2384 Jack of

My grandmother, source of all things wise, and purveyor of any number of sage homilies, often tried to straighten out the direction of my young life. Instill good habits that would make me a success. Which frequently meant keeping me on task. 

(“Sage homilies.” Sounds like something you add to turkey gravy doesn't it?)

As I was ADHD before they even invented it, those homilies sometimes resonated well. Like when she said that any work I did below the shoulders would pay me 2 bucks an hour and work I did above the shoulders would get me 20 bucks an hour. Inflation is hell on homilies. Perhaps that well-lodged advice accounts for my obsession with having a good hairdo.

There was one piece of direction I took to my heart of hearts. Jack of Hearts to be exact. But I think I took it in a way she didn't approve. She warned me I was in danger of becoming a Jack of all trades and a Master of none. 

Unfortunately for my grandmother, she also informed me at one point that variety is the spice of life. As I really liked spicy food, I pretty much concluded that being a Jack-Of-All-Trades would fit quite neatly into the variety paradigm. It wasn't my nature to stay on one thing for too long. And I'd much rather be half good at a bunch of things than really good at boring old one.

Speaking of boring. The only Jack I had experience with was my favorite playing card, the Jack of Hearts. Handsome. Dashing. Also known as a knave. The King of Hearts, by comparison, looked stodgy and boring. 

Jack-of-all-trades and Jack of Hearts it was. I wasn't suited for anything else.  

America, ya gotta love it.