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Sometimes, the underdog can emerge victorious
Can an underdog trump those who seem to have all the advantages in life? If a second grader can do it, then maybe everyone can.
Take my story, for example:
When I was 8 years old, I lived in Ann Arbor, Mich. It's a place that reminds me of old residential West Pine, Oak or Elm street, except that Ann Arbor was, and still is, a college town. It's the home of the University of Michigan.
As you can imagine, this made academic life quite competitive — even for a second grader. There were many parents with college degrees from expensive places who wanted the same credentials for their children.
Even at eight years old, I felt like an outsider in this town. After all, I was a transplant from Lakewood, California — home of the McDonald-Douglas Aircraft Company. We made Globemasters in our community, not master's degrees.
There was a young lady who lived across the street from me. Her name was Athena. She was the epitome of what most Ann Arbor moms were striving for in this little community. Athena was in my class. Her father was a mathematics professor with a pipe and beard — just like those pictures you see of academics in old Life magazines. She was beautiful and smart. She always got "A's" and by far received the most compliments from our teacher, Mrs. Sanford.
On Feb. 14, I gave her a homemade valentine. It was no Van Gogh, but it least it came from the heart. On that day, I learned the meaning of a nanosecond. That's how long Athena spent on my carefully crafted work of art.
She never looked at me and simply threw it into a pile of corny little store-bought cutouts from her many classmate admirers.
This brought out my Italian heritage, and an urge for a vendetta. I didn't know how I would pull it off, but then, Mrs. Sanford gave me an idea.
"Class," she announced. "This Friday, we will have a talent show in the auditorium. Now I know Steve and Athena take piano lessons from Mrs. Ford, and I'll expect both of you to perform for the class."
I looked at Athena. Her nose went up into the air, as she knew she had more experience and was Mrs. Ford's 8-year-old star. The gears of my little mind began to turn.
That night, I thumbed through my measly little beginners' piano book and found a selection. It was easy to play but sounded far more professional than it actually was. I practiced and practiced, trying to put the feeling of Vladimir Horowitz into every note. I imagined, with all the energy I could muster, that Mrs. Sanford on Friday would say: "Steve, you must have been playing longer than Athena."
Friday came with anxious anticipation. The concert began. First, Athena played her solo. The crowd of second graders applauded with approval. Athena took her bow and gave me a quick "take that!" sort of glance.
The moment of truth had arrived. I sat at the grand piano, imagined myself on the Ed Sullivan Show, and began to play. When the last note was sounded, I listened in shock. There was silence — and then, an accelerating and noisy applause from my classmates! I took a nervous bow and waited curiously for the teacher's critique.
"That was very good from both of you, but it sounds like Steve has been playing longer and has had more experience than Athena. Is that right?" Mrs. Sanford innocently inquired.
I couldn't believe my ears! I had pulled it off! Athena simply turned red as a radish and stormed out of the auditorium. She never spoke to me again, but I had earned a new respect from my classmates and from Mrs. Sanford. It was David and Goliath, second grade style!
So maybe my sister is right when she said that there's a little Ferris Bueller in me. All I can say is something worked when the little guy from Lakewood went up against academic angel from Ann Arbor — and won!
Steve Hansen is a Lodi writer and satirist. Names of characters in this story are pseudonyms.

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