Saturday, May 06, 2000
Average students also count
It's OK to admit it. This is not the best time of year for you.
The end of the school year means recognition ceremonies, senior assemblies and graduations. For you, these are the days not to rise, not to walk to the podium, not to have your name called, not to shake somebody's hand.
You figured out long ago that nobody gets awards for being average.
It would never occur to most people sitting in the audience that this would hurt you deeply. You clap as heartily as the rest of your classmates. You smile as the honor student slides by you to pick up her award. You have it down pat. You have spent a good deal of your school career being the backdrop for someone else's glory.
People say the smart kids, the leaders, are under so much pressure today. But it's never been harder to be average.
The word used to have a good feel about it. The average American kid. It meant a good person, the kind of unpretentious, sturdy, nice-natured kid whom everybody pulled for.
Then something happened to America. Being the best became the only goal worth striving for. You were No. 1, or you were nothing.
Some people rose to the pressure. But you could not. Your natural abilities did not take you to the thin reaches of the upper quartiles. You were always in the fattest, most anonymous part of the bell curve.
And while some students could make up in will what they lacked in brilliance, it was never your nature. You did not have the relentless drive to stand out.
It was like that in class, where the teacher's time and attention went to the smart kids, or the struggling kids or the disruptive kids. No one ever told you so, but you understood that your job was to be the ballast. Keep things in keel. Be the fulcrum that balanced the classroom's highs and lows.
But the fulcrum is not where the eye is drawn.
So it is entirely possible, this time of year, that you will stand silently through an entire recognition program, never hearing — or expecting to hear — your name. It is completely likely that you will don your gown and mortarboard but never make that awkward, wonderful walk to the spotlight to pick up some distinction.
People will crush the Ivy-bound scholar. They will pump the hand of the athlete with the full-ride in basketball. They will wax poetic over the valedictorian's speech, and stroke the gold cord around the honor student's neck. But they will have nothing to say to you.
It's a shame.
For there is much to be said, if some wise teacher, principal or classmate gave it a single moment's thought.
They could say thank you for working steadily, struggling silently, behaving decently. They could say they appreciated the smile and kind word you gave out so willingly, making up for other students' disrespect.
They could say thanks for making education a journey, not a race. For making friendship an end in itself. For being someone who did not tilt the globe, trying so hard to make it revolve around himself.
All along, you've had admirers. We took you for granted. We said nice things behind your back.
Now it's time to take out the paper and pencil. To let you know that average is not only OK, but magnificent. To let you know we noticed you. To let you know that you've been special all along.
Krista Ramsey's column appears on Saturdays. E-mail her at krista_ramsey@hotmail.com or write 312 Elm St., Cincinnati 45202.
