Answer: Brain damage. Alex, what is wrong with Shafer?

by Tom Shafer

December 1, 2019

So, a couple of my readers recently commented that they think I’m a pretty smart guy, that I possess comprehension and knowledge on a wide variety of topics.  One even suggested that I try out for Jeopardy.  And actually, as a child and early teen, I may have been well on my way to besting the likes of Ken Jennings, James Holzhauer, Brad Rutter, and the bearded wonder Austin Rogers. 

I was the kid who received parameters for a big project on Friday, one intended to keep us busy for several weeks, then submitted the final product on Monday (to an utterly exasperated teacher), complete with bells and whistles well beyond expectation.  (I liked to set the bar high for my classmates, whom I’m sure hated me with all of their guts!)  After I explained to my lovely second grade teacher Ms. Tilka that I could see the entire page of books I was reading (mostly about the Civil War and Abraham Lincoln!), I was subjected to a standard IQ test and was immediately punished with special classes and an intensive speed-reading course.  I didn’t realize then that few people have a photographic memory, an ability that I most certainly took for granted. 

But for me, the brainiac thing began to fall apart as I explored all aspects of adolescence, including mind-altering techniques (think telekinesis, psychokinesis, and hypnotism) and substances [think whippets (one CO₂ cartridge + one balloon), rush (a nitrate inhalant today called poppers or liquid gold), reefer (think madness), and standard alcohol (mostly beer and whiskey)].  As my exploration intensified, my “ability” deteriorated.  I could no longer see entire pages of reading material, just bits and pieces, and though I’m sure I was parking information in my hippocampus as I had always done, my instant retrieval system was damaged – and was definitely not so instantaneous anymore. 

By the time I reached my early twenties, that instant retrieval system had wandered down the mesolimbic pathway and parked itself in the “party zone” part of my brain – an area where recovery of inappropriate information is most often revealed after seven beers and two shots of chilled Crown Royal.  From that point on, I was locating answers to questions randomly, and found myself walking through Kroger or Target suddenly yelling “the treaty of Versailles,” “two billion degrees Kelvin,” or “Shel Silverstein wrote the song ‘A Boy Named Sue’! Shel Silverstein wrote ‘A Boy Named Sue’!” – the resolution to queries from three days prior. 

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So today, I have a nice base knowledge of lots of stuff, most of it useless, but I am by no means an expert in any one area – though I feel I am pretty formidable with usage of the English language.  On most days, I still know my multiplication tables up to about thirty, can recite all of the state (and many of the world) capitals, and can navigate my way around Mendeleev’s periodic table.

On other days, I am lucky to remember my full name, birthday, and home address (thankfully pinned to every article of clothing I own). 

So no, you won’t be seeing me on Jeopardy any time soon – or ever.  That is unless the categories include “Worst Fantasy Football Picks by Shafer,” “Most Dangerous Hikes (for Shafer) in our National Parks,” or “Best Cigars under Three Dollars a Stick.”  I would have to rely on other contestants if the category was “Shafer’s Life between the Ages of Sixteen and Twenty-one.”

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