The dust swirled in the hot humid air as I trudged home from school. I slipped the report card next to Mom’s purse, hoping she would just sign it and give it back with cool indifference.
No such luck.
In our home, earning a mediocre grade was a major event, close to dental surgery or transmission work. She saw the “C” in social studies. My reasoning is that the grade was “average.” But for an hour it seemed, I was on the receiving end of one-sided conversation about what that word means. There would be no average in our family. We came from a proud line of immigrants who fought and struggled to survive. The men in the family were sailors and farmers and gas station owners. None of them were rich, but “none of them were average.”
(For the exciting conclusion, won’t you head on over to The High Calling , where this piece is featured today?)
Feel free to leave any comments over there or here about Mediocrity.
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