Several people have asked where the name Joe Average Writer came from. I think I can pinpoint an specific job interview as the conception of my moniker. The final question, as asked by the assistant manager Charlie (who, as I came to find out was a wonder doofus and breaker of pretty girls' hearts), went something along the lines of "So...what makes you stand out from the average Joe?" He then proceeded to toss his black wavy hair and laugh at his own joke.
Apparently, the applicant after me, Shannon (who was also hired), overheard that last part and spread it around school. Fast-forward to...um...yesterday. I was writing an introduction about myself for an online independent study class that I am rewriting, and I decided to play off my name and who I am.
I
have always suffered from an identity crisis.
From the time I was old enough to think for myself, I wanted to be
everything: a policeman, an explorer, a baseball player, a zoo keeper, a
restaurant owner, even a lyricist. I
wanted to be the best. And so I
dabbled…in just about everything (and that’s almost not a hyperbole). I ran from one activity to the next, always
wanting to play a part, always wanting to be included, like that little puppy
that just wants to sniff every hand swinging down the sidewalk.
So
it seems only natural to dub myself a Renaissance Man—adept at anything I
attempt. Right? I do it all: language, math, science, arts,
philosophy, even video games. Well,
there’s kind of a problem. My lack of focus contributed to my lack of
mastery of any one particular field. And
so, I am the understudy, the runner –up, the honorable mention. I don’t excel in anything—sports, cooking,
writing, music, intelligence, crocheting (not that I’ve ever really wanted to),
or anything that I can think of. I’m not
a mechanic or a computer tech geek. My
wit isn’t the sharpest, and neither is the #2 pencil I sketch with from time to
time. I’m your average Joe.
Instead
of a Renaissance Man, I guess I am the Joe-of-all-trades, master of none. With my lack of ability to be the lead, the
starter, the headliner, there is no way I could ever hold court with the likes
of Leonardo or Michelangelo, unless we’re talking about ninja turtles, and even
then only if we’re talking pizza consumption.
I
never became everything I dreamed of as a kid.
I became more: a teacher, a coach, a father, a cook, a writer, a
well-rounded human being, and I’m not just talking about my waistline. I still don’t steal the show, but I don’t
have to. Even though I’m not the best at
everything, I still make a difference.
Sort of fitting, don'tcha think? Since the inception of being an Average Joe (or 'better than the average...' or 'rougher than the average...' or 'smarter than the average...'--you get the idea) it's floated along with me. When I worked at The Brick Oven in Provo, there was a kid named Chris whose greatest delight was hearing himself talk. And he loved more than anything to make up "Yo Mama" jokes. Those of you with good inferencing and predicting skills already see that this led to "Joe Mama" jokes (none of which ever made any sense, by the way). This inadvertently led to servers asking for "Joe Mama's Special of the Day" and would actually introduce it to a select group of customers that way. It stuck.
The wordplay part of me loves the play on "Joe" and the colloquial "Yo'" part, not to mention the obvious pronoun reference in espanol. And so, when creating this blog three years ago for the National Day on Writing, I incorporated it with my love for writing. But like my short introductory snapshot states, I'm not the best. I never will be. And I'm okay with that...as long as I can make some kind of a difference. The microscopic few who are still reading at this point are some evidence of that. So thank you for validating who I am, especially those whom I torment on a regular basis.
