Don’t Call My Kid 'Extraordinary'!

Fourteen years ago I lived in a small town, on a charming street, among sincere families. The daughter of one such family clearly had serious art talent. Nothing flashy (so no one had noticed), but she had "It", whatever "It" is. And, as I've written, people, being oblivious, very often need to be told who they - or those around them - are.

So I told her father that his daughter had extraordinary talent, and he blanched in horror. I don't remember if he actually spoke the phrase, but this was clearly his reaction: “Don’t call my kid ‘Extraordinary’!”

It completely startled me. And when I get confused, I start pondering - a horrendously slow grinding process. The insights I cough up these days represent glacially slow-simmering processes come to fruition. I'm not smart; just patiently persistent...plus old (you need both: aging alone doesn't confer wisdom).

A dim, foggy comprehension has been baking all this time, and a bell just rang. It's done! I know what he meant, and even concede that he might have been right. As usual, the epiphany seems banal in its fully-digested form:

It’s bad to make oneself an edge case.

Banal, sure, but no one ever explained this to me. I could have used fewer people in my youth urging me to strive infinitely; to unswervingly follow my own path, ignoring convention and status quo. Being ant-like in my persistence, I took those precepts to heart! I guess no one figured I'd actually do that stuff!

I'm not saying I'd have changed my tack had I realized the perils of a person becoming such an edge case that they're an edge case among edge cases. But I would have been less puzzled and traumatized by the dazed (seldom in a good way) worldly reaction.