A long time ago on a pretty spring 4th grade afternoon, our teacher, Mrs. Nancy Gladish, announced that the class would be heading outside for the President’s Physical Fitness Test. With limited explanation and a clipboard in her hand, she herded us out to the playground where the fun would begin.
The presidential requirements that I can remember involved successful completion of pull-ups, a one mile run, sit-ups, long jump, push-ups, and something called a shuttle run. All were uncharted territory for me as my athletic training to that date was limited to bike riding, rollerskating, and jumping rope on Alabama Avenue. As I waited and watched my colleagues do pretty well, I knew I was doomed. When it was my turn to give each event a go, I tried, but pretty much fell short of the mark every single time.
It was after lunch several weeks later when Mrs. Gladish stood in front of our class to present the President’s Physical Fitness Certificates. As she called out my classmates’ names, each one stepped forward to receive congratulations along with his or her award. I can still see the crisp white papers emblazoned with the official red, white, and blue banner at the top, and I was more than startled to hear her call out Ellen Tucker.
And here is what happened next: In a horribly awkward and humiliating moment, I went up and told Mrs. Gladish (and thereby the whole class) that I did not earn the award so I could not accept it. And I started to cry and sat back down. I vaguely remember a surprised Mrs. Gladish saying something nice about what I had done, but that part is a big blur.
Nothing more was ever said about this event, and I pretty much forgot about it.
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I share this long-buried tale because it just recently came back to me, and I am mystified about how a little kid had the presence of mind to (rightfully) turn down an award that was not deserved.
It would be convenient to reflect on my having been a holy and deep-thinking child, but I was not. I was ordinary. All I can figure is that particular moment had to have been an homage to my parents, family, schoolteachers, Sunday School teachers, neighbors and, yea, even the television shows of the era. Their combined influences seem to have imprinted a strong sense of right and wrong in little me.
It seems unfashionable of late to acknowledge and promote the value found in earning good things in life.
If I am to believe what I constantly see and hear, I deserve a whole lot of things—money, a fancy car, happiness, a great life, glamorous vacations, a beautiful home, expensive clothes—the list is endless. Apparently, I deserve all of these and more, just for living and breathing. But what stands between the buy-in and me is what I have always known--even in a simplistic way in 4th grade--one must put in some effort to earn great honors, privileges, and great things.
While my children William and Annabelle grew up in the world of participation trophies, they still saw only the best players making All Star teams. Their hardest working classmates with the highest GPAs were presented with the most attractive college options. Now as adults, for the most part, they see their more accomplished peers landing the more prestigious jobs with accompanying fringe benefits.
As for my current view, I see persevering peers and colleagues achieving incredible things, including some looking forward to comfortable early retirements. In the best way the world works, diligence pays the dividends, and I wish I had also possessed a better grasp of this long ago when I was nine years old.
While we in 2022 can look back and see the imperfections found in years gone by, I wish for some of their higher shared ideals to be more popular amongst us here in this fast, super-connected, and sophisticated world. I would gladly invite my kaleidoscope of understated influential people from long ago to join us and work their magic today.
