David McElroy

Progressives tend to talk about supporting choice — until someone wants to make a choice that they disapprove of. That tendency was on display this week with the Obama administration’s decision to ban the trans fats that go into making products such as margarine.

Each side of the decision sees an entirely different question. To the nannies of the coercive state, the question is whether trans fats are good for people. To those of us who believe in personal freedom, the question is whether politicians and bureaucrats have the moral or legal right to make that decision for individuals and companies.

When I was growing up, we ate margarine and fried everything with Crisco shortening. Back then, those products were loaded with the artificial fats that are now considered unhealthy. Some still are. At the time, we were told they were more healthy than natural fats such as butter and lard. I was so accustomed to the taste of margarine that when I finally tried butter, I didn’t like it, simply because it was different from what I was used to.

After I grew up, I learned to appreciate and prefer the taste of butter, but I heard the health nannies declaring that butter and such natural fats were bad for me. I made the decision that I preferred the taste, so it was worth the risk to me. Eventually, I also started reading information that persuaded me that fat wasn’t the enemy that made me overweight and possibly unhealthy. The real enemy was sugar. But the drumbeat from the medical establishment against fat continued.

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I’ve always felt weird, but I haven’t always felt smart. When I was younger, I knew that teachers and IQ tests considered me very smart, but I felt as thought there was some horrible mistake. Surely I was going to be discovered as a fraud. I didn’t feel smart. I felt pretty normal and mundane. I simply felt as though I was surrounded by idiots who couldn’t understand very simple things.

I came to associate being smart with being weird, especially when I found that the people I liked best — who were also very smart — seemed to also be weird by society’s standards, in one way or another. Is “weird” just another way for the majority to say, “Hey, you’re different from us”? I learned early that other kids who weren’t in the “smart club” didn’t appreciate us.

I read an article last week about why being intelligent is difficult. For a lot of people, that might sound like an absurd concept, but it made immediate sense to me. I’m betting that most of the people who read here will understand at least some of the things on this list, because I suspect most of us here are pretty bright.

Take five minutes to read this article about why being smart is difficult. It’s short and it’s just a list of 10 things. The list evoked a strong reaction from me. I remembered feeling those things growing up. I also remembered feeling those things in previous jobs and with most of my clients. And I strongly identify with the list in my life today. Go ahead and read it. Then come back. I’ll wait for you.

Do you think the list applies to all people with high intelligence? I’m honestly not sure about that. Do all smart people feel those ways? Or are those feelings of alienation reserved for those of us who are very intelligent and “weird” in some way, too?

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“Ender’s Game” made me cry.

I don’t mean in the sense of openly weeping at the excitement of a hero winning his objective. It made me cry inside — and kept me teary-eyed — out of a sense of deep identification with Ender Wiggin. If you’ve ever been an outsider who wasn’t like the people around him, you might find yourself feeling deep empathy and attachment to the character of Ender.

I’ll start with the bottom line. If you read and loved Orson Scott Card’s novel, “Ender’s Game,” I think you’ll enjoy the movie version that opened in theaters Friday. (The trailer is below.)

The movie can’t go anywhere nearly as deep as the book did in creating attachment with the character, but if you already love the book — and couldn’t read it without feeling that parts of Ender’s story reminded you of your own story — the movie will probably evoke enough of what you felt in the book to be an enjoyable and emotional experience.

If you haven’t read the book, the movie isn’t going to be the same experience. Most of what’s important in the book takes place in Ender’s head. In the book, we get to know him. We experience his feelings. We identify with him. We become him. The movie can’t do that. (In an interview with Wired magazine this week, Card admitted that the book was unadaptable as he wrote it.)

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