I keep reading comments about President Trump’s selection of Dr. Janette Nesheiwat as the next U.S. Surgeon General in his upcoming administration. The main complaint I see is she didn’t go to a top medical school.

I’m semi-retired, and this comment is not meant to pat myself on the back. I went to law school at the University of Akron. In an email exchange last Thursday, a judge told me hard work will beat talent. I responded that if he was including intelligence, real or perceived, as talent, I agreed because I never lost to a Harvard attorney.

I recall a case where the other attorney worked for a prestigious national law firm. The attorney was hired to represent corporate clients in domestic cases but was out of his element. I tried to resolve the matter, explaining why he couldn’t win. His response was, “I went to Harvard!” I admitted I was just a country lawyer but would do my best for my client in court, so we went to court.

I know nothing about her except the complaints she went to a less-than-prestigious medical school, but that means little to me in and of itself. I go to the Cleveland Clinic for all medical care. Before choosing doctors, I read their bio. I’d need to check, but the doctors listed on my “care team” include none who attended an Ivy League school. But I’m confident in the medical care I receive, just as I was in my own abilities.

61 years now. My guess is there are more people living today who were born after John J. Kennedy was assassinated than there were before he was killed. Writing it makes me want to delete it because it’s common sense. The government is planning to release documents in a couple of months about the shooting.

Here is what I originally wrote five years ago:

Puzzles Me

Interestingly enough, I was at the FMC today, and when signing a paper and remembering the date, I said it out loud. The young woman working with me (there were two) and it hit me. 56 years ago.

I asked both about the date’s significance, and neither had a clue. Both were in their twenties. I didn’t give them hell for not knowing. I just said, “John Kennedy,” but both looked puzzled initially. Then one asked if he was a president, and the other seemed to remember he was but didn’t seem sure. It’s all pretty odd, given the coverage it gets every year at this time.

In 1960 my mom voted for him, and my dad voted for Nixon. I’m not sure why they split. Both candidates were WWII vets, like my dad and many others back then. My mom thought Kennedy was good-looking, and that may have influenced her. I don’t know, and I don’t care.

My parents took me to Gettysburg in 1964, anyway. Of course, I knew who JFK was. You couldn’t have a television on after the assassination until he was laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetary without coverage of him. I also knew who Martin Luther King was. We were on a trip and had to detour because he was leading a march. One of my parents, probably my dad, told me about him.

So anyway, Gettysburg. My parents told me I could choose two gifts from the gift shop. Instead of selecting bullets (they were cool-looking), I decided to get Kennedy’s inaugural address and King’s I Have a Dream speech. Both were on parchment paper (or looked like it anyway). How King’s entire speech fit on one page is amazing, although the print is small. I framed both and hung each in my room. I still have both.

King was assassinated five later. Many will think in terms of the assassination on November 22 but think of him in life. Both are men to respect, and both are men to be remembered. That’s why the teaching of history is essential.

We need to make English the official language of the United States. There are several reasons, but first and foremost is national cohesion. Having English as an official language would help unify our diverse population by providing a common means of communication. Immigrants would be integrated into a broader society. The last sentence is personal to me.

My great-grandmother lived in this country for decades and never spoke English. She missed so much, confined to her home with only family who could converse with her. She was a second mother to me for the first three-plus years of my life. I learned some of it when I was young, but as I got older, my communication with her was a smile and a nod in response to what she said to me. Sad for both of us.