Honors

Despite the fact I have this blog, I'm a pretty private person.  The reasons for this are many, but the fact is I'm not really willing to share myself with the world.  That's why this blog has neither my picture, nor my location, nor anything that would allow a stranger to guess at my identity.

I don't know that I'm exactly shy, but one thing I do flee is the spotlight.  Those who know me might see a contradiction in this, since I both appear before the court and teach in front of groups of people.  I also have no qualms about speaking in public.  At the same time, I'd never get on a stage and act or sing alone in front of a crowd.  But I'm not fond of getting up in front of people to be singled out, especially when it's for an honor.

In the first place, for me -- and I limit my comments to myself -- honors hold no fascination.  I think by and large they're arbitrary and therefore suspect.  At least insofar as my candidacy is concerned.   I don't trust them, I don't like them and I'm quite pleased to see someone else who's deserving get it.

I know people who are honors whores.  They'll apply for anything just to add another tombstone to their shelves.  I know one guy with whom I worked -- we were in the same firm, which is the extent to which we worked together -- whose Wiki page is a mile long.  Honors and positions sparkle on a listing that might be ten pages when it's printed out.  But the funny thing is that at the end of the encomiums, there's a much smaller entry about how this doofus pleaded guilty to trying to extort a teacher's pension fund.  He sacrificied his law license and is now working in obscurity somewhere in Europe.  Sometimes, those honors cloud people's judgment into thinking that they're above playing the the rules.

I've never sought individual honors.  If a team I was on won something, that was fine by me.  I remember in eighth grade we won the Diocesan Tournament, which back then meant something.  We finished with a 28-1 record, and I happened to score the winning points in the championship game.  At the awards banquet after the season, my best friend was awarded the MVP of the team.  I could have been the MVP, but I was happy for him.  When we were graduating from high school, I was shooting hoops with one of other starters on that team at an open gym when out of nowhere, he told me that I was really the MVP on our eighth grade team.  That meant more to me than the award did.

I have an inherent distrust of any honor someone gives me because I'm suspicious about its sincerity.  That may be my mistake, but it's how I feel.  I also don't need the award for my self-esteem.  I know what I did and how well I did it, and although I'm clearly my own worst critic, I also have an ego that's healthy enough to pat me on the back.

Others can have honors, and they can have any honors for which I could be considered.  I don't need to line my shelves with trophies and tombstones and plaques.  They're just more tchotchkes that I'd have to dust and keep from breaking.

Besides, I need the shelf room for my books.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles