He Blinded Me With…

In 2006, in spite of being too dumb to know that I should have given up earlier: things had finally started to percolate, career-wise.

The small tech business that I’d started a few years earlier was finally beginning to see a bit of good fortune.

A modest venture, it certainly wasn’t going to be the next Commodore or Gateway. But it did put food on the table and pay the health insurance for a group of loyal employees.

In our sleepy town, this meager success was apparently noticed by at least one person. One late-fall day, my assistant buzzed me and said that a sister was on the phone.

I was puzzled, but after a moment, it started to make sense. It wasn’t a sister. It was a Sister.

“Hello, Mr. 58? Good day, sir. This is Sister Agnetha from the Catholic School. I’m calling to ask you for a favor. We know that you run a business that is involved with computers…”

I know what’s coming next. And it’s OK – with success comes an implied fiscal responsibility to the members of one’s community.

(Just ask the members of one’s community. They will concur.)

I was about to ask what kind of donation she would prefer: some software, maybe a spiffy new PC, or just a check. She surprised me as she continued in an unexpected direction.

“Our students would be grateful if you would consider being a judge at our Annual Science Fair next Thursday evening.”

I had no idea why she would call me for this. It was true that I was involved in technology. But, ”a judge?”

I would barely qualify as a defendant, let alone as an arbiter presiding on any kind of bench. I began to swiftly compose a no-thank-you to the request.

But on that day, my mouth had a mind of its own.

“Why, um, yes, Sister. That’s a very kind invitation, and I would love to! I’ll be there.“

The assembled cast of characters was per the script.

We had a pair unsure moms who kept repeating that they didn’t know a thing about science. Two bored looking dads stood silently. And for healthy demographics: an older, senior couple who insisted that they were “co-judges,” and would be working as a team.

After receiving some basic instructions, we made our way out to the crowded gymnasium floor. There was a tri-fold foam board on nearly every table. Examples of serious scientific discovery were everywhere.

I was having a great time, nodding and looking very sincere as I listened to the kids explain their work and methods.

Most were very nervous. While I tried to appear objective, it was the timid and scared students that I enjoyed talking with the most. They were taking it all very seriously. I enjoyed asking questions, and encouraging their effort.

I had one final student on my list. He was literally tucked away in a corner, smashed up against a portable coat rack full of fall weather gear. Before I could introduce myself, there was a sudden commotion in the middle of the gym.

“OK, it’s fixed. It’s ready,” declared a loud teenage voice. We all turned to see what was going on.

Well, nothing to see here. It was just your everyday, allegedly homemade, Van de Graaff Generator.

For the uninitiated, I’ll defer to Wikipedia:

If you’ve ever seen one of these contraptions in real life, you know that they are very impressive. And very loud.

There was a sharp crackling noise, followed by a sparky flash. It was all quite exciting. How could something so huge and over-the-top not take first place?

But there was a problem. It didn’t exactly have that kitchen table, “homemade” look. The finish and the ultra-tight lines of this thing would make the Apple Design Team green with envy. And the accompanying write-up? It was just an enlarged photocopy of an encyclopedia page. And it didn’t help that the student’s father was in semi-takeover mode for the whole affair, acting as a cheerleader.

I’m certain that he was a nice kid. But this was just too much style over substance.

I turned to continue with my last student. He was looking at the Van de Graaff generator kid with a thousand-yard stare, the one that told you immediately: no matter what his project was, it could never measure up with that.

But to his credit, he regrouped, and became very focused. In a quiet voice he told me about his work. It was about batteries. His idea was to test different brands, to see if the nationally advertised ones were indeed better than generic, or dollar store versions.

He did everything correctly. He noted the chemistry type of each battery, the expiration dates, and many other variables that I wouldn’t have considered. There was a very old and tired looking voltmeter on the table to demonstrate the capacity of the different cells. He had dozens of spreadsheets and graphs in a binder, and could answer very specific questions about all of it.

For every query posed, there was a confident reply. I think my favorite answer was when I asked if there was any difference in performance, in consideration of ambient temperature.

His reply was perfect:

“I don’t know. I don’t have the data to properly answer.”

No BS. Just the facts.

He was almost painfully shy about the whole thing, never cracking a smile or making very much eye contact. But you got the sense that he wanted to power through it. And do well.

Which is why later that night at the big awards ceremony, I was elated when his name was announced as one of the evening’s finalists. It was all I could do to not jump up and pump a fist in the air. I was very glad that I had agreed to attend.

In life, there’s definitely a time for the flash and the wow. Van de Graaff Generator Kid definitely won the day in that respect.

But it was another student, a shy yet determined one, that I’ve thought about over the years. The underdog; the one that flies under the radar. Steady and determined. Dependable and thorough.

As I was walking out to my car, I saw Battery Kid. His father was carrying the poster board, his mother clutching the cheap trophy that said, “Second Place.” They were all smiling and laughing. I sensed that a surprise road trip for some ice cream could be imminent

The old Thomas Dolby song popped into my head, and at that moment, the kid caught my eye. I just smiled and nodded with a “thumbs up.”

And it was all I could do to not shout out:

“SCIENCE!”