Sara Wick

You’re remarkable—you really are
You’re the only one like you
There isn’t another in the whole wide world
Who can do the things you do
Because you are special, special
Everyone is special
Everyone in his or her own way
Yes you’re special, special
Everyone is special
Everyone in his or her own way!
-Barney, the Purple Dinosaur

In 2007, Midwest Trophy Manufacturing Company, Inc. sold 82 million dollars worth of trophies, pins, plaques, and other miscellaneous mementos signifying achievement. Founded in 1971, 2007 has been its best year yet. Americans, it would seem, are doing better than ever.

By the time I was 12, I had accumulated no fewer than 15 trophies on the shelf in my bedroom. What, exactly, I had accomplished as a young boy who had just finished fifth grade meriting such high praise remains unclear. As best I can tell, I had participated on a non-competitive soccer team, bowled a personal high of 92, and submitted a project in the annual science fair at George H. Nichols Elementary school. I tried to demonstrate the greenhouse effect by placing Saran Wrap over a styrofoam cup filled with dirt. Unfortunately, it didn’t actually work.

Ours is a mediocre generation, made worse by the fact that we’ve always only been told we’re exceptional. We have never really had to try; and yet, somehow, we just keep going on succeeding. The truth is, we’re actually pretty unremarkable. More than that, most of the time we’re lazy. Our ethic is one of entitlement. We believe getting an education is some sort of fundamental human right, not a privilege. We don’t understand anything other than instant gratification. We like the language of needs and rights. We have a right, we argue, to universal healthcare. We’ll sit at a desk and work for six to eight hours a day, but we need a latte or comparable drink from Starbucks first. In other places at other times needs might have had something to do with shelter, water, food, those things. Today we’re disadvantaged if we don’t have air conditioning or an mp3 player. We are, in short, complacent. We feel we’re entitled to a B if we decide to show up and sit through class. Grading, come to find out, is purely subjective. If we fail it isn’t in any way related to our performance. A’s are for effort, trophies are for participation.

Our generation is one uncomfortable with the idea of virtue and suspicious of anyone who claims to be exceptional. Our mantra is one of personal authenticity. We don’t believe in much, but above all else we believe that no one has a legitimate right to pass judgment on us but ourselves. We’re offended by the idea that anyone could be objectively better trained or more talented than we are. We are men without chests. Most of us can’t spell, but it’s not that big of a deal since there are computers for that. We don’t have passion, we have apathy. We don’t set goals more than three weeks in advance. Current technology only fuels our narcissism. MySpace, YouTube—the bar for celebrity is at an all-time low.

The trouble, of course, is that we aren’t actually entitled to anything. Maybe, just maybe, we aren’t remarkable. We haven’t quite figured out that it took hard work, real labor, and an uncomfortable dedication to excellence to produce what we conspicuously consume today. While students in India study and work with an ethic that they are owed nothing but can attain everything through hard work, we’re contented with being told we’re “special.”

Our generation has talent, but we also have a bad attitude, and eventually we’re going to have to pay the price. America has always been a land of opportunity, but it’s been one where its citizens constantly strive to become better—they aren’t convinced they’re the best (or reject the very idea of a best) at the outset. The “Me” generation certainly has a lot of swagger. But with all its swagger, it’s really just a lot of mediocre.