That was not a metaphor. It is a statement of fact. Iceberg lettuce, a member of the daisy family, is dumb.
It is pointless, tasteless, and makes babies cry.
There. I said it. And I feel better. I’m sure all of those “Iceberg Lettuce Fan Clubs” are up in leaves because I mocked their idol. Only they’re not.
Because there are no iceberg lettuce fan clubs. (I checked.)
My distaste for the “Lettuce formerly known as Crisphead” started when I was but a wee lad. I remember it as if it were . . . 1st grade. Because it was. I was going through the lunch line, minding my own business, getting my sub sandwich, a cookie, and maybe that weird mixed veggie thing. Then the cafeteria woman, whom I had previously found charming, demanded that I put this faint green fiend on my plate. She also included one tiny piece of purple something (perhaps cabbage) and a sliver of carrot. I gave her an affronted look, which she did not see.
Near the end of lunch, it remained on my tray. Until my first grade teacher, Ms. Corn, came by.
“Mark [my middle name], you haven’t eaten your healthy salad yet.” She did not leave until I did. Really strong commitment, that woman.
Lunch was ruined, but something good did come out of it: That day, I discovered my food nemesis, iceberg lettuce, that barely-any-nutritional-value abomination.
I would compare it to celery, but celery at least has ants on a log.
I don’t like leaves of it and certainly not shredded. I don’t like it on my sandwiches. I don’t like how some restaurants pile half the plate with it. Seriously, iceberg lettuce adds nothing to my tostadas. Nothing but sadness.
I would not eat it in a boat. Or in a moat. Or with a goat. The goat would be all over it, though. Because goats eat everything.
I don’t like iceberg lettuce. At all. I do like fresh spinach, though.
So why must we continued to suffer through this lettuce plague? Because it’s a not a plague? Because some people like iceberg lettuce? Because you’re the only one that feels that way, Steven? No, none of those are correct. If that’s the way you feel, your opinion is false.
The reason we continue to face this tasteless enemy is because someone, somewhere told you that it was healthy. It’s the most popular lettuce in the U.S. What does that say about America? Nothing good, I assure you. Something must be done, and now.
Because if not, it will only get worse. Trust me. This is just the tip of the iceberg.
It isn’t. It never is.
When we define something as good, it usually means that we’re happy with it. A good day. A good meal. A good effort. But when we add the modifier “enough,” we’re now saying that it is in fact not good. We’re saying that it’s okay . . . average.
As for my students, I don’t want them to use the phrase “good enough.” I don’t want it to be a part of their vocabulary because “good enough” is never actually good enough. It means that you could’ve done better. That something more was out there just waiting to be discovered, but you didn’t discover it. Because you didn’t look. Because you settled.
I get that it’s fine for some things in life not to be amazing. Like the coffee that I make at home. I don’t need perfect coffee; I need it to do its job, to wake me up in the morning and not be so awful that I spit it out. Or have my wife ask “What did you do to this coffee?” So if my coffee accomplishes those things, I’m good.
There are other things in my life, as I’m sure there are in yours, where I settle for less than amazing. But when it comes to the things of value – family, opportunities, once-in-a-lifetime moments – you should never settle.
“My life was good enough” probably isn’t the last sentence you want.
Because that would mean it wasn’t.
Here it is. Steven's blog, where his thoughts about things are revealed. Good luck.