In first grade at my geograhically
assigned elementary school we were taking a spelling test and another
student was obviously having trouble. He asked the teacher to repeat
the word three times before I got frustrated and blurted out the
correct pronunciation of the word, then spelled it out letter by
letter for my feeble-minded classmate. In second grade, after I
raised my hand and successfully answered every single math question
my teacher asked, she, without a trace of irony or malice, asked if I
wanted to get up and teach the subject. Later that year, I was doing
math with the Sixth Graders. I needed a better school.
Louise Archer Elementary School was
established as a school for African-American children in Vienna,
Virginia in 1939. The African-American woman after whom the school
was named established high standards of learning. When I arrived in
1988, long after her passing, Louise Archer was one of the few
elementary schools in Fairfax County which had an accelerated
academic program known as Gifted and Talented. Smart students like
me were bussed to Louise Archer from all over the county for “GT.”
I wasn't the smartest person in the room anymore but that's only
because I was in an extremely intelligent room. I studied French in
fourth grade and advanced mathematics throughout elementary school.
Being around smart people made it easier to be accepted as a person
with albinism. Every September at the start of the school year, I
gave a brief presentation on my condition in order to educate my
classmates. I was teased about my albinism by Louise Archer students
who were not in the GT program, but none of my smart classmates ever
really gave me shit about it. My obesity and ridiculous personality
provided them plenty of other reasons to tease me.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Middle
School was not my assigned middle school by geography, but it had a
GT curriculum and was a feeder school for The Thomas Jefferson School
for Science and Technology, a magnet science and tech high school
which is nationally renowned. Since I'd been studying advanced
mathematics, it seemed like a great fit for me. Instead, Middle
School was hell. It's hard to remember how much of my torment was
really caused by other people and how much of it was teenage
insecurity, fear and radical chemical changes taking place in my body
and brain. I don't remember getting teased about my albinism much,
but then again, most of those years are blocked out of my memory.
The vague snippets I can piece together are unpleasant, socially and
academically. For reasons I'll elaborate on in a coming essay, I
didn't even apply to The Thomas Jefferson School for Science and
Technology and I hated math by the end of eighth grade. I've also
never in my life read a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and I
never fucking will.
I couldn't decide where to go to college. I didn't get into my reach schools of UVA or NYU, but I did get into both Boston University and Northeastern University. In hindsight, BU was the obvious choice and it shouldn't have even been close. However, because I was a conservative Republican who thought his future was on Wall Street, Northeastern had appeal. At NU, which was also in Boston, they offered a co-op program, mixing work and study. It meant I'd be able to work on Wall Street by the time I was 20, applying my studies as a Finance major. I couldn't choose between the two schools and ended up driving to IHOP at 3am, chain smoking cigareetes and poring over the materials from each university before I flipped a coin and landed on Northeastern.
Northeastern was a joke. My courses were simple and my classmates were dim. The business curriculum felt rudimentary, students learned what I considered to be mostly common sense and teachers assigned homework every single week! At the time, I thought so much homework was tedious but I now recognize the workload was meant to teach us accountability, a subject in which I had little interest during college. I obliterated Calculus for Business, Physics and Astronomy, getting As in all three, even with a 0% homework average. I eviscerated specious arguments from my ignoramus classmates in discussion sections of Sociology, Existentialism and American Ideology. I did so well on my Microeconomics Final, the Professor learned a thing or two. (Sidebar: The most valuable experience of studying business was taking micro and macroeconomics, both of which should be mandatory courses for anyone attending college, regardless of their field of study). Bored in my business classes, I got into creative writing and people thought my work was funny and they passed copies of a story I wrote for class around the dorms. I changed my major to English, which was smart because if I'd gone on to Wall Street I'd have ended up strung out on blow and in prison for securities fraud. Once I was an English major, school was even easier. All I really remember learning at Northeastern is how to drink even though I was underage, talk my way out of getting arrested, buy weed on the street, smoke weed on the street, carry on a socratic discussion while stoned to the gills, eat mushrooms, buy acid, jump across rooftops, get kicked out of rockabilly shows and not get laid. One day after I'd dominated a class discussion about the mass shooting at Columbine, a friend asked me, “Why aren't you at Dartmouth or something?”
