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Previous Identity -
Academic Excellence
Matt bore little resemblance to my blond, curly-haired, goofy-faced child as a toddler. Or of the energetic, enthusiastic, Nintendo-playing gamer or April Fool’s joke-prankster of childhood. Fan of Bill Nye the Science Guy, Star Trek Next Generation, The Lord of the Rings, and complicated board and card games. Or of his studious nature and intellectual prowess of his youth and acclaimed status as High School Valedictorian . . .
Matt had been thrilled to begin school and displayed no reservations about leaving the familiar to set forth without his mom or dad at his side. On the first day, his grandparents gathered with us as he casually waited for the school bus’s arrival, and, minus a few eye-rolls, he tolerated the numerous pictures taken to celebrate this special occasion. We fondly retell the moment, how, in her effort to capture the whole experience, his grandmother followed him up the bus steps to take one last picture of her first grandchild on his big day. When he arrived home that afternoon, he bubbled over with what he had learned and done—his friendly teacher, gym, music, recess, and the bus ride were all noteworthy. In subsequent days, Matt went to a babysitter’s house before and after school. On the second day, however, Matt did not get off the bus at the sitter’s home. The driver had done his route in reverse, and Matt hadn’t recognized where to get off. Unphased, he sat contentedly in his seat, watching all the other children disembark, until the bus driver, much to his surprise, found him there all by himself. The babysitter had notified the school, and after a few calls, the situation was quickly rectified, and Matt was none the worse for the experience.
Matt was bright and eager to excel. His elementary school espoused a blended teaching philosophy, which meant all students worked at the same level rather than grouped according to their abilities. Advanced students were given the “opportunity” to co-teach or guide other students of lesser abilities and, in theory, indirectly advance their education. This wasn’t enough to stimulate or challenge Matt. At the start of third grade, in frustration, one afternoon, he reported that the whole month was dedicated to reviewing addition and subtraction yet again. He wanted more. His teacher commented that the entire room could be crashing down around Matt, but he would still be sitting intently at his desk, working diligently.
Finally, additional learning experiences were offered to the fourth and fifth-grade advanced students. While the teacher spent extra time helping other students master various class content, these children were encouraged to design and complete artistic posters to be displayed in the school hallways. In addition, the school started offering Saturday Scholars, an exciting interactive 6-week session to engage further and build upon the knowledge and skills of individuals like Matt. He was glad for the opportunities to think and be creative. One year, with a sense of satisfaction, he showcased a one-foot-tall wizard he had made with a clay face, hands, flowing robes, and a magic wand.
While reviewing school lessons and homework in fifth grade, his dad occasionally corrected misinformation about a word’s pronunciation or a health-related fact Matt had learned. The next day, Matt would boldly march into school and, in a humble and respectful way—or so we hoped—enlighten his seventy-plus-year-old teacher. Perhaps unaccustomed to students going toe-to-toe with him, the teacher retired at the end of the year.
By the time he headed off to Middle School for sixth and seventh grade, he was able to find more like-minded students who enjoyed math, science, and Spanish.
Matt excelled in this content-enriched environment. Everything computer came quickly to him, and quite naturally, he began to help classmates address problems while the teacher was busy helping others and also taught us at home. Outside school, he focused on trumpet and piano lessons, regional band concerts, and an occasional talent show performance.
In Junior and Senior High School, he plowed through accelerated classes that compressed three years of math and three of science into two years each. In the tenth grade, he participated in a History Language Art Curriculum. The English and history lessons were blended and intertwined with events correlating to the culture of the period being studied. The ability to condense classes opened up Matt’s schedule in later grades to take advanced placement classes and select from unique learning tracks. Matt picked a three-year program in science research. In the first year, he learned about the research process. In subsequent years, he identified and investigated his chosen research topic. Matt planned to study how carrying heavy backpacks affected student posture and muscle activity. He consulted a physician, designed the methodology, conducted the study, analyzed the data, and wrote a paper. The course concluded with a formal presentation to his peers, parents, and guests.
To round off his academic experience, Matt took five and a half years of Spanish, art, and gym, played in the band for nine years, and took jazz band his Senior year. His grades were always at the top of the class. Matt scored 1550 out of 1600 on the SATs, was in the Honor Society, and received numerous recognitions and awards at the end of each school year.
His desire to attend an Ivy League college and, minimally, obtain a Master’s Degree was the impetus that fueled aspirations to be numero uno in his class. The race to the top was nip-n-tuck with a close friend, but Matt ultimately won the coveted honor of class valedictorian. At commencement, he proudly sat on the stage and was honored to welcome the class of 2001 and speak about their years together and the bright future ahead.
But that wasn’t all. Matt went on to graduate with a Bachelor of Science degree from the University at Buffalo and a Ph.D. from Cornell University, becoming a respected researcher with professional publications and presenting at conferences around the nation and the world. And the icing on the cake—he fell in love with dancing and became a handsomely poised, erect, accomplished competitive ballroom dancer dressed in tails escorting lovely ladies on his arm to the dance floor.
. . . now, no longer was he a composed, confident computer and electrical engineering professor, website designer, or YouTube video creator of educational modules. Lover of rollercoasters, bungee jumping, fast boats, and wild women…well, maybe not the latter. Nor the independently proud young man who owned his own house and loved to garden, grill, bake bread, brew wine, beer, and so much more. My son, who dearly valued and loved his family and times spent together, now sat motionless—no longer recognizing us or anyone. He was an illusion of the man he once was. Yet he was alive, and alive opened up possibilities, and if I didn’t think this way or didn’t believe possibilities could overcome probabilities—it would crush me.