I drove by my high school the other day. There were weeds and overgrown grass in the flower beds that my school’s chapter of the National Honor Society was supposed to plant and maintain. But hey, if you can already put the club on college applications, why actually help beautify the school with some silly flowers, right?
As a member of NHS, I should have been one of the bored, cold and dirty students digging up the flower beds. But I was graduating soon, all set to go to college, and helping with that project wouldn’t make a mark on my resume. I walked right past them and went home.
There are no petunias or poppies in the flower beds. I don’t think I was the only one who felt indifferent to that project.
I don’t think this is just some phase of laziness in my school. I think it’s a full-blown societal epidemic. From the moment in preschool when we get that first gold star for doing something right, we develop the mentality of work and reward that has turned us into a resume-building, prize-seeking, merit-loving society always in search of a pat on the back.
Timmy is in preschool and shares his Crayola marker set with Betsy. The teacher rewards his good behavior with a gold star. He’s conditioned to believe every good deed must be noticed and noted — as if the more gold stars he has, the better person he is. And soon it’s no longer good enough to help someone out just because.
Incentives via stars aren’t just for kids. My friend’s roommate works at a movie theater where they recently began giving stars to employees who do their jobs well. The employee can cash in stars for money toward groceries. The rewards aren’t huge, but they’re enough to turn staff members into diligent, competitive staff workers.
My friend’s roommate rebelled, refusing any stars offered to him. He asked, “Why aren’t we just doing our jobs well because it’s the right thing to do?” Good question.
The merit system has made us lazy and apathetic when no recognition is involved. Throw a reward or a pair of watchful eyes to recognize a job well done into the equation and you have us acting like a bunch of rabid dogs chasing after a bone.
I can imagine our Timmy in his preschool class stealing gold stars from his classmates, fueled by the desire to prove his merit to himself and to the world in a tangible way. It’s like the National Honor Society member who will give up a few hours to unenthusiastically garden but won’t stop in the hallway to help a classmate whose textbook fell on the floor.
Our merit-driven society has driven us to feel that at the end of the day, it’s more worthwhile to have big resumes than big hearts.
But not always.
This summer, my county’s courthouse has flowers in the planters for the first time in as long as anyone can remember. Here’s the story: A woman stopped by one day, noticed the planters were empty, and offered to garden them. She volunteered days of her time, without seeking recognition, without any motivation outside of her desire to help and her love of gardening.
When something like planting flowers is done solely for recognition or reward, the job isn’t done as well.
Maybe this is true for everything in life.
If I had another year of high school, I wouldn’t join the National Honor Society again.
And from now on, I’m going to fight my ingrained urge to resume-build, to affirm my self-worth through a list of tangible accomplishments.
It’s time to do my best just because I can.
Laurelin Kruse (lbkruse@gmail.com) recently graduated from Alamosa High School. She will enter Yale University this fall.
