Proud of arrogance

Copyright 2005 Ben S. Pollock

Tuesday, Oct. 4, 2005: Apparently, I spoke out of turn. I didn’t mean to cause a stunned silence but rather say something I thought was not out of line, not unusual. I said the same thing to two different audiences, and got this same reaction: A look of incredulity with a few beats of silence.

“A couple of days ago I thought it’d be a good idea to look over my master’s thesis. It took half-an-hour to find the last copies, but I did and looked over one. You know what, it’s good!”

I wasn’t expecting the silence. Both of these folks were quite aware of the research and the writing at the time (completed, defended etc. in spring 2003). So I added, each time, to fill the gap: “I know it wouldn’t have passed muster at a Northwestern or Columbia, but faculty there would’ve had me doing it differently from the start. I did what was asked of me here. (More silence) I know it didn’t turn into something bigger. I have the rejection letters from scholarly journals that prove it. But still, X—, I reread most of it last night, and it’s good.”

The first person changed the subject, and the second one (it was the next day and frankly I mentioned it as a test, and it did get about the same reaction) said, “It’s always nice to be proud of your writing. I do that sometimes, I guess.”

Most of us Americans boast of humility, while we admire a few who succeed using open self-confidence: The Donald, The Martha, The Oprah. Yet it is contradictory.

You are taught as a child, for example, to brag when you tie your own shoes, as well as other personal habits. Heck, this is so important that these days it’s called self-esteem, and children are taught to be proud of accomplishing nothing but showing up, sometimes also for making an effort. But achievement is not necessary to win (“All of our children are above average,” eh, Garrison?).

So as an adult, what happened? “If I am not for myself who is for me, and being for myself what am I? And if not now, when?” A famous quote by Hillel, yet it’s often seen without intended irony mainly on fundraising appeals.

So as I reread my thesis I recall the work, recall the intent, recall the organization, recall the revelations (what was learned by the doing, by the research, that surprised me). My attempts at humor often worked.

I did not say the humor always worked (and my thesis adviser asked me to add more humor, when I worried it might seem flip). The other night I again saw the typos.

There weren’t too many errors. I found something to say and said it rather well.

There, I did it again.

I enjoy cooking and do most of it in our household, when my schedule permits.

This means, yes, I think I am a good cook.

Yet I have this recurring daydream: That everyone’s humoring me. I make some dish, just for my wife and me, when out-of-town family is staying with us or when we have a little dinner party. Everyone’s hungry. My people are polite. They eat. They rave. Yet surely they exchange looks when I return to the kitchen for something.

Even my mom. For her last three years (the last two in assisted living across town), she chose to eat one meal a day. Maybe it was the emphysema. I would cook for her when she came to our house; for most of her time in Fayetteville that would be weekly.

My wife, houseguests, dinner guests, Mom. They find the food’s awful, again, but what are they going to do? They’re hungry, and nice people don’t remember they need to be somewhere else and return home suddenly, by way of a hamburger stand. No one breathes a word to me.

I am a good cook. -30-