I never much liked school. For the longest time, I thought my parents hated me for sending me there every day.  I thought why on earth would anybody go to such a terrible boring place. I was an early advocate of do what you have a passion for, and, let me tell you, I had very little passion for school, so I put very little effort into it.  If I wasn’t interested in the subject I did the absolute maximum I needed to do to get a C.  Which was fine during the mid-1960’s, when I was growing up, C’s meant what C’s were supposed to mean, it meant you were average.  I was fine when they appeared on my report card, and, more importantly, so were my parents. 

My journey to being a C student really got going in the second grade.  This was when I took the Iowa Basics which, at that time, tested a child’s intelligence. The Iowa Basics were taken seriously.  You were given a questions book, an answer sheet, a strict time requirement a proctor to make sure you followed all the rules. The answer sheet was a page of unfilled ovals which students were to give their answers on by filling in the appropriate oval with a number 2 pencil. The proctor emphasized the importance of the number 2 pencil mark and also the need to stay within the boundaries of the oval.  If you failed these two simple instructions, your answers would be invalid, you would screw up the whole test and be considered a dim wit for the rest of your life and, since I went to Catholic schools, you would probably end up in Hell. 

Teachers could be blunt in my day.  If they thought you were stupid, they told you so. If you complained to your parents that your teacher called you stupid, your parents called you stupid too.  The teachers and the parents always agreed when the stupidity of the child was under discussion.  So, if the teacher thought you were going to Hell, it was her duty to let you know so that, perchance, you took her guidance seriously, you could at least make it to purgatory instead of rotting in Hell for eternity. The good old days. 

Anyway, I ran into a problem with my Iowa Basic test before I even had a chance to open the questions book. The answer sheet didn’t have enough ovals for my very long name – Thomas Bartholomew Fitzpatrick. Instead of notifying the test proctor of my dilemma, I fumbled around trying to figure out where I made my mistake. That this was the design of the test never occurred to me. So, while other kids were filling out the appropriate oval with their more manageably sized names, I was desperately trying to jam my full name onto the answer sheet.

Things came to a head when the proctor tried to start the test.  She asked if everyone had completed putting their name on the answer sheet and I had to admit I was struggling.  Of course, she became irritated with me for not bringing this to her attention earlier. I had ample time to complain and now I was going to delay the start of the test for everyone. How thoughtless of me. However, I am happy to report that she was equally stumped on how to proceed with getting my full name on the answer sheet.  She needed to call the principal who didn’t know what to do either but she had the good sense to realize that there was no good reason to hold up the test. She told the proctor to start the test and she would figure out what to do about the name later.   

So, there I was taking the test that would determine the course of my entire life. I was nervous wreck already. Full of questions and worries.  Why did my parents give me such ridiculously long name, didn’t they know about the ovals on the Iowa Basics?  Furthermore, because of my ridiculously long name, both the test proctor and the principal were angry with me.  The proctor particularly irritated because she looked foolish in front of the principal and took every opportunity to glare at me as if I was trying to subvert the Iowa Basic test she was proctoring thus dooming all these other children’s lives as they would be marked for life as dim wits along with me. And, finally, my fellow students, not knowing how long my name was so not understanding my dilemma, looked at me like I was some kind of idiot. How hard could it be to fill out an oval with a number 2 pencil.  To say I was nervous was an understatement, I was a wreck as I tried to pull myself together while under the watchful eye of every living soul in the room.  

The terrible pressure of that moment is the only explanation I have for my completely average score. Because, I am certain, if I hadn’t been so discombobulated by the stress of that day, I would have scored much higher. Instead, I scored smack dab in the middle. 50 percent of the American children scored above me, 49 percent scored below me. The good news, at least for me, my parents took the Iowa Basics seriously. If the Iowa Basics determined I was average, I was average. No reason to get their hopes up for Harvard and the Presidency for this child. From this point on, their only expectations of me from that point on was C student.

I can’t tell you how liberating it was to be a C student.  I was left alone to determine my fate. And, with such low expectations, all I had to do was find a job, pay my bills and not be a burden to society.  I am happy to say, with very little exertion on my part, I have met those expectations and had an awfully good time doing it. Just think, if in the second grade I had aced the Iowa Basics, I would still be battling the other smart kids so I could get my chance to maybe make it to the top of the heap, giving up nights of fun for working even harder so I could keep my hands on that greasy pole called success. I shudder at the thought that my parents could have chosen a less lengthy name.