Monday, March 21, 2016

Microstory 281: Perspective Fifty-Six

Perspective Fifty-Five

“My name is Thomas Edison. Most people know me as the father of many inventions. But what you don’t know is that I stole a not insignificant number of them. You see, inventing isn’t about starting from scratch with an idea and developing it until it’s done. No, it’s about incremental refinements and enhancements to preexisting products. Using what wealth I had already accrued, I exploited legal loopholes and co-opted ideas could put in the time and effort into creating something. They were then contractually obligated to hand over their ideas and creations so that I could patent them. I even sued independent people and companies for patents the rights to which I was not entitled to hold.”
That was the beginning of my presentation for our huge eighth grade project. We were tasked with choosing an historical figure and portraying them in little plays so that parents and other visitors could watch. The teacher was neither happy nor impressed with my research. The point of the assignment was apparently to conform with socially accepted “knowledge” on history, rather than actual true knowledge. I’ve always been like this; more knowledgeable of the facts than my supposed teachers. We’re all taught that George Washington said he couldn’t lie about chopping down his father’s cherry tree, which is ironic, because if he had ever tried to convince someone that the incident happened, he would have been lying. My third grade teacher thought violins were distinguished from violas by having six strings, instead of four. I even had a screaming match against my science teacher who said chameleons changed color to blend in, when it really has more to do with mating and temperature regulation. This is just the latest adventure in my perpetual need to be right all the time. The thing is, though, that it’s not just that I have to be right; it’s that I am. I don’t ever say anything that isn’t true, unless I’m claiming to my parents that I didn’t put on a makeshift hazmat suit so that I could see what our neighbor’s house looks like while it’s being fumigated. Welp, I’m being called into the vice principal’s office. Again. Wish me luck. Oh no, this is still theatre. Tell me to break a leg.

Perspective Fifty-Seven

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