Well, boy have I been gipped. Ripped off, you might say. My birthright — even my honor! — has been sullied. I don’t know who to take this up with. Is there some federal agency who rights wrongs? That hands out reparations, or at least cookies, to people in my position?
Maybe just a laminated card I can carry around that says, “He was robbed, and should be smarter than he is. Forgive him for his stupidity. It’s unnatural.”
An injustice has been perpetrated, and I don’t know how I will go on.
My wife brought it up: “Did you read the story about how firstborn children are the most intelligent?” she asked. It was on a Norwegian study that found boys who were born first — like me — had higher IQs than their younger siblings.
The blood rushed to my head and boiled.
“I saw something about it,” I told her, “and I’d like to know JUST WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!”
I’m the oldest, yet pit me in a battle of smarts against my brother and even the dog, and I come in slightly behind the dog. On a test, she (the dog) would pick ‘C’ for everything because it’s the first letter in the word “cookie.” My brother, on the other hand, has a brain like a library, and it’s capable of all manner of stuff including math, remembering historical events and storing his own phone number. Some days my mushy sponge has trouble telling time.
So what happened to me? According to the Norwegians, I should be the smart one. Now, I am better looking, more dashing and definitely have debonair to spare. But the universe robbed me of my destiny — to be smart.
I didn’t read up too much on the study to find out why older brothers are supposed to be smarter. I think it could be because they pound a couple of IQ points out of the younger runts. My wife mentioned she thought she read something about it being due to parents paying more attention to their firstborn.
To that I just gotta’ ask the folks: “What’s up with that?!? Don’t tell me you paid more attention to him!”
My wife tried to make me feel better. “Well,” she said, and I got the feeling she didn’t really know where to go with this one. “I think you’re probably much higher when it comes to EQ.”
The what!?! EQ? What the heck is EQ? Sounds like an honorable mention for people whose IQs top-out just below the price of a gallon of gas. You don’t win first place, or even second or third, so they give you the EQ award. “You’re not stupid, little Johnny. You’ve got a really high EQ! Now put on this helmet before you bump into another wall.”
I don’t want EQ. GQ maybe, but not EQ.
So I comfort myself with the knowledge that I’m smart in my own ways. I’m dyslexic and as a child, I spent a couple years at a school that taught me how to tell the difference between a ‘b’ and a ‘d.’ It occurred to me then that if they had just come up with a different symbol for ‘d,’ rather than merely flipping the ‘b’ around, there probably wouldn’t even be dyslexia.
I overcame those challenges, and even went on to become a writer. That’s pretty good. And I’m common sense smart — got good CQ. I constantly out think my brother that way. He’ll run into a problem then sit down on a bench with a notepad, a fancy calculator, a pencil and ruler, a compass, two beers, a half-dozen equations and spend half a day sketching out a solution. Me? I’ll walk up, grab one of his beers and say, “So why don’t you just put these here and flip that switch.” And it works. Keep it simple, stupid. That’s CQ, and I gots’ it.
So the heck with you Norwegians and your worthless study. Who needs it? I’ll find myself that government office to issue me a laminated carb and I’ll get dack to this great dusiness of writing.