The University of Virginia was founded in 1819 by Thomas Jefferson and is known for its beautiful grounds, a student-run Honor Code and a tradition of academic excellence. When I went to visit my friend in Charlottesville for a weekend and decided to transfer, it ranked as the best public university in the country with one of the best English Departments in the world. Every single person I met while visiting UVA reflected Virginia's tradition of excellence. These people were intelligent, interesting and articulate and I felt I had found my place. After tansferring, I found the academics intense, competitive and my classmates were as bright as I'd hoped. I stopped smoking pot or doing drugs because I had to focus, so I just smoked cigarettes and got drunk six nights a week. The challenges of the academic workload and the adroitness of my classmates at Virginia forced me to take myself and the expansion and development of my brain more seriously than I ever had in the past Since everyone was intelligent, I was rarely singled out for my albinism, except drunk people would say, “Hey, there's albino guy!” Sometimes I'd ignore it, sometimes it would bother me, depending on my mood and own level of intoxication. I graduated UVA with the same 3.3 GPA I had in high school but my diploma from Virginia also came with a feeling of Honor, a ton of pride and a genuine sense of intellectual superiority, all of which are common among UVA grads.
My favorite UVA joke goes:
How many UVA grads does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
It only takes one to hold the lightbulb in place while the world revolves around him.
I didn't have any real plans for my life after college and later essays will expand on what a disaster this lack of planning turned out to be; but, by the time I was 24, I needed out of my rut and Graduate School felt like a smart move. Because of my experiences at Northeastern, I was not willing to attend a middle-of-the-pack graduate school.
The School of Cinematic Arts at the University of Southern California was established in 1929 in a joint venture with the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, it has produced some of the most influential filmmakers in the history of the medium and USC is widely and rightfully regarded as the best film school in the world. I got wait-listed for their MFA in Writing for Screen and Television Program, which has an acceptance rate lower than that of Harvard Medical School. Though, that's a dubious statistic because only a select few excellent students apply to Harvard Medical School while every asshole in the country thinks he can get into USC Film School. That said, I can still remember how loud I screamed when I found out I was a Trojan. At the time, it was everything I ever wanted.
My favorite USC joke goes:
You know what they give you if you drive through USC's campus in a BMW?
A diploma.
From an academic perspective, USC was not particularly challenging; though it certainly broadened my perspective and artistic horizons. Creatively, it was the most amazing and challenging two years of my life. I was exposed to a whole new industry, medium and world in Hollywood. I was surrounded by passionate writers with similar goals, more talent, comparable work ethic and narcissistic personalities just like me. The lax academics of film school left most of us with a great deal of free time and I used this time to write and 'network,' which was just a euphamism for partying. I should have spent more of my time learning editing or more about physical production; but, even with a two-year hangover, I did a lot of great work in graduate school and am incredibly proud to be a member of the USC Mafia. Fight on! Write on! I think part of why I partied so much in graduate school stemmed from the fact my albinism became my most defining characteristic. My classmates were adults in their 20s, most of whom had never met a person with albinism before, so being Albino was my Thing. In a future essay I'll talk about this idea more, but I've never been so aware of my albinism as when I lived among the tan and image-obsessed people of Los Angeles.
From elementary school through graduate school, I had the privilege of learning at some of the finest educational institutions on the planet. The quality of these institutions was most evident in the teachers I encountered at each. At Louise Archer, Longfellow, Marshall, UVA, USC and yes even Northeastern, my teachers were extraordinary. Though I was... let's say unique and my vision offered many obstacles, my hardworking and patient instructors, teachers and professors gave me knowledge, which remains the best way to equip a person to mitigate life's many challenges. The education I received has been integral to my success as a person with albinism. Today, in my work as a Professor, I try to pay it forward. It is funny to me, though, that after an academic career spent avoiding homework, I've landed work as a professor, a vocation in which, because I have to grade assignments, I have homework every single night for the rest of my career.
