The Handbook / Chapter 10

Second Chance | Leon

CHAPTER 10

Photo by Ryoji Iwata on Unsplash

Like a first impression, you get exactly one chance to tell your story. Why would you choose any scenario except one where you play the hero? Remember when you brought down the house in the finale of the spring musical? The audience went wild, leaping to its feet as you struck that pose, frozen in the spotlight. What a moment! Why not choose something like that?

Because, fun as it was, it can make for some pretty dull reading.

Think of every movie you love. There’s a hero, all right, and by the end of those 90 minutes there is sure to be a full-blown triumph. But what comes before those last 5 minutes of vindication? That’s right. Trouble, doubt, and desperation. Plenty of it.

Life makes us earn our success. Early progress is met with discouraging setbacks. Whether it’s the tuba or triple jump, we encounter a slew of bad notes and hard landings on our way to the medal stand. But you know that already because you want to be the best at whatever it is you love to do. And you know what it takes to get there.

So do we, your readers. Anyone who’s ever tried to get good at something knows.

Stories welcome your hardship. They love quests and challenges, so long as you tell the truth and spare none of the gruesome details. In fact they thrive on those moments when you’re holding on by your fingernails. Your story has a bit of a cruel side as well. It relishes a chance to have a laugh at your expense. If you can turn your cheek and laugh along, the benefits are worth it. Doubters become believers and opponents are disarmed. One more thing about stories— they detest braggarts.

So you can’t write about how good it feels answering the fourth curtain call?

Sure you can. If you can make us care. If you show us what it took to get there.

Malcolm Gladwell, in his book, Outliers, suggests it takes 10k hours of study and practice to achieve mastery in anything. What will it take you?

It’s never easy owning up to our mistakes. We like to think of ourselves as basically competent. We present ourselves as go-to can-do types and most of the time we get away with it. However, being human, we’re prone to occasional mishaps and the inevitable humiliation or two.

It’s no fun going through but it makes for a good read.

~ ~ ~

Meet Leon. He speaks in precisely enunciated sentences that seem like they’ve been pre-checked for grammar and diction. Okay, he’s wound a little tight. It’s impressive, really. He might be very smart indeed. I keep thinking, is this guy for real?

He’s a high performing senior at a Los Angeles high school with a tidy transcript and an impressive resume. He probably doesn’t need my help but is clearly open to it. Fortunately there is no law requiring a counselor to be smarter than the student.

It becomes clear it’s not put on. His mind just works faster than the rest of us. I’ll have to be on top of my game to keep up. Asked about himself as a kid, he describes a wonky, precocious child who learned to read early and got right to it. He started reading the newspaper in elementary school and hasn’t stopped since. His interest in business cropped up early as well which has kept him on a steady diet of The Economist and The Wall Street Journal. He recounts debating his parents at eleven about the foolishness of protectionism and its eventual counterproductive effects. Oh, really?

Our conversation touches on the science of vaccines, the strange and sudden polarization of opinion regarding them, and the regrettable state of our politics. He is knowledgeable and quick to offer an opinion. If he was introduced to me as a college sophomore I’d have no reason to doubt it.

There’s something, however, that troubles me. He has a tendency, one I’ve come across before and found to be a predominantly male phenomenon— a performative self-protective shell. His is a top-of-the-line model too. He prides himself on always being prepared and not keeping you waiting for an answer. No self doubt here, no Sir! After fifteen minutes of lively banter I find myself responding in kind, like we’re gunslingers facing each other down at high noon. Arcane fact? Witty retort? Draw, partner!

I catch myself and change the subject.

As a counselor, there’s a secondary role I play. Getting a student into a great college is the primary goal, yes. But seeing to their getting accepted is only part of the job. Another is identifying areas where a student may lack self-awareness. Like a strength coach for an athlete, helping a student address a weakness can prepare them for the life they’re racing to meet. Having raised two sons, I feel qualified taking on the subject of young men and their invulnerability act.

I ask about his friend group. He describes their quite conventional activity based hangouts. When I ask how close he feels to them, whether he can turn to any or some when faced with a personal problem, he assures me he could if he felt the need. I’m expecting him to talk about those needs when he segues into a fairly critical assessment of teenage males and their inability to express vulnerability. I recognize the reply. He has preempted my thesis with one that agrees. He’s very good at this.

He admits to having been overly concerned with performance and achievement since elementary school. If an activity had a grade attached, he dedicated himself to coming out on top. He describes an ego that needed constant reinforcement by awards and achievement. He runs through a number of examples from science fair exhibits to Latin competitions, all of which he dominated. He basked in the attention of faculty members, blithely unaware of the antipathy of his peers.

A little late, maybe, but that sounds pretty self-aware to me.

PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS | LEON

CURIOUS

AMBITIOUS

ADVENTUROUS

REACTIVE

INSECURE

IMAGINATIVE

STUBBORN

COMPETITIVE

VIGILANT

PASSIONATE

Seeing vigilant on his list, I react like I’ve found a security camera in an Airbnb. I’d better watch myself. I’ll come to learn he is checking me out checking him out.

I ask him how he has changed in regard to his need for constant approbation. Leon tells a story chronicling a five year span in his life that deals with his love of the Boy Scouts. When he finishes, I state the obvious. It’s the perfect topic for his personal statement.

