Looking for a Thumbs-Up

Most of my friends like my classic truck. Even people who have no idea whether I’m good friend material give me a thumbs-up when I drive by. You may already be feeling the urge to click the like icon at the end of this blog. Please feel free to do that now.

Sometimes I forget I’m in my old truck, and for a moment the smiles and thumbs are for me. If only.

Which leads me to the essence of this blog. I am a recovering approval seeker. There, I’ve said it. (I hope you still like me.) This dysfunction goes clear back to my wagon days. Who wouldn’t love me with those wheels? The driving hat and duds didn’t hurt either.

I didn’t remain satisfied long, though. I convinced my parents I needed to upgrade my wagon, and I moved on to a genuine Highway Chief. Approval radiated from my younger sister Paula.

Wagons weren’t as hip when I started school, so I began fibbing about my wheels. First graders are so gullible. I implied that I had a fleet of pedal cars and trucks garaged at home, and that my dad even let me drive his truck. At least there was a kernel of truth in the latter statement. I did sit on his lap sometimes when he drove. I was so little, though, no one could see me through the window.

I didn’t limit my imagination to vehicles. My approval-craving mind invented a pet alligator. Everyone wanted me to bring it to school—including my teacher, who knew my parents and knew that I had no such reptile—but I told them Dad said I couldn’t for the safety of everybody in the classroom. Then there was my tale about my dad knowing the president. And better yet, Hopalong Cassidy!

All of these fantastic personal facts brought immense approval . . . until I was found out, one fib at a time. Then each one brought a class-wide thumbs-down. It slowly dawned on me that making things up was not good for my long-term approval rating.

It was lucky for me that I also sought the approval of adults, especially my teachers. I worked hard for them, and as a result I received a string of all-A report cards. This almost makes me want to go down to the end of this blog and click the like icon. (Can I do that?)

I kept up the good grades through high school. They were high enough to earn me Valedictorian honors. It’s a wonder I had time, though, with my subpar behavior. Not that I did anything horrible. I just kept acting stupid, figuring to fit in better.

During college and my teaching career, I switched to a more subtle approval-seeking mode. However, in a class I took to retain my teaching certification, I cracked the mold, and was rewarded far more than I could have ever expected.

I can’t remember the name of the course, just that I was surrounded by undergraduates. A few old-timers were in there with me, all cramming into the back seats, but I still felt a little out of place. On the very first day of class, someone made a wisecrack about Christian colleges and got some laughs. It was a stereotypical comment that required someone to speak up to even things out. I had gone to a Christian college myself, and I knew this just wasn’t the whole picture.

I was sure these youngsters were nice people and intended no harm. But I hoped someone would say something more to my liking, because I sure didn’t want to brand myself in our first class. Instead, more students gave credence to the original comment.

I knew what my dad would do. Before I could stop it, my hand shot up so I could put in a good word for my alma mater and all Christian colleges of America and the entire planet. When I’m nervous I tend to repeat myself, and I did my share that day. I think my voice even cracked a time or two.  It was obvious I was uncomfortable going it on my own.

I was sure everyone thought I was a nut case. Why didn’t I wait till the last class of the semester, hope for the topic to come up again, and then say something with five minutes of class left?

The following Sunday afternoon I made the usual weekly call to Dad. After we discussed, one by one, detail by detail, how each family member was doing, Dad said he had heard something about me. Uh-oh.

But my reaction was unfounded. One of the college students in Dad’s church was picking up a course in Cincinnati, even though that was a couple hundred miles from home.  She asked him if by any chance the Clarence Spencer attending that college was his son, and then told him what I had done.

I think almost everybody wants their father’s approval, and my dad was never more proud of me. He was a boat rocker, but he knew that didn’t come easy for his son.

I finished the course, even made a few more comments along the way, and no one seemed to shun me. And besides my dad’s parishioner, I made a couple other friends there, in spite of the rather emotional commentary I delivered the first day.

That experience is a big part of the reason I am seeking less approval from my peers these days. Though I still believe we should want to, within reason, please family, friends, authority figures, fellow church members, etc., I am more concerned now about being true to myself, and to God.

I don’t check my likes as often now. I don’t brag as much about what I possess, how many friends I have, or who I’ve taken selfies with. I’m above that now.

Or sometimes not.