I never realized how starved for compliments I really am. Truly, the only one compliment I remember was back in third grade, when a kid named James told me I was the "smartest guy [he] knew." After that, it's been dry pickings. I'm sure for most people (like my alter-ego), compliments are a dime a dozen. For me it, it's like the appearance of Jesus, a fucking once-in-a-millennium occurrence. There's the token compliment, and the genuine compliment.
I can count the number of genuine compliments I received on one hand. That was one of them. It's amazing to think that to this day, I can still remember his words with a kind of crystalline quality reserved for the most traumatic of experiences. It was third grade, Mrs. Williams (if I recall correctly, her father was a dentist, and her husband a mountain climber -- they actually climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and knew some Swahili) was our teacher. Third grade was when we heard to memorize this thing called the "multiplication table." Rote memorization was always one of my greatest skills. To test our multiplication tables, the class had to answer, quick-fire style, 50 multiplication problems (vertically). After completing it, we would pass it to someone else to correct as Mrs. Williams drawled out all the correct answers.
We turned in the papers, and then the papers were passed out again so it wasn't like we just gave it to the dude next to us. It just so happened that my paper fell into the hands of James. That was his first name -- and no, I don't remember his last. James was black, and had this arresting manner of speech. He would exhaust his breath in tandem with his sentences, like he was breathing out the words he spoke. Even in the short time that I knew him, I could see that he was a thinker -- a philosophical child, unafraid to ponder the big questions in life. News had come that he was moving soon, so it was with a heavy heart that the class shared what little time was left before his departure.
When the grading was done, we were all filed outside the classroom, lined up for either some physical or library excursion. We were standing on the ramp and he was beside me. He said something to me that I could never ever forget.
"Thanh, you're the smartest guy I know." According to him, I missed one problem on the quiz, yet, it was still enough to elicit from him, a genuinely heart-warming compliment. He told me, with a straight face, with such strength of force and conviction that to this day, I don't think I have ever received a compliment on quite the same level as James' premature declaration of my all-encompassing intelligence.
Token compliments are a dime a dozen ("you look great!" "good job" "nice work") but a genuine compliment is once in a lifetime my friend. Who knows, maybe I've been genuinely complimented all this time, and it's just that my cynical sardonic nature fails to recognize them as such. Effusive praise always did ring a little hollow to me, but its not like I do anything to warrant normal praise to begin with.
Most people think that they're cool cats, but the truth is, their cool exterior cracks the moment someone says something nice. Then all of a sudden, they appear mortal, blushing at the mere suggestion that they did something better than average. As you stroll along in life, I urge you to channel your inner James and give somebody you really respect and admire, a once-in-a-life time compliment. I'm not talking about your standard-issue ass-kissing compliment, but a straight-from-the-heart outpouring of, well, your respect and admiration for this person. Let them know because it's nice to know things.
On that note, this is to you James:
"You're one of the nicest guys I know. Thanks for the compliment, I truly appreciate it."
