The panel that was assembled to pose questions to him consisted of a group of world-renowned Professors, (some of which were Nobel candidates), Engineers, and Department Heads. It was an impressive gathering of experienced, brilliant, and talented minds.
In addition to the panel, many of Brit's fellow doctoral candidates and graduate students were in attendance bringing the room total to roughly 40 plus people.
I sat there, in the back, and soon became fully aware that I was literally, quantitatively, and by any other method of measurement, the dumbest person in the room.
I was the statistical outlier.
I was the IQ curve buster.
More on this later...
One of my main purposes for being there however, besides being the father of the candidate, was simple and non-academic. It was to provide the post-meeting treats. If there is one thing that Stanford doctoral candidates are infamous for, it is their inability to provide a decent spread! Britton recognized this systemic flaw and, in a vain attempt to "pad" his attendance numbers, promised those who came that it would NOT be the normal "cookies and juice" after-meeting refreshments but instead to expect a delicious, and delightful, post-defense dessert.
We delivered. Rave reviews by the geniuses were plentifully doled out for our efforts and Britton was proud to be the candidate that "raised the bar" for any future post-grad grub.
Later, during an after-party gathering at his next door neighbor and best friend's place (who by the way, has gone on to be CNN's go-to expert on the Federal Reserve) I found myself engaged in conversation with a young man who was a fellow doctoral candidate.
"What is your field of study?", I asked him.
"Cosmology.", was his short, "Sheldon like", response.
My mind began to scramble (like most do when you are engaged in conversation with people who will only provide you with one-word answers) for ways to make this interaction more interesting by feigning interest with probing and intelligent questions, so I queried,
"So, are your hopes after graduation to work for a large company?" I asked.
Then...here it comes...what I referenced above...
"...like Max Factor or Ralph Loren?" Figuring, they must need some scientists for their secret formula's.
Then, above the din of multiple conversations and from completely across the room, Britton, who saw this car crash coming, yells out...
"It's Cosmology, Dad...NOT Cosmetology!"
Dang consonant...
I AM the outlier.