You tell me.

PERSONAL STATEMENT | LEON

At 12, I was the buttoned down boy scout. Kerchief tightened just so. Check. Scout sign precisely 90 degrees. Check. Success measured in badges and awards. Check check. I’d always been that kid, even in grade school, groveling for approval from adults even at the expense of making friends. I looked down on my peers’ bad behavior with pride and superiority. When I achieved the highest score on the National Latin Exam, I basked in the adulation of my teachers and principal, utterly oblivious to the sneers around me. I didn't think the approval of my classmates or fellow scouts mattered.

Toward the end of 6th grade, I ran for senior patrol leader. I was certain I was the most qualified candidate and assumed a majority of scouts would concur. My opponent was my nemesis, Nat. Cunning and malicious, he embodied none of my noble qualities, just plenty of irreverence for authority. He was our middle school’s “pantsing” specialist and still holds the record for detentions.

How could I possibly lose to that degenerate? I couldn’t.

But I did. Nat electorally pantsed me.

I was relegated to leading a pack of the youngest scouts in the mildewy depths of the basement. These kids were notoriously rowdy and uncontrollable, the fifth graders of nightmares. On my first day with them, I pictured Nat relishing in my humiliation. Nevertheless, I straightened my kerchief and cleared my throat. They ignored me, never taking their eyes off a sudden downpour outside. I barked, “Scouts signs up!” Still nothing. I was obviously going to need a new battle plan. Finally, I gave a great “Follow me!” and led them out into the rain.

We slid down a muddy hill, riding kiddie cars at breakneck speed and getting seriously filthy. One scout, Teddy, gave what would have been a very disciplined scout salute — if not for the clump of mud hanging from his chin. Were we shirking our duties? Clearly. Endangering ourselves? Certainly. But I was having more fun than I’d had in years. Over the coming weeks, I built a rapport with them, and they became cooperative and productive. By the end of our six months, they were the little brothers I never had.

By fall, I had turned 13 and it was time to elect senior patrol leaders again. Unlike the year before, I didn’t need a win like oxygen. Back then, I had prepared my speech weeks in advance, enumerating my extensive list of merit badges, countless service hours, and elaborate camp menu plans; this year I didn’t even write a script. I spoke last. “Hey,” I began. Before I could continue, roaring came out of the rear left corner. Waiting for it to end, I laughed and loosened my kerchief. They erupted louder still. They might have been fifth graders, but my patrol sure knew how to rile up a crowd. The scoutmaster called 30 seconds. I think I got one last sentence out before my time expired.

They counted the votes. I pantsed the field.

Over the course of the next year, whenever my new scouts detected a whiff of my former stiffness, they would roast me mercilessly; slowly, I began letting it go. This attitude has helped in school and with friends, too. I can laugh at myself instead of playing Mr. Valedictorian 24/7. Previously, I thought anything less than khakis and a dress shirt was inappropriate schoolwear; now, I’m fine with a jersey and jeans, and I’m the first to laugh when friends mockingly compare my previous appearance to Young Sheldon. Looking back, I must admit the act had worn out long ago. It’s freeing to be, well, free of it.

I’ve come to see that going at it together gets you farther than going at it alone.

Just don’t forget to loosen that kerchief.

End.

The shape of the story has a lot going for it. He starts out with a misguided sense of what makes a good leader and candidate. He believes a rigid and moralistic approach to life superior to a more flexible one. He gets walloped in the race for patrol leader by a nemesis he holds in contempt.

He’s humiliated and sees his defeat as punishment. He discovers some redemption in the companionship of the younger scouts who he previously looked down on. Through them he remembers how to have a little fun. His scouts keep him honest. That Mr. Perfect act is not going to cut it anymore with them.

The change in his priorities, and his demeanor, has benefits in school and his personal life and is all the corroboration he needs. He commits to it and eventually it will become second nature.

He’s lucky, I tell him, if a mild humiliation over a Boy Scout election is all it took to learn a little humility. Some people wait their whole lives and never do.

Leon is a good writer and he doesn't procrastinate. He always had a new version based on my recommendations delivered on time as promised. The hardest thing we faced was the pacing of the story. It isn’t easy writing a plot-heavy piece if you’re going to come in under 650 words, hit every necessary beat, and keep the reader interested. We worked for weeks. I only know one way to accomplish the task— start at the beginning and get every plot point right in chronological order. If the tempo of the storytelling is right in the first sentence, then you only have to make the next sentence belong.

I made him keep looking until he came up with “cunning and malicious” as descriptors for his opponent. He delighted in finding “degenerate” as well. Sometimes the right word does the work of a hundred. Also, he reprised the “pantsing” joke to great effect.

He didn’t resist portraying himself as a priggish and annoying kid. He understood that good stories, and personal growth, depend on accepting the truth about ourselves. He had already begun shedding those negative qualities when we began our work, but the progress accelerated with our discussion and collaboration. He let me call him out when needed.

Humans are suckers for stories. It’s how we’re wired. For as long as we’ve had the ability to speak, we’ve loved being entertained with tales of conquests and dynasties. Stories of villains getting their due. Personal essays of overcoming whatever obstacles life puts between us and our dreams.

And there will always be room for one more.

Yours.