“NO ONE IS AN A-STUDENT AT EVERYTHING”

DECEMBER 4, 2023 -I have a friend who invariably says, “No one is an A-student at everything,” when he encounters someone highly accomplished at one thing or another but is otherwise a klutz, rank amateur, or D-student. I thought about this the other day when a client of mine described a good customer who knew everything about a particular industry but was hopelessly ignorant in the sub-realm (real estate finance) that was the focus of my engagement. I happen to have expertise in that sub-specialty but am wholly ignorant of the customer’s business beyond matters essential to fulfillment of my role. Or to the larger point, I might be a decent lawyer, but I’m not worth beans when it comes to culinary pursuits.

I thought again of the “No one’s an A-student at everything” maxim when I found myself uttering recently the simple French phrase, il fait chaude aujourd’hui.  “Typiquement américain accent,” I could hear our francophone daughter-in-law saying reflexively under her breath. I can nearly always make myself understood when speaking English, earning myself an “A,” but I invite humiliating laughter for “C minus” work when I try to speak French: “Je voudrai . . . uh . . . le cinnamon rolls . . . silver plate . . . er, s’il vous plait.”

When I consider exceptions to the rule, however, I think of my dad. He was an A-student at everthing he undertook. But, I hasten to qualify that: he undertook only things he knew he could master—a bit like an undergraduate who cherry picks courses to ensure a straight-A record.

I remember an example of Dad’s avoidance of anything that might have tarnished his perfect record as a perfectionist. During lunch one Saturday when my wife and I were on hand he wanted to read aloud to Mother and us something from an article he thought we should hear. “Listen to this,” he said before plunging into the long delivery. Problem was, the article contained a French expression—something like l’espirit d’escalier[1]—which Dad, with only a year of high school French under his belt, was not about to mispronounce. Rather than damaging his A-student status by butchering the phrase altogether or saying it with an American accent—slight or extreme—Dad simply handed the magazine to Mother and pointed at the phrase for her to pronounce. With three years of high school French, she did her best and without hesitation, but her accent was “B-work.” So what. The dichotomy of Dad’s rigid perfectionism and Mother’s more expansive courage made a lasting impression on me.

Me? I’m an A-student at recognizing I’m not an A-student except at . . . um, let me think, uh, er, uh, oh yeah! . . . stapling bud caps on white pine seedlings. I’m at best a B-student at some things, barely a C- and often a D- or even an F- student at many other pursuits. Most notably, I’m not even aware of the vast majority of things in the world.

During the student era of my life, such a “GPA” would’ve troubled me. Now, however, I’m amused by my former naivete. I’m far more accepting of my status as a “striver,” never a master. In fact, I’ve learned to delight in my small achievements (e.g. practicing my violin at least a half hour daily for 30 consecutive days) and celebrate the “A-work” of others (e.g. Steve Copes and the SPCO knocking the Brahms Violin Concerto out of the concert hall).

Moreover, I’ve learned the pragmatic imperative of assigning different standards to varying demands. As my boss at the bank where I worked was fond of saying, “It’s okay to do ‘A’ work on a ‘C’ project, but never do ‘C’ work on an ‘A’ project—or leave it incomplete because you were too focused on doing ‘A’ work on the ‘C’ project.” I think about that whenever I’m pressed for time and resources. In allocating both, I first ask, “What are the C tasks and what are the A tasks?”

Yet some things are always ‘A’ tasks, no matter what the circumstances. Observing traffic lights would be one example; voting, another. Showing people respect and decency would be a further example of an ‘A’ task; honesty—moral and intellectual in public life and private—yet another.

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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson

[1] Literally, “the spirit [or more apt, “wit”] of the staircase,” an expression originating with Diderot who had been so overwhelmed by arguments forcefully posed by Jacques Necker, director general of finance under King Louis XVI, that he, Diderot was unable to come up with a clever response until after the encounter, by which time Diderot was “well down the staircase.” In short, the expression refers to “the thought that comes to mind too late.”