Please allow me to preface this story by saying that nobody should (nor will they) ever feel sorry for me after hearing this story. That’s not my intention. This is a simple tale about a realization that came to me later than I would have expected, but early enough to have an impact on my life. It’s about a line that I can still hear ringing in my ears every time I feel like I’ve been mistreated, or caught a bad break.
When I was very young my family lived in a lower middle class neighborhood in the small city of Erie, Pennsylvania. Everyone in my neighborhood came from working class families. None of us had a lot. We were all grateful for what we had. And, none of us knew anything different.
It was hard to explain to friends whose dads owned new car dealerships why the car they’d received for their sixteenth birthday was one of the nicest vehicles I had ever ridden in.
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When I was in the third grade, my family moved to the suburbs. My mom and dad overextended themselves so that they could build a new house, in an affluent community, with an excellent public school system.
Five of our neighbors in the new sub-division owned big car dealerships. Most of our new neighbors owned their own successful businesses, were senior executives in large corporations, or were doctors or dentists. So, I was raised in a middle class household that just happened to be located in an upper class community. And, I really had no room to complain.
It was just hard for an eight year old to comprehend why he couldn’t join the swim team at the club with his friends; or ride a Schwinn ten speed; or buy Levi’s blue jeans; or learn to ski; or play tennis, or golf; or afford to shop somewhere (anywhere) other than K Mart — when all of his friends expected those things as routine.
It was hard to explain to friends whose dads owned new car dealerships why the car they’d received for their sixteenth birthday was one of the nicest vehicles I had ever ridden in.
It was with this attitude that I entered high school — 102 pounds of wise-assed, pent-up frustration packed into 5 foot, two inches of wiry fury.
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This life amongst the wealthy did foster an appreciation for the finer things in life. I rode in my friends’ fancy cars. I hung out in my friends’ fancy houses. And, I quickly determined that it was a lot of fun to have money. There was however, obviously a festering resentment brewing within me. And, I became mildly rebellious. I don’t suppose I was any more troubled than most prepubescent kids. But, I absolutely developed a smart mouth, a quick wit, and a chip on my shoulder.
It was with this attitude that I entered high school — 102 pounds of wise-assed, pent-up frustration packed into 5 foot, two inches of wiry fury. I was a real little jerk!
I had a Spanish teacher there. We’ll call him “Mr. D” for the sake of this story. He was not my favorite teacher. In fact, we didn’t get along at all. Mr. D not only refused to play favorites (which is actually admirable) for the high school athletes. He went out of his way to demonstrate his authority by tipping the scales now and again just to push buttons. He would surprise us with pop quizzes, or change his grading curve, or alter the class’ syllabus midway through the semester.
In retrospect, most of the class accepted these deviations as unchangeable and inflexible. They countered Mr. D’s wrath by employing private tutors, or purchasing language learning programs. Some of them had spent time in Spanish speaking countries on holiday, and didn’t see any issues with the fluctuations. For them, Spanish classes were simple elective courses that were merely meant to be included as good additions to their applications to Ivy league universities.
I — on the other hand — was growing a raging animosity and contempt for my teacher, and my fellow students.
But Scott, the world isn’t always fair. You need to put yourself in the best position to succeed and then play the cards you’re dealt.
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So, I definitely was not in the best frame of mind when Mr. D pulled me aside to impart his words of wisdom. I had just finished a tirade protesting a surprise homework check that Mr. D had decided to count as a test result. This was unprecedented, unforeseen, and unacceptable to me — mostly because I hadn’t completed my homework assignment.
My teacher listened patiently as I argued my case. He then calmly shared some of the best advice that I’ve ever received: “Scott” he said “life’s not always fair.”
As I stood there slack-jawed, Mr D continued. “I’ve come to know you well enough to know that you expect the world to be equitable. You seem to think that the world owes you something. Maybe it’s because you see others who started with bigger advantages. I’m not sure. But Scott, the world isn’t always fair. You need to put yourself in the best position to succeed and then play the cards you’re dealt. That might be the most important lesson that you take away from my Spanish classes.”
That day I learned a lesson that has helped me to better prepare for challenges in advance — to put my best foot forward. And to know that no matter how well you prepare; no matter how hard you work; no matter how much you care — sometimes you’re still going to get shafted.
That doesn’t mean that you give up. It doesn’t mean that you should become jaded. It just means that you need to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move forward. Because, tomorrow might be your day and you need to put yourself in a good position to come out-on-top every chance you can in this unfair world.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
It is a good article; however, it not much help when the system has been rigged for a long time and the people who rigged it will do everything in their power including murder to keep it that way.