November 22nd, 2007

OK, Dwayne, you were right: I am smarter than Bogdan.

But it took me a long time to believe it.

It all started last July on a sunny afternoon (what, not on a dark and stormy night?) I took a so-called Mensa online IQ test and was told I was smart enough to consider applying to join Mensa. I snorted derisively since I'd taken lots of online IQ tests (and found them to be nothing of the sort) and so have become pretty good at them, through practice, not through sheer intellectual horsepower.

Getting a high mark on an online Mensa IQ test only means I'm adaptive to online Mensa IQ tests ... not the 98th percentile kind of smart that Mensans are. I mean, I've always thought of myself as smart, but that kind of 2nd-tier smart. You know: Smarter than your average bear, but still caught in the bear-trap. And all my life I've carried a sneaking hunch that I'm actually kind of stupid ... maybe ... ?

But that test in July piqued my interest since I did score in the 98th percentile on it, so I decided to try the Real Thing. What could I lose? (Well, a few bucks, actually.) So I wrote this letter to the good folks at Mensa Canada in Kingston, Ontario:

To Whom it May Concern,

I am requesting the Mensa preliminary home test; I understand this is an informal test merely meant as an indication of the appropriateness of taking a proper, invigilated Mensa test.

Please find enclosed a cheque made out to Mensa Canada in the amount of $25.00.

Yours, &c.

And a couple of weeks later a test arrived. I sat around for about 3 weeks with it humming and hawing in anxiety, then finally sat down one Friday evening after work with my stopwatch (I self-timed myself) and just did it. The nerves that had formerly paralyzed me from doing it disappeared about 30 seconds into the test, not because it was easy, but because I was ... um ... kinda busy.

I mailed it back to Kingston, expecting nothing much. But, after about 1 month, a letter came for me:

Dear Mr. Porter,

We are pleased to inform you that your score on the preliminary test was sufficient that you should write the regular test ...

... cost is $90.00 ...

Yours, &c.

Wow. When I read it I made the same kind of little yelp that I make when the Vancouver Giants score a goal. Frankly, I was sure I had done poorly on the preliminary test. But, I realised, I only had to be fairly close for them to say "sufficient" to take the real test. And this test they were suggesting cost $90.00, so maybe they were after a little bit of my money—you know, fleece the sub-gifted a bit. An enclosure in the envelope carried a list of Mensa proctors, so I contacted my local Mensa proctor and got onto the email list for the official, invigilated Mensa test.

It took several weeks longer than it normally would because there was a civic strike going on here in Vancouver, and the centre where the test was to be held was closed. You might think that I would be impatient and anxious about this fact, but I was actually kind of relieved: As long as the test couldn't be taken, I didn't have to worry about flunking it. But, eventually, the weather turned cold and rainy and the strike ended and everyone went back to work. Drat!

And, inevitably, the email call went out to come and socialize with my fellow Mensan wannabes and enjoy their company. (As if.) Oh, and write the Mensa test, too. And so, on a truly dark and stormy night in October I went to the Mt. Pleasant Community Centre and sat down to the first of two tests. (Three, really, since the second test was in two longish parts.)

And on the first test I bombed. I mean, I really stunk up the place. Crash and burn. I did so bad that I didn't even finish half of it, and I don't think I got half of the questions I did answer correct.

A little voice in my head said, "You lose, home-boy, but thanks for playing." (And then added very quietly to itself, "Chump".)

And in the 5 minute break between that one and the next two tests, I had to breathe deep and compose myself. I wondered if it was even worth my time, since I couldn't possibly have made it, but I decided I might as well get my $90 worth and write them.

And I'm glad I did. They were tough, too, but I was determined to do my best, so I put my head down, stuck my tongue out the corner of my mouth, and at least finished the tests. Into the envelope they went with my $90.00, and I walked out of there feeling foolish and very bell-curve-ish.

I didn't tell too many people I was trying to join Mensa. So I figured I would just let it recede quietly into my past. Maybe bring it up at some future Christmas or Easter dinner: "Oh yeah, I wrote the Mensa test once ... but I flunked it. Pass the corn, please."

And then a package arrived a few weeks later. A thick package. From Mensa. Two issues of the Mensa newsletter (called mc2, hee hee) and a list of Mensa SIGs.

Oh, and this letter:

Dear Mr. Porter,

Congratulations! Your test results were high enough to confirm your eligibility for a membership with Mensa Canada ...

Yours, &c.

So did I jump for joy and dance and shout and sing?

No, this is the part where it actually gets a bit strange. You see, I've always wondered if maybe I was really as smart as I thought I was. I've gone through life not getting the punch-line of jokes, not understanding why people do the things they do, not being able to see what was obvious to most others ... heck, not even liking or doing the same things that everyone else did.

Maybe I was kind of stupid?

And this test result really hit me hard ... like a ton of bricks. I really was that smart; I really am exceptional in this way. (I feel like Sally Field with her, "You like me! You like me!" speech.) I actually got very emotional because it was a huge release of feelings about a huge shift in how I should start thinking about myself. At those times when I feel stupid, I should remember I am not. It's actually pretty easy for a stupid person to make smart people feel stupid, then laugh at them for feeling that way. This was my fate—not that I really was stupid, just that I often felt that way.

Somehow there was a justification in it that I hadn't expected to be there. It wasn't joyful, really; it made me sad to think that my suspicions about my lacking intelligence were unfounded and a shameful waste of my time and energy.

So, I can say this now with reasonable confidence: When I walk into a room of 50 people, I'm probably the smartest, or second-smartest among them, and if I feel stupid while I'm there ... well, it's not my fault!

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