I grew up a scrawny kid – the type unable to do a push-up, pull-up or curl five pounds and always the last back to the gym after everyone was sent out to run around the backstop. This solidified my distinction as the top candidate to pick last when choosing up sides. It wasn’t the kind of childhood that fostered an abundance of self-confidence.

A modicum of recognition arrived in the fourth grade after I rewound a film strip on the movie projector when it ended and the science teacher had not returned to the room. Although a bit worried when Miss Thomas asked, “Who rewound that film?” I was glad I admitted it. The accomplishment triggered my anointment as class projectionist. A little recognition felt good.

Then my mother took me to the orthodontist at age 11 to see what might be done about crooked teeth. I was dazzled by hundreds of plaster models of teeth on display. There were examples of X-rays and pictures of how braces had changed faces and smiles. I left there knowing I wanted to be an orthodontist someday.

On the first day of junior high, American History teacher, Mr. Richmond, told class that while attending elementary school, he shook hands with an elderly man who, at age 5, had shaken hands with Abraham Lincoln. Students were so impressed, we each shook hands with Mr. Richmond as we left class to perpetuate the connection with history. However, Mr. Richmond wasn’t impressed with my new-found connection to American History (and President Lincoln) when he awarded me an “F” for my first nine-week effort.

Likewise, in high school, Mrs. Craven’s effort teaching English Literature missed the mark. This brought a “D” to my report card. Clearly, she and others weren’t aware that earlier accomplishments as a projectionist deserved to propel me toward occupational goals. Turned out, high school and college guidance counselors weren’t convinced dentistry was a good fit for me either.

Scores from the Dental Aptitude Test (DAT) are required when applying to dental school. When I first took the test in college, I received a dismal “2” mark on the dexterity portion of the exam. That seemed sure to torpedo any dental school ambition. I took the DAT a second time after practicing the dexterity exercise relentlessly over the following year. The new score descended to a pathetic “1.” Surely no one with butter fingers like that could become a dentist. An interview question about dexterity was inevitable. When asked, I shared with interviewers my passion for playing the violin. This managed to trick them into admitting me to dental school despite precollege and DAT blemishes.

During my third year of learning about teeth, removal of a malignant thyroid gland triggered a struggle to stay awake in class. It affected my grades. Even with a dip in academic standing, I somehow finagled admission into orthodontic training.

Several guidance counselors, Miss Thomas, Mr. Richmond and DAT administrators might each be surprised that a slow-moving, weakling projectionist, violin player without a thyroid who never read “Wuthering Heights” but once shook hands with the man who shook hands with the man who shook hands with Abraham Lincoln, could end up retired from straightening teeth a half-century later.

It is not unusual for life events to inspire or dissuade our ambitions. Thomas Edison failed 1,000 times in efforts to create a light bulb. Even so, he refused to give up on his dream to fashion a useful light source. Whether you dream to write a book, climb Mount Everest, participate in the Olympics or set foot on the moon, it helps to keep these lyrics from The Electric Light Orchestra’s 1981 hit in mind:

When you get so down that you can’t get up

And you want so much, but you’re all out of luck

When you’re so downhearted and misunderstood

Just over and over and over you should…

Yeah, hold on tight to your dreams!