Kitty Hawk, NC, 2001.
©2001 Laura Hilston

A Genius?
Not really, considering I finished fourth in my 1983 high school graduating class, only later to flunk out of college. Yes, I flunked out— but not in that “too-smart-for-school-Good-Will-Hunting” sort of way—but rather in that “squandering-of-opportunity-lack-of-maturity-and-devoid-of-discipline-and-focus” sort of way. That’s another way of saying I chased too many women, smoked too much weed, and drank too many beers.

The photograph at the right is an inside joke between me and myself. I didn’t get it at first. I mean, the part of me that was supposed to get the inside joke between me and myself.

Nevermind.

I asked my wife to take the picture. She didn’t get it either.

The thing is, I have gone through this life being told, time and again, how smart I am. Of course, I’ve always humbly disagreed, but deep down I really wished it were true.

I realized eventually that people (and our public schools) have generally very low standards where smarts are concerned and that it is too easy to appear intelligent if you have a slightly above-average vocabulary.

How do I know that I am not a genius? Because I personally know a genius or two. Seriously. And I have read the works and biographies of the real ones. Trust me. I'm not a genius. Maybe I'm just a part-time one. Being a full-time genius would involve way too much pressure.