Maybe Next Year, Genius

This image is from this blog.

So, yesterday, I have to say,  was a bit of a disappointment.  The list of MacArthur genius grants came out, and again, I wasn't on it.  In case you were left off this list too, the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation(familiar names if you watch much PBS programming) awards money, known as "Genius Grants" to talented and creative people every year to invest in their work and productivity.  "Well, lots of people didn't get such a grant," you might say. And yes, only a handful of people a year have a qualified representative of a quietly filthy rich foundation tap them on the shoulder and say, "Hey you, you're lookin' smart.  I mean really smart, so how's about we give you a little dough-re-mi so that you can go off and work on something. Don't worry about expenses or anything, because you just won the smartypants lottery..." I know, I know, but still, it would have been nice, just this once.

This year's winners were especially lucky, because the stipend has gone from half a million dollars to $625,000, which is paid out in quarterly installments over five years. Somehow the words "half a million dollars" still sound like more than $625,000.  I guess the real geniuses say two thirds of a million dollars, which sounds like plenty to me.  Just the word "million" linked with the word "dollars" sounds like a lot more than any number of thousands.   I think this sort of meandering nonsense might be a sign of why the MacArthur people didn't grace me with one of their grants.

The genius grants are draped, if not shrouded, in some secrecy.  The recipients don't apply, but are nominated by an anonymous committee and then chosen by an anonymous selection panel.  The word genius makes it sound like this grant is only given to geeky nerds holed up in laboratories at the top of some university's ivory tower-- and it is given to those people, but it's given to real people too. Real talented people.  Writers, artists, dancers, poets, even philosophers get these things.  I was just reading that Jonathan Lethem, an excellent author from Brooklyn, got the call about his grant five years ago while he was at the car wash.  This is the kind of tidbit that gives me hope-- even people with dirty cars are eligible for the MacArthur grant.  Not only do you not have to do mind-boggling work in utterly unintelligible fields like theoretical physics, you can live in Brooklyn, and have a dirty car.

This image is from here.

This years winners range in age from 32 to 60, and the oldest person to ever receive the grant was 82, meaning I am still in the running, with several good, productive years to go.  This eases the sting of the recent realization that all those lists of "20 under 30" and "30 under 40" and in just half a year, even "40 under 50" are no longer something I can aspire to.  This lifts my spirits as I swill my generic vitamin water and apply for yet another hardship deferment for my student loans.  Another oddly comforting thought:  the awards began the year I graduated high school.  Coincidence?  I prefer to think not.

The idea of the grants, as I understand it, is to give creative, talented people the opportunity to concentrate on their art/science/vocation free from the strain of having to make a living.  Yep, that's right, it's the chance to "quit your day job" if you want to.  One of this year's lucky winners, the very fine author Karen Russell, mentioned that she was happy that she would be able to stop moving from one place to another to take teaching jobs to make a living.  This is a woman who has won literary awards and spent time on the New York Times Bestseller List.  She also mentioned that she might use the money to pay for an emergency root canal, as she hadn't known how she would cover it before she got the call.  Not only is she a literary giant, she really knows how to live it up! Other recipients mention paying rent, paying student loans and paying other artists who work with them.  It seems that recognizing talent might just be good for the economy.  Maybe some other foundations will get the giving bug...

I think the only thing really standing in my way here is lack of achievement, but hey, that's still possible, right? Knowing that some MacArthur Foundation scout is out there, looking for someone to bless with this recognition can be the inspiration I need to write every day.  I've got to get to work now, so I can be ready to get the call...

Marriage Rules for Little Girls

Future Mrs. Rich Guy?
 

