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On Self-Deprecation

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Since at least my senior year in high school, I have been an unchallenged master at self-deprecation. No praise is too small to be swatted aside. Nice shoes or clothing — my wife bought them. Nice smile — teeth are too crooked. You are so smart — obviously, you missed my Jeopardy showing or my wife’s vaunted “I married the village idiot” look.

Almost twenty years after graduating from high school, one of the heroes of the University of Buffalo team that refused to play in the Tangerine Bowl, told his class that I was the best athlete to have played at LaSalle. Of course, I self-deprecatingly deflected this praise. But, Mr. Dempsey was serious and I should have treated the praise consistently with the dignity that it was offered. Even now, I retreat from this particular type of praise because I was a ballplayer, not an athlete.

Self-deprecation is a form of self-denial. It is also a form of rudeness. A person offers praise and for years I have been Flo, from Progressive, emulating Dikembe Mutombo, complete with the finger wagging as I deflect a bit of praise. I’ve denied praisers the pleasure I get in giving heartfelt praise. Shame on me.

So, I am blowing the whistle for slashing and malignant cross-checking self-deprecation as I enter deeply into the third quarter. Colvin goes into the penalty box. And no, this is not a shameless solicitation for praise. So, you who practice self-deprecation, give it up. A simple “thank you” will make the praiser happy. You might even like it.


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