COLUMN: Evolution of a misunderstood genius

From: Jason Brenner's, "My 20 Inches," Fall '97 From: Jason Brenner's, "My 20 Inches," Fall '97 A genius is so frequently misunderstood. Others see his actions as madness -- their meager minds cannot comprehend the reasons for his unusual behavior. The cerebral superman, however, must ignore the commoners' insults. He must continue to travel the path -- however, difficult that journey may be -- on which the geniuses before him arduously trekked. I must admit, I am no exception to this rule. From the beginning of my life to the present day, others continuously have misinterpreted my actions. While they say my peculiar behavior proves my intellectual inferiority, I say my actions are nothing short of the sign of a genius. While most newborns take the boring way out and simply follow the light at the end of the tunnel, I chose to spend my last few moments as a fetus navigating and exploring the maze that I would never again see. The doctors called it a complicated pregnancy; I say it represents nothing less than raw intellectual curiosity and a stern refusal to accept the customary ways of thinking. Roughly seven years after I "took the long way out," I committed yet another act my parents could not comprehend. Playing on the swing set in my backyard, I decided to reenact the adventures of Tarzan using the long twine rope that hung from the top of the structure. I concocted a swing by tying the free end of the rope to the swing set. My invention, however, could not support my weight and I crashed headfirst on a rock directly below me. With blood gushing from my head, I ran inside my house and presented my injury to my mother. The poor woman nearly fainted from the sight of her 7-year-old son bleeding profusely from his head. She rushed me to the emergency room, where I received a countless number of stitches and a 6-inch scar on my forehead. To the uncouth and intellectually inferior, my backyard fall resulted from the hare-brained scheme of a foolish child. The dimwitted person may say that I merited my painful plunge to the earth because of my immaturity and sheer stupidity. Yet again, the common folk cannot see through the guise of senselessness surrounding this incident in order to see the wealth of genius hidden past the surface. My childhood accident was a complicated experiment in which I meticulously studied several scientific phenomena en route to solving many of the questions that continue to daunt researchers. I chose to fall from the homemade rope swing so I could analyze the effect of the earth's gravitational pull on a body accelerating downward. I chose to land headfirst on the rock so I could painstakingly scrutinize the density of granite formations. I chose to split my head wide open so I could investigate the reaction of the human circulatory system to a severe head trauma. The conclusions I compiled are simply astounding; unfortunately, since my readers cannot hope to reach the same intellectual plateau on which I reside, I will not attempt to explain my complicated conclusions to them. While many of my intellectual undertakings may have practical applications to the outside world, occasionally I enjoy simply pondering the deepest, most philosophical questions in life: "How was the world created?" "Is there a God?" "Is abortion inherently moral or immoral?" "What came first: the chicken or the egg?" "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?" It's often difficult (even for a genius like myself)to answer these abstract questions without exploring alternate states of consciousness to aid me in my philosophical endeavors. I entered one such state of being when I was standing outside the train station in Wilmington, Del., en route to a job interview. (Yes, it did say job interview.) As I stood examining one of the most profound questions ever to plague modern man -- "What type of animal meat is really in McDonald's hamburgers?" -- I found I could not concentrate in my present state of consciousness. I, therefore, decided to slam my head into a metal pole immediately to my right, thus enabling me to contemplate more freely. I understand that a passer-by may have misconstrued my purposeful act of clearing my mind as the accidental mishap of an absent-minded idiot. Nonsense. To prove my point, let me use the historical example of another genius who, like myself, made a very important discovery while seemingly being the victim of an unfortunate accident. Isaac Newton sat under the apple tree, knowing full well that one of those luscious pieces of fruit would plummet from the tree above him. Like myself, Newton could not think clearly without the benefit of an alternate state of consciousness. Surely someone frolicking in the field nearby would have observed the apple descending upon old Isaac's noggin and thought, "What an unfortunate fool." Poor Newton represented yet another of us geniuses who had to endure the taunts of oblivious laymen. Today we look at Newton as a pioneer and a sheer genius whose reflection under the apple tree gave knowledge to the rest of the world. Many years in the future, the world will look back on my incident outside the Wilmington train station with just as much fascination. Newton had his apple, Brenner, his pole. As you can see, my life -- from the very first day of my existence -- has been a series of misunderstood actions. Even if other people continue to misinterpret my behavior and scoff at me for it, I will proceed on my quest to use my intellect to make the world a better place for everyone else. Don't call me noble; don't call me benevolent; we geniuses simply have to travel the path -- no matter how rocky -- that we were intended to follow.