arrogant? In need of spiritual guidance? Who was this person, wearing my mother’s skin and saying my scientific pursuits weren’t good enough?
The situation was risky, though. If Mother was “worried about my future,” I’d be kept on a tighter leash. Ishmael and I needed freedom to successfully pull off the hoax. Plus, though it was hard to admit, part of me was sad about disappointing Mother.
I was the good son. The prudent one. The studious one. The one she could count on while Ishmael got detentions for practical jokes and came home from parties reeking of alcohol. I thought my parents were proud of me.
The conversation dredged up one of my least-favorite memories:
I was ten years old and the school principal arranged a meeting with my parents. Apparently, several of my teachers suggested I skip a grade.
I sat in the principal’s office, feeling accomplished. He’d given me hard, undisputed proof that I was intelligent. I was going to graduate early and go to college early and there was no way NASA would reject me.
But instead of lavishing me with praise, my parents exchanged a look. Father—at the time I still called him Dad—asked that I step out of the room so they could talk privately.
Naturally, I pressed my ear to the door.
My parents expressed their concern that my “book smarts” and “social smarts” didn’t align. That I was already unable to relate to and communicate with my peers. They were concerned that me skipping ahead would make my stunted social intelligence even more pronounced.
Then Mother confided to the principal that sometimes they worried about me.
“He’s always been different,” she’d said. “We know not every child is outgoing or affectionate. But sometimes it’s as if Gideon… it’s as if he doesn’t feel anything.”
I did feel things. I felt guilt and anguish and joy and all the rest. I might not admit those feelings, sometimes even to myself, but they existed. My own parents questioned that, though. They thought something was wrong with me.
I never ended up skipping a grade.
Years later, the memory still stung. But dwelling on the past wouldn’t create a better future—or present—for myself. I pushed my old feelings of inadequacy and shame away and focused on what mattered: Mother felt I needed spiritual guidance.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll attend the seminar. But promise we’ll go to the store after?”
Mother beamed. “Yes, of course! I’ll take you anywhere you need to go. Oh, honey, I’m so excited for what you’re about to experience.”
That made one of us.
Interlude
Multi-Level Marketing
I wish that MLMs played no part in this tale I’m telling. But they do, in ways larger and more baffling than I ever could have anticipated. Which means you need some background on them.
Like most legitimate businesses, MLMs begin with a product. The product can be anything: knives, greeting cards, dubious health supplements, etc. Unsalaried workers, often referred to as “distributors,” attempt to sell these products for a commission.
That might sound reasonable enough. But MLMs differ from the average sales job: in addition to selling the products—which the distributor is expected to purchase large quantities of, in advance, with their own money—the distributor also attempts to recruit more distributors. These distributors recruit more, and these recruit more, and so on.
The people recruited under them became the original distributor’s “downline.” Each time someone on their downline makes money, a portion of the profit filters back to the top, to the distributor who began it all.
See the following chart for a visual representation:
Generally, only the people at the top of the pyramid become wealthy. The lower tiers miss out on the luxury cars and fancy vacations they’ve been promised, and frequently end up in debt after spending thousands of dollars on products they’ll never sell. I once read a study claiming that 99 percent of all MLM participants lose money.
Upward mobility, while technically possible, is highly improbable no matter how much time and cash is invested. There’s also debate about the legality of the business model. Over the years, countless MLMs have had lawsuits brought against them.
But the most highly criticized aspect of MLMs isn’t the business practices; it’s the cult-like mentality that consumes distributors. Otherwise levelheaded people become fanatical about the company, the products, and especially the original founder of the MLM. That person is often treated like a god.
And why shouldn’t they be? After all, they had people selling their products, working free of charge, and also making up the majority of consumers buying the products.
It’s absolutely corrupt.
It’s also deviously brilliant.
Event: The