Bragging Rights

The neon sign in the tiny urban diner window read, “WORLD’S BEST CUP OF COFFEE.” Buddy the elf, having just moved to NYC from the North Pole, couldn’t contain his excitement. He burst into the diner and declared to the unsuspecting staff and guests, “You did it! Congratulations! World’s best cup of coffee…great job everybody…it’s great to meet you.” 

When I saw this scene in the now-classic movie, ELF, I laughed along with everybody else. The humor was found in the striking contrast of Buddy’s absurd naïveté and the stunned non-reaction of the diner staff. But what captured our hearts was the enviable generosity and kindness that was expressed in Buddy’s congratulatory joy over this braggadocios claim. Who of us would not have walked past that same sign, rolled our eyes, and muttered, “Yeah, right.”

We are trained from our youth to be suspicious of the braggart and further cautioned to avoid contracting his terrible plague. Shakespeare himself, who most would agree has literary bragging rights to the title of Greatest Of All Time (GOAT), writes, “Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass.” The implication is that the braggart will one day be found out to be the fraud that he really is. 

Throughout my life, I have been generally seen as humble, and this has certainly been a positive expression of my character in the world. But it is also true that fear, too often, has been the hidden force behind this noble trait—fear that I might be found to be an imposter or perhaps just a fool. 

Humility or Fear?

One of the most noteworthy expressions of this in my life can be observed in my response to others’ expressions of gratitude for my military service shortly after separating from the Air Force in 2005. I had the privilege of serving on a Special Operations Surgical Team (SOST) in Northern Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom. The team was designed to deploy far forward and provide immediate trauma care to our special operations soldiers. Being a part of this team and having the experience of serving alongside the extraordinary men and women of our nation’s military remains as one of my deepest sources of inner pride. This pride was punctuated when each member of my team was awarded a Bronze Star for our service with the soldiers of the Army’s 10th Special Forces Group. 

But I stuffed this pride deep within myself. Whenever I found myself in a public venue that asked for those who had served to stand and be recognized, I would remain seated, my wife elbowing me in an effort to urge me upward. An internal dialogue would rage within me, “I am one of them…but I got out leaving others to serve in my stead. You were awarded a Bronze Star…isn’t that what Dick Winters got for his actions on D-day… haven’t people died for those? You were just being a doctor…No, I’ll just stay seated.” 

And while I would justify my staying seated as deferential humility, it was primarily fear. I was afraid that if I declared myself a proud soldier, even an awarded soldier, I risked being a fool because in truth I no longer served. I had gotten out, in essence, to serve myself and my family. Then, God forbid if they found out that I had never destroyed a battery of Howitzers, or anything of the like, to get my Bronze Star. At its core, I was afraid that others would not justify my own sense of value or accomplishment. The irony is that this was pride manifesting as humility. 

A Form of Celebration & Connection

Though I have gained much territory in this area, I was again reminded of this persistent pattern in my life this past week as I sat with my three grown sons (Eli, Zach, Nathan) in celebration of my birthday. “OK Dad, what would you consider to be the highs and lows of the past 55 years.” I quickly identified that marrying their mother and having them as sons were clearly my highest highs. This naturally transitioned into me humbly identifying my shortcomings as a father….(interrupt)…“Ok, we only want to hear the highs, tell us what you are proud of. Tell us what you did well as a father, a doctor, a soldier?” I knew there were things I had done well as a father… but what if they didn’t agree? And while my sons have forgiven me for where I have fallen short and have already affirmed so much in me, making a declaration of having done something well myself felt too vulnerable and risky…tears…I couldn’t speak. Not humility, but fear— a fear not driven by their accusations but rather by my own— what if it’s not affirmed as true?

My son Zach offered an astute and directed observation. “Dad, I need you to brag. I need to hear you tell us what you think you did well, what you are most proud of. I need to hear about how you have been a badass. Because then I know that it is ok for me to share and celebrate the things that I do well— to share the things that I’m proud of— to share what I like about myself.” He was talking about relationship—about intimacy. This was an invitation to be known, to be celebrated, just as I am and without need for a qualifying asterisk. 

Hang Your Sign!

While this conversation with my sons brought deeper clarity, I have certainly been on a long journey of learning and risking. I stand now, every time. When I see older men in my office with hats or t-shirts declaring proud service in the armed forces, I will often ask, “How did you serve?” Their answers, “soldier, gunner, cook, photographer, pilot, maintenance, logistics— in peacetime, in war…” Always with pride. “Me too — a doctor— thanks for showing me the way— I’m proud too.” We are now brothers.

So perhaps Buddy was able to see the sign in the window as it was truly intended— as more than a braggadocios claim of greatness, but rather an invitation to enter in and celebrate and enjoy what the owner so much delights in…”Come on in, it’s great to meet you too Buddy!”

So maybe it’s time to brag a little— to put that sign in the window that serves to invite people in to celebrate what makes you…you. Let them know that you just might be a little badass.