...a collection of books and toys, gifts appropriate for a child of 8, and we soon became fast friends. It took him very little time to discover that my apparently advanced performance in the third grade was the simple artifact of having been drilled, monkey-like, to provide the expected answers to test questions; and that I was, as my current reputation and professional performance suggest, actually rather a dumbhead.
Fortunately, I possessed then the cuteness, if not the nubility, that I take pride in today (though a lot of good either of these attributes have done me recently, pant pant); for the Mensa member adopted me, in spite of my dim bulb qualities, and I became a daughter to this man whose intelligence was exceeded only by his generosity.
Daddy Mensa, as I came to call him, took it on himself to try to find the answer to the mystery that had plagued me all my life, if you can call the disjointed stream of frustrating events that constitute my daily experience "life." That mystery was what the hell does 6-19-74 mean? |
