BRAGGADOCIO

If you've read this before or heard this story before, just rack it up to my advanced age where I re-tell stories simply because I can't recall having told them before. It's a good thing I don't lie or embellish too much.

We met a PhD at church Sunday, introduced to us by one of our neighbors who correctly called my wife by her given name, Caroline. As soon as he met her and shook her hand he called her Carolyn. Now, there's nothing wrong with the name Carolyn. Except that is not her name. And it's a sore spot with her.

It reminded me of a two-week class I had as a grad student. Elementary Education Principalship, I guess was the title. We met for 4 hour sessions for two weeks and concluded with a dinner at the Prof's house. It was a rather small group, maybe 15-18 with a lot of discussion and a final paper. Being an English major, it suited me just fine.

Until we got to his house and I was introduced to his wife as "Ned". I knew I was toast. I knew I had not impressed him much if he didn't know my name after two weeks and 40 hours. I flashed back to my undergrad days at Illinois State when my Anthropology Prof acted puzzled by my identity and existence when handing back our mid-terms.

I was correct in my assertion. I received a B, a good grade, but not one that I wanted nor expected from that class. The only other B I got in any grad school work I embraced because it was in an English class that I was lost in from day one. Swinburne? Who the heck was that English poet anyhow? And I was to know all about him? I didn't. But took my "good grade" and gladly left Dr. Benzinger's class.

That's ok though. I would have been a lousy grade school Principal anyhow. I would have been a lousy high school one, too. In fact, I wasn't very good as a department chairman. Come to think of it, I probably deserved more B's and fewer A's.

But at least I could pronounce people's names.