am better suited to entertain.)

So… Why am I writing about college? Well, that’s simple too. My daughter is friggin’ brilliant. Ever since Kindergarten she’s been in the gifted and talented program at her school, and she has also qualified for, and been attending, College for Kids classes during the Summer and Winter sessions. Learning stuff. Quenching her thirst for knowledge, and racking up points toward admission into college when she reaches that age. At this very moment I am sitting in a study area of the science building of one of the local Community Colleges while she is attending her full day of classes. Yep, I’m writing this blog from Kahllidge. (Obviously just a bit in advance of its early morning deployment. Gotta love scheduling on WordPress.)

However, I don’t guess that fully explains why I’m writing about it, now does it?

Well, I can sum it up this way. Earlier I ran into a gaggle of the students – this batch was actually younger than my daughter. There they were, wandering the halls of academia on their way to their next class, complete with Garanimals, Spiderman backpacks, and serious expressions plastered onto their little faces. The kind of serious expressions that made them look painfully constipated.

All in all, they sorta reminded me of me way back when I was in college…

More to come…

Murv