Praise You

 I am a sucker for an "attaboy." As someone who routinely deflects praise and likes to shun attention outwardly, it is still part of what feeds me. 

Momentary digression: And "attaboy" is the specific praise given for a particular task or chore done by an individual, usually when the appreciator is surprised or short on tangible rewards. It is the biscuit for the dog or the fish for the dolphin. It is why we tend to jump through hoops. We have run out of biscuits or fish, so we can't just leave the hoop jumper hanging. It should be noted that this works best for individuals, since team "attaboys" are usually diffused and tend not to acknowledge group effort.

My wife knows these things and has certainly capitalized on them. Often, after spending hours in the yard or in the basement, grumbling to myself about how if I hired someone to do whatever drudgery has kept me occupied for hours at a stretch it would cost a pretty penny. Just about the time that I am ready to stomp off and spend the rest of the day being bitter about my lack of appreciation, along comes my adoring wife who gives me the "attaboy" that I need to shrug off all that antipathy. It is suddenly replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and a willingness to show back up again next week when this thing needs to be rearranged, planted, lifted or taken apart to make room for something new.

This past week, I was the recipient of an "attaboy" from the school district for which I work. It came in the form of a newsletter "shout out," which is ed code for "attaboy." My principal and I were the first bullet point in a list of a half dozen or so salutes to folks around the district caught doing their jobs: "The Horace Mann team worked long hours and even on weekends to ensure that all families have devices and are able to use them. Shout out to Principal Extraordinaire and Teacher/Computer Genius David Caven!" You'll notice that there was a mention of team there, but the focus on two individuals, me specifically, had just the right note of sincerity that suddenly I felt the week's mutterings drift away. I was gassed up and ready to go for another week of doing what I was going to be doing anyway, but without the veneer of resentment that sometimes comes with what Deadpool refers to as "maximum effort." 

And so it's back to work for this guy. I will be putting my metaphorical shoulder to the allegorical grindstone without a specific need for another "attaboy." Not for a while, anyway. I would hate to think that's why I'm doing this, after all.