2076-01-31 Deference
I developed a reputation for being 'difficult'
Une chose qui m’humilie profondément est de voir que le génie humain a des limites, quand la bêtise humaine n’en a pas. [One thing that humbles me deeply is to see that human genius has its limits while human stupidity does not.] — Alexandre Dumas, fils.
When I was younger, I heard over and over that I should do what I was told, that others knew better than me, that I should defer to authority. Those who were older, or who had been there longer, or who happened to own some magic talisman, expected that I would do whatever they said.
Even as a child, I often knew better. The evidence of my own senses and the logic of my own mind brought me to conclusions at odds with those of the present authority. Naively, I would point out the flaw and the correct solution. This, more often than not, did not go over well.
I developed a reputation for being 'difficult,' a euphemism for contradicting parents, teachers, elders, and other officials who were more accustomed to meek obedience. It did not help matters that I was most often proved right, sometimes spectacularly so, particularly in matters of physical science.
I was less often correct in matters of a social nature. Those who had been embarrassed by my corrections in scientific matters seemed to derive great pleasure from holding my social gaffes up for public ridicule. Unfortunately, no one ever bothered to explain what I had gotten wrong. Rather than a learning opportunity, each such incident simply became a negative stimulus.
It was no wonder that I became withdrawn. If a speech or action might inadvertently bring ridicule and abuse, it would be safer simply to abstain. Naturally, there were exceptions. However, the interactions over time strongly favored remaining silent.
The most prominent exceptions included my prevention of bodily injury or severe property damage. People were much less likely to ridicule me after I had saved them from a significant loss. Unfortunately, gratitude of that sort always seemed short-lived. At times, I regretted interceding.
As a child, I did not have much choice. When a putatively responsible adult got it wrong, I would have to suffer the consequences of their error. When they later learned the truth, I sometimes—rarely—got an apology. Fat lot of good that did me.
I developed and honed the ability to stay out of authorities' way, becoming unobtrusive and inoffensive. Of course, those behaviors then became labeled as 'sneaky,' 'sullen,' and 'disengaged.' I sometimes retaliated by unleashing my full intellect on the abusive authority. They generally did not like the results. I tried to convince myself that the detention or other punishment was worth it.
They never seemed to understand that detention, the silent treatment, being sent to my room, et cetera, were rewards rather than the intended punishment. Oh, please, Br'er Fox, don't throw me in that briar patch! Enforced quiet time with a book? Heaven!
Work introduced a fascinating change to this dynamic. I accepted that the person paying me expected me to do as I was told. Fair enough. I found it less acceptable that any other employee thought they could tell me what to do. Attempts at hazing did not work out well for the instigators. Likewise attempts to make me the stooge for various scams. Eventually, my coworkers learned that I would do my paid work as well as I could, leave them alone if they did the same for me, and could be counted on to do the smart thing in an emergency. That seemed fair to me.
I only ran into real problems in the workplace if I began to regard coworkers as friends, relaxed my guard, and tried to interact socially. With very few exceptions, that did not turn out well. I learned to keep my work relationships scrupulously professional, run the socially acceptable scripts for polite behavior, and keep my genuine socializing for my personal time.
My first university experience was not much different from my high school. Lumped together with a lot of hormonal young louts, few of whom seemed to have any direction in their lives, was not a significant change from the hazing and ostracism of high school. There was even a smattering of the bored or incompetent teachers who tried to use their position of authority to conceal either their ignorance or their mental health issues. Fortunately, at this level, the administration would actually pay attention when an entire class complained about a junior faculty member. I seem to recall two who were not on campus the following year.
Compensating for the same old, same old was the significant improvement in the quality of the best teachers. The honors track had smaller class sizes and the best and most senior faculty. It was an absolute joy to learn from people who were spending their professional lives in furthering human knowledge. I think I met more positive role models in my freshman year than I had met in my entire life before that.
One significant difference I noted was that the best professors were the quickest to ask questions. In any survey course, there will still be a preponderance of well-established facts and time-tested theories to present. The teaching assistants and junior faculty may confine their lectures to these and go no further. The honors faculty filled at least half of every class with questions rather than answers. Why do we think we know this? What might we have got wrong?
That constant questioning woke up and engaged a part of my mind that I had rarely shared with any other person. In those faculty, and a few of my classmates, I found true colleagues who could not only keep up with me but also challenge me to go further and faster.