. . . And an F in Memory

I'm not as smart as I think I was.

That's the uncomfortable conclusion I've drawn from a pile of documents my mother handed me over Thanksgiving.

Tucked in a red folder was the official, authorized version of my childhood: report cards, science fair participation certificates, a souvenir photo from the prom, my high school diploma. . .

Centuries from now historians looking at these artifacts will deduce that I often wore a white tuxedo and that I was seldom tardy.

I deduce something else, and that is that I've been lying to myself for years. It's not that I remember always getting straight A's; it's that I thought I nearly always did.

The report cards tell a different story.

Third grade: five A's and four B's, plus an S for "satisfactory" in religion (Catholic school).

Fourth grade: A's in reading, language, spelling, science, health and something called "habits and attitudes." A-minus in mathematics and social studies. Satisfactory in PE. B's in handwriting, music and art.

By the time I get to high school, C's start creeping onto the report card, courtesy of Mr. Brown, my chemistry teacher. Well, they make the B's in personal typing, algebra II and driver education look a little better.

The real knife in the back, though, is my grades in English. Looking back, I remember being a white-hot light when it came to English, equal parts Shakespeare, Hemingway and Strunk & White. It was only fitting, given that I would eventually make my living here, in the garden of words, the loamy soil of language my fertile medium, tossing off similes and metaphors as easily as if they were, um, things that are easily tossed off.

But the record shows otherwise: B's from Miss Sullivan in 10th grade. B's from Miss McCandless in 11th grade.

What does it take to get an A around here?

Then there's my IQ. Among the sheaf of papers were the results of something called the Otis-Lennon Mental Ability Test, which I apparently took in the fifth grade and again in the seventh. In fifth grade I had an IQ of 134. Two years later my IQ had slipped to 119.

It all makes sense. As far as I can tell, sixth grade was the only year I ever got straight A's. (Thank you, Mr. Keienburg.) Since then it's been downhill.

I haven't been able to help my daughters with their math homework since they were in the third grade. I shudder to think what my IQ is now.

The Final Thank You?

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Several readers wrote to say they couldn't understand the irritation I feel when radio interviewees answer a "Thank you" with a "Thank you."

"Not only is the guest grateful for the invitation and recognition of her expertise, she is probably also grateful for the opportunity to express her opinions to a wider audience," wrote Shelagh Bocoum of Washington.

Victoria Schade wrote that she's done quite a few radio interviews recently, promoting her new puppy training DVD. "Saying 'you're welcome' feels too self-important and uppity," she wrote.

"There are tons of people looking to promote their products, so I'm always grateful that the host spent his valuable airtime with me. And when you're grateful, you naturally say 'thank you.' At least that's what my mom taught me."

I guess what I'm mostly objecting to are radio news correspondents who for some reason thank their anchors, even though both are just doing their jobs. I have an ally in Bethesda's Charles B. Saunders Jr., who wrote: "In addition to all the reasons cited in your column, I find it especially grotesque on TV news, when a correspondent has just given a particularly bloody account of the day's horrors in Baghdad and, in response to thanks from the program's moderator, lights up with a smile and says 'It's a pleasure.' "

Children's Hospital

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