Title: An Alternate Route

“There was a little girl,

Who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.”

This poem, written by American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, was in a collection of Mother Goose nursery rhymes I had when I was little. My roommates, whom I can only assume had sad, gloomy childhoods, weren’t familiar with it, but hopefully some of you had happier youths. I’ve been thinking about it recently because my hair can be curly when it wants to be, and sometimes I quite literally have a “little curl, right in the middle of (my) forehead.” When this happens, I often find myself repeating this rhyme and worry that I can identify with the little girl rather more than I wish I could.

My social psychology book tells me there’s a concept called self-serving bias, “the tendency to perceive oneself favorably.” In my limited understanding of the concept, I think it means that everyone tends to think well of himself or herself, especially in comparison with others: Everyone thinks he or she is better than average (which, statistically, is like cutting three halves of the piece of cake), whether in looks, intelligence, job performance or ethical behavior. I think I’m pretty good, if not very good indeed (though my brother would disagree) whether or not I have a curl in the middle of my forehead: I try to be nice, I don’t cheat on tests or kick puppies, and I have so far successfully resisted the urge to hit people wearing Kentucky shirts (any Memphis fans?). But what about that last line, about being horrid?

Well, I don’t think it really applies to me, but it certainly holds true for some of my friends and family, and that guy that took the last oatmeal raisin cookie in front of me at Starbu … hmm. What did that psych book say again? Something about my tendency — and I may be stretching the psychological concept, but I’ve found this true in my experience — to think that I do what I should do the majority of the time, and that I would make morally superior decisions, the “right” decisions, were I in another’s shoes. This is very satisfying (and convincing) in the hypothetical, and it makes me feel better about myself to think that I’m, for example, helping with the dishes and the cleaning in my apartment as much as I should be. I wonder what my roommates would say if you asked them? (Actually I don’t wonder. I know, so please don’t ask them, unless you’re good dealing with angry women.)

My fear, when I remember this poem, is that the last line applies to me more than the previous two: If I’m honest, I must admit that one can say of me, too, that “when she was bad she was horrid.” A lot of the time, my decision-making process is more concerned with prioritizing my own interests, desires, well-being and reputation over whatever claims society, honesty and fidelity (faithfulness to obligations, duties or observances) may make upon me.

As I’ve found in recent days, my instinct, when faced with the choice of owning up to a rather embarrassing mistake or running very quickly the other way and saving face, is to do the latter. I don’t even want to admit my recent mistakes to y’all: You would rightly want to throw rocks at me, and I live in a glass house.

I don’t really like the way my hair looks when it’s straight, so I’m afraid I’ll be reminded of this poem more than I would like to be. If only it was benign, like “There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, she had so many children she didn’t know what to do.” The only thing that makes me think of is how lucky we all are to live in an age of birth control.

On that happy note, until next week!

— Leigh Dickey is a junior in global studies. She can be reached at [email protected].