My daughter wants to be a double doctor (I don't know what else to call it)

 

That's my kid on the left, performing surgery on a pig.

Until a few weeks ago, my master's in Integrated Marketing Communications made me the most educated person in our family.

I proudly held this title the moment West Virginia University conferred on me that M.S. degree back in the summer of 2020, the culmination of a two years of very hard work.

Four of our children have college degrees, but prior to August 2, 2024, they were all at the Bachelor's level. I reigned supreme for four glorious years as the most-schooled person in our family of seven.

That ended three weeks ago when my daughter Chloe successfully defended her thesis and became known as Dr. Chloe Edmonds, having earned a very well-deserved PhD in neuroscience. I was more than happy to yield my crown to her as Most Schooled Tennant.

But get this: Now she wants to go to medical school. I have heard of M.D./PhDs before, and I have even met a couple. I just never imagined that any of our offspring would be so ambitious as to become a doctor twice over.

If all goes according to plan, Chloe will enter med school in the fall of 2026. Her goal now is to be a pediatric neurology physician researcher.

If my assumptions and math are correct – four years of medical school, four years of residency, a two-year fellowship – Chloe will be about 40 years old by the time she is fully in practice.

The world needs people like her, of course. People are who willing to undertake complex medical research. People who work tirelessly to address a particular disease or condition.

People who are OK taking on a massive amount of student loan debt.

Today's post is an unashamedly sorry-not-sorry form of bragging about my daughter. It also represents a heartfelt thanks to Chloe, on behalf of the rest of society, for her commitment to advancing medical science.

And it's my non-check-writing way of wishing her the heartiest good luck in paying down that debt.

Talking to yourself is either a sign of intelligence or mental instability

A few minutes ago I walked past a co-worker who was mumbling under his breath. I asked, "Are you talking to yourself?" And he replied, "Well, I'm the only one who will listen!"

On the spectrum of Corny Office Small Talk, this ranks right up there with "Working hard? Hardly working!" and "Thank God it's Friday, huh?"

But there is also some truth to it.

I talk to myself a lot.

A. Lot.

To the point that I'm fairly certain I say more words out loud to myself each day than I do to Terry or anyone else in the world.

People will walk past my closed office door, peek in and see my mouth moving, and assume I'm in a Teams meeting or on a call. They will make that thumb-and-pinky-extended-near-the-ear gesture, which is of course the universal request to "Call me!"

This will momentarily confuse me until I realize what's going on, and usually I wave for them to come into my office. When they do, I explain, "Sorry, I was just telling myself I need to remember to write that organizational announcement email today!"

They will then look at me uneasily with an expression that suggests, "Wow, I had no idea Scott was insane."

I talk through virtually everything with myself. And rarely are these conversations silent and internal. They are almost always broadcast loudly to anyone who happens to be nearby.

This is OK when I'm driving and loudly saying to myself, "I think I need to turn left up here, right? Or do I keep going straight? Maybe I should have used Google Maps!" No one hears my crazed rantings then.

But when it happens in the grocery store, I notice other shoppers give me a wide berth. I'll be standing near the canned fish products and saying (in a voice that can clearly be heard two aisles over) "WHY DO THEY ONLY HAVE THE SARDINES IN HOT SAUCE? I DON'T WANT THE SARDINES IN HOT SAUCE, I WANT THE SARDINES IN WATER. WHO BUYS THE SARDINES IN HOT SAUCE? NO ONE, THAT'S WHO."

I take consolation in the fact that, the older you get, the more acceptable this behavior seems to become. It goes from "scary" and "potentially threatening" to "cute" and "eccentric."

Right now I'm somewhere in between.

Over and over I tell myself – loudly and proudly, even when no one else is in the room – that it's OK and I'm not at all crazy.

Which of course is exactly what a crazy person would say to himself.