Anyone can be Average

Hello from the couch on an icy December evening,

It is before 6:00 p.m., and it’s been dark for an hour or more. We are rapidly approaching the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, but the cold and dark will be here for some time, and it is easy to want to hibernate. I understand why people went to sleep much earlier in the past. I find my desire to be up and doing something later, particularly when it is so dark, quickly wanes when there is neither light nor heat. I am still acclimating to the daily constant and gusting winds, the flatness of the area (which, of course, contributes to the wind), and temperatures that I did not experience in North Central Pennsylvania (single digit temps and below zero windchills already); And we are not technically in winter yet. The weekend saw freezing rain and this morning had schools on a two-hour delay, which always pleases students. Additionally, there is the aroma of agriculture, a farm ambience, which is not unfamiliar, but it is also not recently experienced. Simultaneously, there is a beauty to the rich, harvested fields as the sun rises and sets. Some of the most brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows are stunning on those clear days.

One of the things I struggle to respond to appropriately is mediocrity, the willingness of people to be content to merely get by. Before I travel too far down this path, let me admit up front: too often in my early life, I was that person. I did just enough to stay out of my mother’s oversized doghouse. What I learned was Cs were sufficient. I did not get scolded for that. In retrospect, that became my modus operandi. If I enjoyed the class, or, more likely, the instructor, I would do quite well. In fact, I did really well in AP classes and average – and sometimes below – which would open the door to the doghouse. However, I seldom remember anyone pushing me to change my process or raise my own bar to increase my effort. The irony of some of that became apparent when I went back to my 50th high school reunion two summers ago. There were classmates who found it completely predictable that I ended up in academe. I was stunned and they told me I was so intelligent. That was not the word I would have expected. Small, good natured, personable would characterize what I thought. Smart, perhaps, but intelligent . . . Not so much. My first memorable indication I might be more than average was when I was in the Marine Corps. I did exceptionally well in communication and electronics school, so well I was initially accused of cheating, and my military test scores were high enough I qualified for the Platoon Leaders Course, which would have set me on a path to a commission. And yet, none of that stuck and as I’ve noted in other posts, I failed in my first attempt at college. My father did admonish his 16 year-old underachieving son at one moment with a simple, but pointed statement. As I lounged on the couch one day, he stood above me with his matter-of-fact manner. And with a level tone, he calmly stated, “Anyone can be average, that’s why it is.” And he turned and walked away. That was the only time he would ever really say anything related to academics, but for him this was as much about life as any book I would ever open.

Looking back with a more critical eye, there was one particular educator, one I had almost every year in a class from 8th grade until I graduated, who inspired me to learn and excel. He was a history teacher both at Riverside and West High School. Immensely proud of his Norwegian heritage, and as passionate about the Minnesota Vikings, Mr. Larry Flom imparted wisdom, kindness, and humor into every class, as well as every day you had his class. Many of his quirks, his sayings, and his interchanging of word for another remain with me a half century later. The Union was the onion; his standing up in the middle of class and puffing out his chest to bellow, “Norrwayyy” is as clear to my mind to day as it was in his class. His given place as the chain gang in a football game or his participation in the Siouxland Male Nordic Chorus offered insight into the other ways he offered his kindness and talent beyond the classroom. To this day, I owe him a debt of gratitude for being able to reach a wandering, directionless, undersized, and often frightened kid. It is his work that created a life-long learner and lover of history, which would become one of my majors in college.

And yet, the seeds that Mr. Flom planted would remain dormant for some time. My desire to move beyond that long-practiced “it’s good enough” would not really change until I was a freshman at Dana College. By that time, I was in my mid-20s; I had failed in my first foray into academics, and I was petrified I was not “smart enough” to make it. That first semester my fear focused me to study like crazy. Second semester, my Humanities 107 course, and my interest in an incredibly talented and brilliant other freshman led to study hours in the library and her ability to be a strong student pushed me to work even more diligently. I actually remember someone in the Registrar’s Office noting how profoundly capable she was when they found out I had been spending time with her. And so, by the end of my freshman year at Dana, I, for the first time, actually engaged with my academics. My sophomore year, while a bit bumpy, immersed me in the humanities program at Dana, and my travels to Europe for interim changed my life. Education was being a sponge; it was so much more than memorizing facts, formulas, and dates. It was soaking it up and thinking about how it all fit together. It was thinking critically, analyzing things carefully, and it was attempting to understand its relevance. Dr. John W. Nielsen’s humanities program, and his mentorship set me on the path of scholarship. I did not realize it at the time, but that traipsing around Europe with the Pope in January of 1981 would change me forever. My father’s admonishment finally made sense.

Throughout my time in the classroom, from my first experience with an exchange student when I was in high school until my last experiences as a host for exchange students, I can state with certainty that European students I have encountered have been much better critical thinkers and integrators than we as American students seem to be. I have often wondered why that is, and I do not believe there is a single answer, but I do believe their work to integrate and their general lack of busy work and merely meeting standards, their work that integrates everything into a final exam. This integration requirement is essential to life, I believe. It appears, and I saw this regularly in the last years teaching, that our willingness to spoon-feed requirements and then teach them how to pass has created a generation of too many wanting a recipe-card for their life. This fosters the average-is-good-enough, the very thing my father rejected, and leaves us with some really nice people with no idea of how to think critically, analyze thoroughly, or integrate what they know carefully or intentionally. That is concerning.

And yet, in spite of my concerns for many things, I wonder if some of the geniuses being tapped by the President-elect might use their extraordinary talent for the good of all. That would be a phenomenal thing. Perhaps that is my own idealism. Perhaps this is a mere pipe dream. As I move into the last days of the calendar year, I find myself finishing a year of profound change, but also one of opportunity. The next months will push me to think in ways I never have, to learn things I have never attempted, and hopefully, next summer, the bus and I will be on the road. Last night, Julie, my incredible cousin, and her talented and humorous husband, Gavin, and I went to see Pentatonix. It was spectacular. The initial picture is my teacher, Mr. Larry Flom, and the video below, though old, is one of my favorite pieces of the Pentatonix repertoire.

Thank you for reading, and I wish you a blessed Christmas.

Michael