Nerdy By Nature

Nerdy By Nature

“This number, one of the first 20, uses only one vowel—4 times.”

“Seventeen.”

“A porch adjoining a building, like where Mummy often served tea.”

“Terrance.”

“Hard times, “indeed! A giant quake struck New Madrid, on Feb. 7, 1812, the day this author struck England.”

….

“Edgar Allen Poe?” I said aloud with hesitation and uncertainty.

*Beep*Beep*

“Charles Dickens.” 

Alex read off the index card to the fellow stumped contestants.

 “Ugh! I KNEW that!” I said followed by a face palm.

My older cousin sat across the living room with an expression that I had deciphered long ago when we were younger.

“What?” I asked with a shrug.

“How the hell do you know this stuff?” she asked blinking her eyes as if what she had just witnessed weren’t possible.

“I don’t know. I just do.” I said as I sipped my “red Kool-Aid” through my decorative crazy straw.

“Makes no damn sense how smart you are.”

                                                                                                    

“Such a Smart Girl!”

I had heard this from numerous family members in my lifetime, mostly in elementary when I delivered my Honor’s Roll report card to be examined. Of course it made me happy to hear such things but I never held much merit to it or labeled it as the gospel because they were my family and families are suppose to praise your good grades.

It wasn’t until I got older and evolved in my college career that I realized how my intellect truly takes people off guard. My friends like to talk aloud, same as me; asking questions not really for the sake of answering.

We all have friends like that.

Although I knew and were used to these habits, I still found myself answering such random questions—the ones I could at least. And once they Goggled it to test my answer which would be proven accurate, that awed stare and familiar question would arise:

“How the hell did you know that?”

                           

 I Just Do

I was sitting in the back of class trying to fight off the exhaustion giving to the way of night. I had just spent the hours of 8am-3pm in Cosmetology school and was now in my night class of English Comp at my local community college. I took a sip of my Mountain Dew in anticipation of its highly promoted promise.

I needed to do the Dew!

I am sure my lifeless trance was apparent to my professor; such a unique man he was! He was in his early sixties at the time. He loved classical music and could be seen riding his custom made mountain bike in the early mornings, attire made of complete spandex.

“I like to train for marathons.” He confessed to me.

As if that weren’t enough to stand out from the crowd, his cultural literacy and intellect was beyond bananas. He was a walking, talking, in the flesh Encyclopedia. He had tried unsuccessfully for years to be accepted into MENSA.

“It’s at the top of my bucket list.” He said with a giant smile. I always had hope in my heart that it would be achieved. (Wonder if he's been accepted)

But no amount of intelligence could overpower the weight of my eyelids that evening.

Damn Mountain Dew lies!

“Here’s a question for you. Do you know what the blue, red and white stripes stand for on a barber’s pole?” He loved to incorporate trivia in his lectures.

“The flag!” I heard someone respond with enthusiasm.

Wrong!

And like Rainman, I automatically injected myself: 

“Blue represented the veins; red the blood and white for the bandages because barbers were once concerned doctors.”

I didn’t realize I had said all this aloud with my eyes closed until I opened them to find the whole class looking back at me. My professors face frozen. “Correct.” He shuffled in his seat behind the podium. “How did you know that?” he asked trying not to seem stunned and shocked. “I read it somewhere.” I responded while covering a very unflattering yawn.

                         

Never Judge a Book by Its Cover

How narrow-minded I deciphered this message as a child! I thought it literally meant a book’s cover. I lived by this as I would take peaceful strolls around the library, in search of another world on paper. The more plain, the better.

As I developed life experiences, I realized how complex and universal the statement was. It wasn’t until I began living it, applying it to my own reality and self-realization. It wasn’t until I was assumed a “bimbo” by a friend of a friend. “But you’re so smart!” he recanted.

Gee, Thanks.

                         

The Student Becomes the Teacher

Having the experience as an educator has taught me so much about my own interests and passions. I give lectures according to my lesson plans but I always try to incorporate resonating tad bits of information. I am sure that any educator would agree that getting a student’s attention is one thing but keeping it is a whole other uphill battle.

When my college classes end, I still stay true to my education background; I sub on the side.  I was carrying out a 3 day job in a high school English class; many of the students I already knew. I was helping them review “The Odyssey”, in hopes of them giving their best effort on an upcoming project their teacher had assigned. I could tell how of little importance it was to them by how many times their fingers glided across their phone screens.

Such Zombies!

As much as it annoys me, I don’t allow the habits of the younger generation to deter me; instead I use their love and fascination of media.

“Who in here has ever seen one of the most AWESOME movies of all time, ‘300’?” The responses began with glances to the front of the classroom.

AHA!

And then hands went up with grand gestures and determination.

“I love that movie!”

 “That’s my ish!” 

“Hell yeah!”

The “Ms. Kin Disapproves Look” displayed with a jerk of my neck.

“My bad Ms. Kin.”, he said with a shamed looked. A familiar apology I was used to. I smiled at the “modern respect” I am given.

“Ok, so picture ‘Odysseus’s Revenge’ as the ‘300’ movie! Blood is gushing everywhere. People are running for safety! War calls and gore are all around. He shows no mercy!”

The finger gliding was no more.

After the lecture, one of my students labeled “The Heartbreaker” of his class asked: 

“Ms. Kin, when I go to college will there be girls like you?” I stopped highlighting to meet his gaze.

 “Like me?”

“Yeah. You know, pretty, swagged out and smart? Will there be girls who—‘know things’ but still be super cool?” he asked with pure genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Um….”

Am I really that rare?

                         

Miss Understood

I can hold a conversation with just about anyone about anything. The trick is actually getting the dialogue started because apparently my legendary “Bitchface”, statue and appearance don’t coincide with the knowledge and interest within me.

“You’re fucking intimidating!” a long term friend blurted out during my over the phone quest to understand why I was so “misunderstood”. I laughed at his bluntness and was grateful for his natural talent to bring humor into a serious situation. He is one of the few who too holds and balances out my dry humor.

I’ve spent most of my life being misunderstood than understood. It’s something I struggled to see and deal with but am now accepting of.

I actually relish it.

Being misunderstood has its cons and pros. Cons are common sense and pretty much self-explanatory: people think you’re someone who you’re not; they assume and make judgment before getting to know you. You know the petty senseless things. Pros need more definition.

What are the benefits of being misunderstood?

The number one advantage, in my world, is being a constant surprise to those who foolishly summed me up; seeing the confused, shocked and awed expressions is something I will never tire from. That awkward silence of them being at a loss for words is equivalent to me yanking off the label they slapped on me and throwing it back in their faces.

Take That Back!

                         

Transformer

I now understand my obsession and love of the “Transformers” franchise: highly advanced beings from another world, looked over and passed by; holding secrets and power unbeknownst to the general public, selecting only a choice few to be privy to.

They only expose and flaunt their elite in times it’s needed; camouflaging  themselves not out of fear within themselves but because they are aware of their intimidation and know the history of mankind: fearing what they don’t understand.

I too, am more than meets the eye.

XO,

BMynroe

(RaChelle-Denise)