“THE WISE MORON”

DECEMBER 22, 2020 – . . . Not to be confused with “The Wise Men.”

I used to think Christmas my freshman year of college was the worst ever—for the simple reason that our semester-end final exams were scheduled for the week after Christmas vacation, as it was called. I wasn’t the only student disturbed by this injustice. My friends joined me in grousing that holiday socializing would have to yield to studying for exams the first week of January.  What was the dean—in conspiracy with faculty—thinking?!

Worse, what was the point of flying from Maine to Minnesota and back if I’d have to study during the whole vacation? After extracting deficient sympathy from my parents, I laid alternative plans. With books, notebooks, and a few clothes stuffed into a duffle bag, I headed to my sister’s quarters in Boston. She was a graduate student at New England Conservatory and not flying home for Christmas either. For the few days I spent under her roof, she graciously tolerated my self-pity.

On Christmas Day itself, we took an early Amtrak train to NYC, then a bus over to Rutherford, NJ, where our grand-parents and uncle lived. I remember the Amtrak ride because we had seats in a new, special “scenic view” carriage. We had the train to ourselves. I studied—making a demonstrative display of my “burdensome” materials. My sister, being a natural scholar, ignored me and read a book for pleasure—naturally.

We received a warm welcome in Rutherford. Our uncle—our Santa Claus when we were kids, hadn’t lost his Christmas spirit—the house was cheerfully decorated, thanks to his quirky imagination. Until dinner was consumed and presents unwrapped, I let my study materials languish in the duffle bag.  That evening, I hit the books while our hosts and my sister partied; I mean . . . while she and our grandmother played Scrabble and visited quietly with our uncle, as Grandpa slipped away to attend to “paperwork.” I dared not utter a word of complaint about my “paperwork.”  After all, Grandpa was a workaholic and helping to subsidize my education.

The next day my uncle and I drove up to Vermont for . . . a week of skiing. (!) He tolerated my incessant complaining about my sorry plight—having to study in the ski lodge each evening after having skied my brains out during the day. When he dropped me off at campus, he told me that life’s challenges were likely to grow, not diminish.

An eternity later I look back at myself and am almost bemused by the self-centeredness of my youth. My elders must have bitten their tongues till they bled. What’s worse is that when the college changed its policy a year later and scheduled exams before winter break, I felt smugly vindicated. By then I was . . . a sophomore; Greek for “wise moron,” or more accurately, just plain “dumb ass,” the animal Mary rode into Bethlehem.

(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)

© 2020 by Eric Nilsson