Draped in all black and wearing a turban, the spoken word artist grabs the microphone with a fury. It is now her turn in the poetry slam. She begins a spoken word piece which parallels the genocide in Darfur to the inner turmoil facing black Americans in the debate of natural versus relaxed hair. The audience is drawn in to every word, nodding to the rhythm that flows so easily from her lips. At the end, fingers come together to snap admiration and approval, and everyone rises to their feet – except for one person. The lone figure in the front that whispered to a friend, “She didn’t even rhyme in this poem.”
Unfortunately I wasn’t blessed with much in the department of street smarts or common sense. Why else would I touch that straightening comb as a child after my grandmother warned me not to? But what I lack in those areas I make up for intellectually, right? After all I went to one of the top middle and high schools for academics. I studied at one of the best state colleges. By all accounts I should be a highly profound intellectual that can pontificate on any subject in the news. Yeah right. Not too long ago it hit me: I am not that deep. Did I even use pontificate correctly? Sometimes I wonder if I’m closer to an idiot than an intellectual. My preferred genre of choice for movies and TV shows is comedy. Instead of playing Sudoku or a cross word puzzle, I stimulate my brain with a word jumble or word search. Is my mind filled with just thoughts of bubblegum and popcorn?
Part of me feels like I wasn’t always this dense. I used to be deep or at least more of an intellectual. The peak time was probably in college. I was surrounded by other learned individuals. Then I graduated and the denseness set in. Or was it always there to begin with? Apparently I need to go pick up a “Deepness for Dummies” book. Then again I could be stressing over nothing. Maybe we aren’t all meant to be philosophers. Perhaps knowing your intellectual limitations is deep in itself.