Pushing Gifted Students to the Limit

Since first or second grade in public school, I established myself as a stand-out student. I was the student who knew every answer, aced every test, never missed an assignment...we all know the type. In fourth grade, the school system's 'gifted and talented' program sent out for recommendations from all of the teachers. My name was at the top of the list for my class, which came as no surprise to anyone who knew me. I went with the other 'candidates' down to the cafeteria to take an intelligence test to determine who would be inducted into the program. Within a week or two I was accepted, and my parents were notified. They had been leery of the idea of pulling me aside to 'nurture my gifts', as they had fears that the program would deprive me of the childhood the 'normal' kids were expected to enjoy. The staff of the school and the program argued with my parents, assuring them that the day would come when I would grow bored going at a pace which was too slow for me, and I would be wasting my time, not living up to my potential. After a drawn out argument, my parent's deferred to the program's self professed expertise, allowing them to sign me up. I was thrilled, as any child would be with the school's promises of adventure and excitement. But I was never briefed on my parent's hesitation.

Things started off great with the gifted and talented program, and I do think that I benefited from the environment and the lessons it provided. Any child who has been grouped in with the 'geeks' or 'nerds' will tell you it is a sad experience, a true exercise in isolation. Here was my chance to gather with others who enjoyed the academic world, and socialize with those who were ostracized by the 'cool' crowd. It seemed as if my parent's fears were unwarranted, and they simply enjoyed watching my newfound happiness with school and the pride I took in my achievements. By fifth grade, I was selected to be a part of the newest program, the best of the best who were transported to the middle school one day a week. There we were to take place in the gifted and talented program with the middle schoolers. The excitement we felt was tremendous, we were the academic elite, so smart that we were exempt from a whole days lessons at our 'normal' school. Again, unbeknown to be me, my parents again expressed their concern to the school. Again, they were guaranteed that this was the best thing for me, the perfect chance to shine.

Fifth grade and the 'advanced' gifted and talented program came and went, without incident. The problems never came, and my parents were wrong...weren't they?

They were, and they weren't. The problem wasn't so much with the program, but with the school itself. It was common knowledge to all of a student's teachers if they were in the gifted and talented program, and that was the problem. You see, you were treated accordingly to your membership. It sounds simple, and it sounds fair, but it isn't. While the other children were allowed to make mistakes and get a lousy grade here or there, I was not. I was one of the smart kids, the geniuses. We were the academic elite, and we possessed skills that would propel us to success the other's could only dream of. Perhaps this is true, perhaps it isn't. The most important factor the teachers were overlooking was that we were kids.

As time went on, I began to have strange experiences at school, ones which were having profound effects on me. These effects which lurked in the shadows of my mind, accumulating throughout time. The experiences I speak of were not those of success, they were those of failure. Humans are not perfect, and they make mistakes. But for us, the gifted students, mistakes were unheard of; every academic shortfall was as earth shattering experience to the teachers. I recall a time when I got a C on a math quiz, which probably shouldn't be worth noticing, right? Well my teacher felt the need to call my parents and ask if I was sick. Why would they want to know that? Because I was not prone to making mistakes, so I must be sick! This seems like an insignificant thing to an adult, but put yourself in the shoes of a preteen child. Imagine the pressure you would feel if it was that inconceivable to make a mistake that you would have to be sick to screw up!

Another occasion comes to mind when I botched another quiz. I simply didn't understand the material, and I needed more time and some help to grasp the concept. This time, however, the teacher in question put forth another theory. After class, I was asked if I did badly on the quiz on purpose - so I would fit in better with the kids who didn't do as good as I did. The implications here were devastating to a young mind - if I did badly, I was either sick or I was doing it on purpose! If this wasn't the system's way of telling me that perfection was the only acceptable result from such a bright child, I'm not sure what is!

Fast forward to 8th grade, focus on that same 'genius in the making'. It had been pounded into my head that I needed to be perfect. All the time. No exceptions. Even a grown man or woman would eventually crack under this kind of pressure. Sure enough, I did. I simply stopped caring about what the school thought of how I performed. In my mind, I had drawn the line that divided the school and I into 'us' and 'them'. If I couldn't simply do my best and have that be the end of it, with no need for excuses and explanations that no one else had to provide, then I was not going to play their game any more. They had burned out one of their brightest bulbs, and they had done a thorough job. But the problem went beyond the walls of the school, right into my home.

I was raised with my mother constantly telling me, 'Do the best that you can, and that's the best you can do.' A simple philosophy, but a reasonable request of a child, asking them only to try and their efforts will be appreciated. The school system, in tandem with the gifted and talented program, had essentially rewired me to set insanely high standards of myself. Fear of failure had replaced pride in my achievements. By high school, my family began to find me sleeping in random spots in the house at all hours of the day. I grew skittish of large groups of people and was most comfortable alone. After my mother made a call to my doctor, I was taken to a psychologist for an overall evaluation. The diagnosis: chronic depression and severe social anxiety triggered by extreme stress.

To this day I still feel the effects of being pushed too hard by a system which expects too much. My parents look back with regret and are upset with themselves for eventually listening to the 'experts' who knew what a wonderful experience the advanced programs would be for me. Believe me, now that I know the extent to which they protested, I hold no ill will towards the choices they made. I have been out of high school for 4 years now, and I am still working my way towards a normal (as subjective a term as that is) life. I was forced to be home schooled from my sophomore year clear through to graduation, since I had a bit of a breakdown trying to come to grips with my depression and the pressure of trying to be perfect again. Once I was free of the teachers and the system which ground me under its heels, my grades skyrocketed again as I was allowed to be normal. I had a series of wonderful tutors who set reasonable standards to grade me by, and I thought, 'So this is what it's like to be treated like everyone else!' The joy of having teachers approving of my results and acknowledging my success was such an amazing feeling to me, it was unreal.

For parents of gifted children, I sincerely hope that you can take something away from my story. There is absolutely nothing wrong with nurturing your child's gifts, and programs designed to do so are wonderful. But, it is important to remember that no one is perfect, gifted or not. Allow your children to make mistakes, and remind them that it is OK to do so. Through time and therapy, I have started down the long road to recovery, and I am much better at accepting my shortcomings and the fact that I don't have to do better than everyone else. Hopefully, by heeding my advice, you can save them the grief and avoid reading this same story written by your own child. Remember, your kids are just that...kids. Don't make them grown up too soon.