It’s been the wont of this poor
parenting generation and everyone else around, from experts to those poor
lay-parents (that’s poor twice! Well guess what, I’m a parent too, let me
wallow some more, while I’ve got you) alike to call children special.
Ever since you were born, you’ve
been told you were special in every sense. Oh so adorable, cute, brilliant, and
whatnot? If your parents have tempered this “special” with a “to me” caveat,
you’re in the minority.
And some way across the board, as
you pick your way through life, you begin to aspire to be special, or to
continue to be special. Once the *unconditional love* concept has been grasped,
you, me, and everyone else around who has been born human would do well to
recall that special is something has to be earned. You work and work at it, and
work some more. It’s not a status quo. You do not qualify and then keep the
title for life. It is rather tacky to expect that.
Without having had much time for
your inflated ego to go poof, and your deflated ego to get back to the level of
presentability of this morning’s newspaper, you’ve probably already reproduced,
and now you, in your turn, tell someone else that they’re special. The horror!
Give yourself a good shake, and
think. Special is a state of mind. It’s a relatively loose adjective that we
apply to people and puppies. And days. It’s okay to call your kids special, but
then do your job all the way. Tell them, age appropriately of course, that they’ll
have to work to make themselves special, and that perception of themselves should,
in time, start and end with their own judgment. Then perhaps, you could avoid
working up a self-image lather for them to stew in.
As for you, dear reader, I still
want to know where along the evolution number you are. Do you ever wonder if
you are just ordinary? Do you believe in your heart of hearts that you are
special? The popular writing on the wall is that if you don’t think you are
special, no one else will. Also, that if you don’t think this, you can’t live
with yourself. I don’t know about that.
Call me a cynic, people, but I
think it’s okay to think you are ordinary. You are ordinary. You are rather
commonplace, and one day you’ll get to where you think is worthwhile. That’s
special. Why is it special? Because it gives you the feeling of treading on
clouds, like you are whole, and you want to do more of this with right good
will. If that isn’t special, what is?
Still, let’s not throw the word
around. Let us lay out meaningful praise and blame, eloquent or not. And if you
perceive yourself as ordinary and cannot help feeling like you’ve been cheated
out of something higher, try to rationalize the thought.
Commonplace can still go places.
All you need is to gather the wherewithal, and as you go through this journey,
you’re building character, and making life better. You’re leading a fuller
life, by only thinking and wanting to aim higher. That’s kind of the point of
life. Get there or die trying.
The trick is to keep trying. The
pluck to keep trying is what might distinguish you from others, or even better,
make you not even notice where these others are. So there I am. I am me, poor
me, ordinary me, maybe even threadbare me. But I am going to go on trying, with
every shred, and you will too. I am game. Are you?
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