Dear FM Ethicist,
Whenever I go home to the Mid-West, I feel really uncomfortable telling people where I go to school. My parents like to flaunt my Harvard degree, but I like my anonymity. Should I ask my parents to stop?
Thanks,
Confused
Dear Confused,
We’ve all walked in your shoes.
Many times I’ve told my parental units’ friends that I attend Harvard. They stare in shock and awe when I drop that bomb like I’m over Baghdad. They genuflect. They whisper “genius,” or “beatific,” or “God-like,” or “God.” They replenish my table with roasted meats and fine wine. Then, they create a feudal system in which I deny all capitalist bourgeois ascendancy and reinstall the fin de siècle leisure class.
Your parents love you, assumedly. After all, you go to Harvard. When they remind others of your greatness, it is an act of love. By denying them, you’re displaying winner’s or victor’s guilt. You’ve succeeded in name-branding yourself as intellectual, or, just plain lucky. At any rate, better. By whinging, you dishonor your parents, yourself, and the entire Mid-West.
Stop assuming a position of mental authority over these fawning, square state, mock turtleneck wearers. Instead, grasp real power. For ideas, watch Mean Girls and learn from Regina. Or watch Sophie’s Choice. Like, this one time, in high school, there was this dozy slapper Michelle who was talking shit behind my back, so I made her face-plant during chapel, nicked her boy, and zombied her friends to do my bidding. I digress.
Dropping the proverbial H-Bomb? Think about the ethical dilemma of dropping the actual H-bomb. The only exception would be if you dropped the bomb on Gomorrah. Or Baghdad. I’ll leave the comparable horror of nuclear disaster up to your imagination.
From the single-tear no-friends tenor of your note, I bet you read sci-fi. You probably have braces too. Anyway, if you’re going to complain, write to Stephen Fee.
Yours,
The FM Ethicist
