The Blush of Unsuccess

I don't know who started the now-ubiquitous practice of giving a plaque to someone whenever they speak, when they win an award, when they just show up sometimes. I hope whoever it was gets a royalty on every plaque created, but I doubt it. How could he or she possibly know it would catch on so thoroughly?

I have plaques in my home office that I like to hang up. One is a company award that patted me on the back for years of hard work. I earned every chiseled letter of that plaque, and was gratified and pleased to get it.

Then there are the ones in the closet that never see the light of day. (OK, I reused one of them as the base for a cool cat toy, but I don't think that counts.) These are plaques given for things I either did not do, honors I did not merit, or that make much of something that was nothing to me. I'm embarrassed by them. I call it my "plaques-a-lot" stash. I got them, said, "Thanks a lot," and buried them in the closet.

I'd rather receive no award at all than one that is unmerited, or that leaves me scratching my head wondering why they gave it to me. Especially if there were other people I considered far more worthy of the award. I duck my head when they are mentioned. I don't put them on my resume. I don't even want to make cat toys out of them.

This morning I woke to the news our President has won the Nobel Peace Prize for 2009. As clearly as if I had been there, I could picture an aid awakening the President with the news, and his forehead wrinkling in consternation and confusion. "I did? Why?" might have slipped out before he had time to process the news.

I wonder if he'll look at it in coming years and want to put it in the back of the closet. He doesn't have a cat.