During the course of our lives, each of us is ascribed many titles and roles. A few of mine, in chronological order, include son, cousin, brother, friend, boyfriend, husband, uncle, father, songwriter, teacher and grandfather. It is fun and humbling to realize we play so many different and often important parts in the dramas of our lives.

Over time, I have also been described by various people as being funny, clever, compassionate, inept, clumsy, sincere, impatient and sarcastic. (Please note that, for obvious reasons, I am omitting references to my physical appearance.)

During the past two years or so, another word has been added to my list of self-descriptions: genius. Well, that statement is not entirely accurate. One morning, when I was 10 years old, my next-door neighbor asked me to shovel half of her driveway in front of a two-car garage. I shoveled, horizontally, the half nearest the garage, leaving the deepest snow near the road untouched. Neither of her cars was able to back out.

My neighbor called my mom: “Sippie. Look out your window, please. I asked Gene to shovel half our driveway!”

My mom looked next door and said: “Yup. That’s my son, the genius.”

As close followers of my columns no doubt realize, we now approach the heart of the matter, the core ideas and incisive insights for which I am known and respected by no less than five or six readers.

Believe it or not, for over two years now, I have been proclaimed “genius” on almost every day of every week! This proclamation usually occurs before 7:30 a.m., which leaves me the rest of each day to relish the thought of my brilliance. You have probably guessed by now that it is none other than The New York Times that assigns me this esteemed title every morning. Yes, I am an avid Bee-er. In fact, at this point, I’m not sure which would be easier to live without, my morning coffee or The New York Times Spelling Bee.

For those of you who have never been stung by the Bee, I will simply explain that, depending on how many words one makes with seven given letters, a level of success is reached. These levels range from “Beginner” to “Queen Bee,” a designation achieved by the very few who successfully find every possible letter combination that results in a “real” word. In two-plus years, I have been a Queen Bee only four times.

Which brings up an interesting question: who is the Master Bee-er, the Lord-on-high who informs me each morning if I am “great,” “amazing,” or “genius?” His name is Sam Ezersky. He has been the editor of the digital Spelling Bee since it debuted online in 2018, the year Sam turned 20.

Yes. You read that right. A 25-year old, or rather, should I say, intellectually precocious young man, who has the gall to tell me, an elder in the community, how well I am functioning! Hey, Sam! Try being 73 and unscrambling the word confluence!

But I digress, for I have yet to reach the “aha” moment of this column. The New York Times calculates that in the year 2022, the digital Spelling Bee was played 440 million times, with the genius level reached by 70 million players. In other words, 15.9% of all games result in the Big G. Hmm. Interesting, but not reassuring. This would be like a student getting a grade of 86 on a spelling test and being given an A+, or a surgeon being successful 86% of the time and receiving worldwide recognition.

As a spelling bee addict, I find this quite troubling. I now question whether I am deserving of daily accolades from the man-child called Ezersky. Furthermore, to be deemed a genius, one must find only 70% of all possible words in the puzzle. 70%!

OK, in baseball, you reach base seven out of every 10 at-bats and you are the greatest hitter in the the game. But in the game of life, doing well 70% of the time ain’t so hot. You call me a genius, little Sam? I think you just take pleasure in giving people like me a false sense superiority. Also, I hate you.

No, I don’t hate Sam. I’m sure he is a nice young man who will no doubt start shaving within the next couple of years. But I am left asking myself the following questions: Why do I so enjoy achieving the “genius” level each morning? Why am I disappointed (to put it mildly) if I’m stuck at “amazing?” (And forget about any level lower than that: I would jump back in bed and pretend the day didn’t exist.)

Do I, do many of us, need arbitrary goals toward which to strive? Is my ego boosted when I perform up to someone else’s standards?

These are deep questions, fellow seekers, best left lingering, begging for answers in a future column. For now, as a genius, I advise that you enjoy a glass of wine and forget all about my fruitless ramblings.

Gene Stamell contemplates life’s big issues and enjoys chardonnay in Leverett. He can be reached at gstamell@gmail.com.