A Fine Line

Hey, here’s to the nerds. They’re finally graduating and I know glad to be done with the whole high school thing. They aren’t actors or dancers, don’t like combining music with marching, don’t like their look in a Speedo, don’t go out for sports and certainly won’t participate in a car wash. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t either. But now they, as well as the populars, are preparing to take that next step in life and I’d bet they’re much better prepared. The world just doesn’t care that you were cool in high school. Before they go, however, they must feel the discomfort of one last high school pressure. Graduation day. Now, tossing a cap in the air just doesn’t cut it. It’s a wedding, and the venders' tables are firmly in place. We get sucked into it and the graduation industry is banking on the hope that even the nerds will fold, the way congress might fold on a spending bill, for example. They bank on the fact that kids’ parents will take over the event and do what other people expect. All they'll have to do is mind their heads so they don’t get hit with a wad of hundred dollar bills.

The ceremony itself is just the way people like it, unchanged since the 40s. Graduation photos need to be taken so friends will have pictures of friends they won't care about anymore in about five months, and one photo shot is not enough. There have to be about eight different poses including those with a friend, pet, musical instrument , nose plugs or national honor society pin. These have to be, framed, bound, gilded and packed up for delivery to a spot on the piano that no one plays anymore since you dropped lessons in 7th grade. A big dinner has to happen before graduation so kids can pretend they are adults, not quite understanding yet that adults don’t usually dress like that or drive around in a white limo with a driver named Tony. Then you’re expected to party after the graduation, stay up late and then awaken the next day to call one another and find out how drunk someone else got and how funny it was when they fell out of the car. The robes and caps are returned, shoes thrown in the back of the closet where they’ll remain for about another decade, and you’ll be a bottom feeder again by noon.

Then there are the nerds, who have gone through school with a couple good friends who really accepted them as they were, done their own work, taken their own tests and although they may not have been accepted at Madison, will figure out how to get there another way if they want it. They watched the cool kids at lunchtime, sitting together in a tight knot that will someday unravel as they become the real people they are.

The nerds are the interesting ones; you can’t predict what will come of them because they’ve gone so long unnoticed. They’re the ones to watch. They’re the creative thinkers and entrepreneurs who lead through example. They put their money where their mouths are. They keep their egos in check and noses to the grindstone. I wish I could go back and more willingly appreciate the nerds of my own youth. While I can’t do that, I can give today’s new crop of nerds a big old Dale Carnegie slap on the back and assure them the rest of the country is glad they’re ready to join in the ranks of the working.

So here’s to the nerds who will probably be the ones to get us out of the huge mess we’ve made of the world, and take no sweeping bow when they do.

There are some tricks adults use in their speaking styles that would benefit kids if they got really good at it. This sort of self-Socratic questionanswer is one that is not only clever, but strategic. It’s a way to take the power of the question away from the questioner.

Does it bother me to lose the zing of the gottcha question? No. Is it some sort of power trip I’m on that makes me detest this style of speech? No. Is conversation controlled by the person who uses that trick on you? Of course.

Now listen kids, anticipate the question you think you’re going to be asked. Ask it of yourself and then answer yes or no. Ask another one or two so as to break down the interviewer or parent. For example: You don’t do your homework. When you are approached by your mother you look her in the eye, lean forward a bit, maybe even open both palms to sky when you grill, “Do I like feeling irresponsible and immature? No. Do I plan to forget to do my homework so I can stay in at recess and do it? No. But am I gonna do it before the end of the year? Of course!”

Here’s the haikuian formula.
Ask a question, then say yes or no depending on what you know they want to hear.
Ask another question, then say yes or no again.
Ask a third question, but add the word “But” to the end.
Then ask what will be your last question, which in reality tells the questioner the answer to what they wanted to hear all along. Punctuate with a brisk, “Of course!”, or “Of course not!” to further emphasize that you are not an idiot.

Here‘s one for you teenagers:
Did I plan to bring the car home late? No
Did I know about the flat rear driver‘s side tire? No
But do I think you’re going to let me take it to the mall after school any time soon? Of course not.

This can be adapted for little kids, as well. Gather ‘round, children:

Did I plan to play on the tire swing until I threw up? No
Do I enjoy sitting in the nurse’s office with vomit in my hair?
But will I ever spin myself around on the tire swing again as long as I live? Of COURSE not!

Be aware of this kind of conversational taffy-pull when yours is the only point you want made.
Did I mean to beat this point into the ground?
No.
Is this important to anything happening anywhere?
No.
But do I feel oddly better, having gotten this out of my system?
Of course!

The art of teaching should take over a meeting
With only its presence
With only its possibilities
Prohibition of nothing
Inhibition in no one
No time for hand raising
Inspriation so prolific

The art of teaching should be heard
Even when all around are drowned in shouting
Drowned in data, no child left out of

The art of teaching should be spotted dancing in the coatrooms
Painting on paper walls, and singing so loud
The doors slam down the hallways

The art of teaching creates on the backs of paper
Knowing that school does not need to be the place of perfection
It can spill paint and have hair hanging down into its face

The art of teaching rejuvenates in laughter and the passing of encouragement
One child to another, like buckets of fire passed and poured on standing water

The art of teaching stands on the shore
Watching the oceans of pointing fingers
Pull and stretch it clean
Just like no on had ever been there
Footprints of children swept away
No signs of life


author unknown