I was thinking about IQs just the other day. IQs and my mom's wisdom.
I think most guys my age took an IQ test in school. I know I did. But my mom curiously never told me how I scored on it.
When I was young I believe I flattered myself by thinking that perhaps mom didn't tell me my scores because she didn't want me to get a big head or, worse yet, brag about a high IQ. That's how I flattered myself.
I think most guys my age took an IQ test in school. I know I did. But my mom curiously never told me how I scored on it.
When I was young I believe I flattered myself by thinking that perhaps mom didn't tell me my scores because she didn't want me to get a big head or, worse yet, brag about a high IQ. That's how I flattered myself.
My friend, Kevin, always puts scratch-off lottery tickets in the birthday cards he gives me. He did that again last week and I stood at the desk and scratched 'em all off -- the glimmer of hope I had in those five un-scratched cards quickly dimming to nothing as I scratched that last bit of silver off the final loser.
Sometime later that day, as my wondering mind is prone to do, I added up 1 and 1 and suddenly the answer seemed so obvious.
It dawned on me. Experience has finally taught me that my mother's silence regarding my IQ score was like that silver scratch off material. Nobody would ever buy a losing card if that silver stuff didn't cover it. And I might not have pursued my passions with such abandon had I known how little was my likelihood of succeeding at them.
Wise mom.