Typically, superheroes carefully guard the secrets of their deep, dark pasts, but I’ll let you in on my story. My supposed superpowers do not come from the bite of a radioactive spider, nor do they stem from the way the Earth’s sun differs from a planet like Krypton. No, my reputed strength and stupendous mental abilities came from a far more wondrous and mysterious source: The Fat Letter.
Many moons ago, I was just mild-mannered Marc, mirthfully minding my manners like most mere mortals. (In those presuperhero days, I didn’t realize how annoying the overuse of alliteration could be.) But checking my mail one spring afternoon, everything changed! With a flash of light and a clap of thunder, it became clear to me that this sudden twist of fate would change my life forever: I had been admitted to a doctoral program at Stanford!
Faster than a speed-reader! More powerful than a 4.0 GPA! Able to leap the top percentiles on standardized tests with a single No. 2 pencil! Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a Stanford student!
Although I never intended to become a superhero, I soon found that this is something that is thrust upon you. When people heard I was heading off to the Farm, their impression of me jumped a quantum leap. Neighbors began to seek my opinions on ballot initiatives and foreign films. Colleagues at work deferred to me whenever talk turned to deconstruction or paradigm shifts. Friends I had known for years started to be more cautious in their use of who and whom. All of a sudden, I was expected to start using words like jejune and roman à clef in my everyday speech. And all this before even setting foot on campus!
When I arrived on the Farm, the trappings of the superhero way of life were inescapable. The ubiquitous S could be seen on sweatpants, sweatshirts and T-shirts. No Spandex tights, you wonder? Those are reserved for cyclists; the superhero mode of transport is the StanfordBike, which enables you to fly through stop signs without braking.
Like other superheroes, I soon acquired a catchy moniker. Friends would introduce me by saying, “Hi, I’d like you to meet MarcFromStanford. I’ve know him for years, back before he started to wear Stanford clothes, and he’s the guy of whom I am so proud.” At academic conferences, panel members would say, “That was an interesting paper given by MarcFromStanford. Quite the roman à clef.”
Surrounded by other Stanford superheroes, I spend most of my time on campus, where it is assumed we all perform amazing feats of intellectual strength and scholarly derring-do.
When I leave the secret hideout of this Hall of Just-Us, I must be careful to mask my secret identity with a mild-mannered exterior. But more often than not, people are tipped off by an ID card sticking out of my wallet or a backpack bearing a tree logo. Once they’re on to me, they usually expect some demonstration of my superpowers.
And these superpowers certainly are quite amazing and impressive. POW! The ability to have others assume I am intelligent and articulate! ZAP! The presumption that I know any person who ever was or is now a Stanford student (especially a certain offspring of a certain leader of the free world)! KABLOWIE! The conviction that I am bound for greatness!
Or am I?
I know deep down that I haven’t really been transformed into any kind of superhero. I’m still the same old schnook I’ve always been. The only thing that has changed is the way people seem to treat me: I could never live up to their exaggerated image of who I am. Although . . . I suppose I might add that, informed by my deconstruction of the Nietzschean perspective of Dionysian dynamism and Apollonian reason, this point is rather jejune. But really, who (wait, or is that whom) am I to say?
Marc Chun is a graduate student in education.