My education now thoroughly vaunted, I have to admit the most important lesson I've learned in my life did not come from any of these renowned schools. Being smart and well-educated meant I was often right and being a white man in American meant I thought I could and should be extremely arrogant and vocal about how right I was, especially since I was right All The Time. However, getting older and wiser, failing A LOT and working as a freelance writer and Professor has taught me how to admit when I am wrong, which is the single most valuable lesson I have ever learned. Many of the problems the world faces today stem from people being unable to admit their mistakes, errors in judgement, misinterpretations of the facts or flawed views about the world or themselves. Experiencing setbacks and interacting with my students has forced me to remember what it feels like not to know something, which has taught me to look past my ego to see the truth, even when that truth is counter to what I believe or even what I think I know. It's okay if I'm wrong.
As such, here's a partial list of things I've been wrong about:
I was wrong. I shouldn't have flipped a coin to decide where to go to college.
I was wrong. Ben Franklin was never a president.
I was wrong. “Reeling in the Years” is not performed by Thin Lizzy, it's Steely Dan's best song.
I was wrong. SNAKES ON A PLANE did not make more money than PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN at the box office like I thought it would.
I was wrong. Dating a woman off and on for three years and never meeting her parents was a mistake.
I was wrong. My friend's wife really could name all 50 states in under five minutes.
I was wrong about every choice I ever made in Las Vegas.
I was wrong. Moving to New York to follow a girl who didn't want to be my girlfriend was an error in judgement.
I was wrong to turn down a career opportunity to become a suit at NBC because I'm “an artist.”
I was wrong. I once submitted a resume with two typos on it. They were both Headings. One read “PROFFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE.” The other read “EDUCTATION.”
I've probably misheard my wife 300 times this month alone.
I was wrong. I didn't wear earplugs when playing the drums.
I was wrong about nearly every financial decision I made between 2002 and 2012.
I was wrong. That story about how NASA spent millions to make a space pen that would work in zero gravity and Russia didn't spend a dime and just used a pencil is completely bogus.
I was wrong. I should have done more squats and less bench presses.
I was wrong. Internet dating turned out to not be beneath me, it's how I met my wife.
I was wrong. I should have started yoga when I was 18.
I was wrong. I believed Jackie.
I was wrong. I should not have quit playing the guitar even though I was not instantly good at it.
I was wrong. Elvis Costello is awesome.
I was wrong. I should not have quit doing Tae Kwon Do even though I was instantly good at it.
I was wrong. Regularly sleeping with and then moving in with a girl who kept insisting she didn't want to date me was a mistake.
I was wrong. I canNOT do a flip.
I was wrong. Ted Nugent was never in Bad Company.
Putting a knife through my finger while making a salad was a mistake but I wasn't “wrong” about it. I was wrong about taking an ambulance to the hospital instead of a taxi was and I should've flown to my insurance company's home coverage area for the subsequent nerve repair surgery I needed.
I was wrong. Pursuing a career in the arts in 21st Century America has proven harder than I thought it would be.
I was wrong to sell my car before moving to New York City.
Being a Conservative was mostly wrong, (but probably not as wrong as you think).
I was wrong. I overestimated Rob Gronkowski's fantasy output in the 2016 season.
I was wrong. There's no giant moment coming where all the pain and suffering of life feels worth it. The moments the suffering feels worth it are fleeting and far between, but they are there and I can see them when I'm not too busy waiting for the giant moments that never come.
I was wrong. Fleetwood Mac is not a terrible band.
I was wrong. Nobody owes me anything, ever, at any time and not for any reason.
I was wrong. One time, I confused uterus and womb and claimed a woman's uterus forms during gestation in front of a graduate level class I was teaching.
I was wrong. I am decidedly not a genius.
Nothing in life will go as I think or the way I imagine and I was wrong to think this lack of predictability is a bad thing.
Updating daily...
Further Reading: The Wrong Man for the Job
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