The other night, as Delia rearranged the peas and chicken on her dinner plate to make it appear that she was actually eating, she announced that she "wanted to marry a rich husband."  Swallowing my chicken and the jolt of fear that arose because she is already contemplating marriage, I asked her why she thought that was a good idea.  She was very matter of fact, noting that if she married someone rich, she could have a big house, go on vacations, and get lots of clothes and her own car and anything else she might need.  This is the first year she has seemed concerned about our family's comparative lack of stuff, and apparently it is shaping her ideas about a lot of things.  Because she has visited the houses of school friends, she is less satisfied with our apartment, and as every girl who has had to share a room with her sister is bound to do, she is lobbying for her own room. "We could all have our own rooms if we had a house," she says, though she graciously allows, "you and Daddy could still share, if you wanted to..."  We do.  Thanks.  

But before we could turn the discussion away from lifetime commitments to talk about how having a lot of stuff isn't always so important, Fiona chimed in, "M used to have a lot of money, but he doesn't anymore and I love him anyway."

Fiona is in an imaginary committed relationship with a three foot tall plastic display version of a yellow peanut M&M.  He was gifted to her before we left Boston by my CVS manager, who not only wanted to get it off his sales floor, but who was also touched by the true love of a girl and her candy pal.  She can call him just "M" as a nickname, because he's her boyfriend.  All of her dolls and stuffed animals are their children and she tells us often what he thinks about situations that arise with 'their kids' at school and about stuff happening on television.  M has a lot of strong opinions, and I don't agree with all of them, but at least I know he's from a good home and he doesn't have a motorcycle that I have to worry about Fiona riding on the back of.  We hope they're very happy together until she's about thirty, which is the age Mike has decided the girls will be allowed to date.



Fiona's main squeeze.  A model boyfriend.

The discussion of marriage continued when I asked Delia, "Don't you think love is more important than money when you decide who to marry?"  Mike was also interested in the answer to that one.  Again, she was matter of fact, "Well, if he was rich, he could buy me lots of presents and then I would love him." She paused for a minute, pretending to chew some peas, and possibly because she realized that this might be kind of shallow, she added, "I'm sure I could find someone who is nice and rich, and I would love him because he was nice, and he would still be rich.  Then I would have the best of both."  There it was, the admonishment of parents through the centuries:  It's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one. Out of the mouths of babes, right?
We were at the table for a while, because Delia never did really did make any progress on her dinner, so we discussed the possibility of her becoming rich herself.  She had taken this for granted, assuming she would have a career (as a rock star or an astronaut or a professor) and her own money, but she was clear that her future partner should have his own too, because then they would not have to worry about money for sure.  "And I might want to take time off to stay home with babies, or he might, so we both need to have money." 

It all seems so simple when a six year old explains it to you. 

Later, I found myself wondering why I hadn't thought of all of this when I was her age, because I certainly don't remember thinking about it then.  My sons are now old enough to be in real committed relationships, but I don't remember either of them thinking about who they were going to marry, let alone specifying that money was important, when they were Delia's age.  We certainly lacked stuff when they were growing up too, but neither of them seemed to think that marrying money was the way to get it, even when they were old enough to make those choices for real.  My marriage to their dad had been such a disaster-- the stuff of Lifetime movies, really, complete with a final escape with the kids' toys and clothes loaded into black trash bags-- that I used to worry the boys would have trouble with their relationships.  I can happily say this has not been the case.  They are both good men with good women in their lives.  I don't offer advice, unless I'm asked. And I'm usually not, which is okay.

Is it different with girls, though?  It already seems that it is.  It is also a new generation of girls, with lots of options that weren't on the table when I was growing up.  Maybe I wouldn't have messed up so badly the first time if I'd had Delia's confidently pragmatic attitude.  On the other hand, maybe I wouldn't appreciate Mike the way I do now if I hadn't been through something so awful.  Nah, he's great-- I would've loved him no matter what. 

Still, as we finally cleared the plates, after Mike and Fiona had gone in to muck out the girls' room in preparation for bedtime, I told Delia that even though it does really kinda suck to be poor, the real trick to marriage is finding the person you want to be with, no matter what else happens. "Yeah," she said, "like they say on a wedding, for better and worse, for richer and poorer, and then they both say I do and they kiss." 

"Yeah, just like that, " I said.  And she giggled, because she's six.