Posted on: Wednesday, December 17, 2003

COMMENTARY
Hoping in vain that 'permanent record' is just a misnomer

By Craig Wilson
USA Today

I first heard the words in fourth grade when Mrs. Martin informed me that if I didn't stop talking, I'd be sent to the principal's office, and the whole matter would end up on my permanent record.

She made them sound like the scariest two words in the English language. "Permanent record."

I don't know the genesis of the phrase. All I know is it's not only a record of all mistakes made in life, it's a "permanent" record of all mistakes made in life, meaning it follows you to the grave. No editing allowed.

I was a bit of a worrier as a kid, so I feared this document would keep me from reaching my goal of being student council president. I already was in Cub Scouts, but would I even get into junior high now? And what about marching band? For years, my permanent record hung over my head like the sword of Damocles.

My colleague Tony, who is known to ask the big questions, brought up the subject the other day. He asked whether I actually knew what was on my permanent record and whether I'd ever even seen it.

I confessed I didn't even know where my permanent record was. I'm not sure you're supposed to know. The power of the document seems to be that it's always in other people's hands, out of our control.

Was mine back in the principal's office of my elementary school? Had it moved across the street to the high school, then over to Syracuse University, where it stayed during my college years?

Or has it been locked away at my parents' house all along, people still calling in to report my infractions against society, both large and small? Surely Mom would have told me by now, wouldn't she?

Although I have never seen it, I suspect my permanent record must be as thick as a Harry Potter novel by now.

I did go to the grade school principal's office more than once for talking in class. I did lose my driver's license in college because of a lead foot. And I've forgotten friends' birthdays over the years, although today is my friend Leah's birthday, and I'll wish her a happy birthday right here so I will not have yet another misdeed added to the list.

Last week, I finished my self-review, that annual exercise when you try to justify your worth to the company without trying to sound desperate.

Last year, my needs-to-improve category included in-house education. I had not taken the required number of self-improvement courses. My boss said she was happy to see that didn't happen again this year, because it would have ended up on my permanent record.

Obviously it has followed me to my current position. Who knew? Where it travels next, God only knows.

Perhaps St. Peter is the final holder of all permanent records, scrutinizing them as we hope against hope that he doesn't spot the talking-in-class violation, so we can pass through his gates in time for cocktails.

But until that day comes, I'm much more worried about Santa. He knows far too much.