The Best Student in the Class

I had an unusual experience teaching, once, in a Singaporean school.

It was a neighbourhood school. The students were not what you would call academic, nor were they what you would call particularly interested in school. They were the kind of students who endured school - and then went onto to endure poorly paid jobs in life. I would say many of them were busily ensuring that they didn't have a future for themselves.

Yet, there I was to teach them in whatever way would work, how to write better. So, I set about it, deploying every trick I had learnt over the years to engage the class. It seemed to work. That however is not the issue I wished to write of. There was another matter which came to my attention: they couldn't write very well.

They were sixteen years old - or older - and yet had little grasp of grammar, spelling or what constituted an interesting sentence. Almost all of them were like this. One boy, however, stood out, for being quite polished in his writing. His sentences were complete and well-made. He used interesting words correctly. He had something amounting to a style. Errors were few and minor and the overall effect, on the page, was of an intelligent mind speaking quietly, to one, of his life. I was impressed. I wrote: "Excellent" at the bottom of his page and carried on with the class.

At the end of the class, when all others had left, he stood in front of me, with a little notebook in his hand. He offered it to me. "Sign it, teacher", he asked. I looked at what was written within. For each subject listed, there was a date, a space for a teacher's signature, the time of the lesson and a place for comments from teachers on how he had been. I understood at once: this boy, who was by far the best writer and most able student in the class, was under behavioural monitoring. Though he was clearly the most capable of all of the students, here, he was regarded as a "bad boy".

I signed, carefully and wrote: "Good writing work, today", in the comments section.

He didn't react. He didn't seem to believe what I had written. You see, on another occasion, in a later lesson, I had asked the class to write of a time in which they were unsuccessful. He found it difficult to start. I knew his writing was good so I asked him what was wrong. "The problem is, I am always unsuccessful." In other words, he had too many instances to choose from.

"No you are not!" I admonished him kindly, "You write well: you are the best writer here."

Again, I saw in him that he didn't really believe it.

"The problem here," I said, looking into his sad eyes, "is that you don't believe in yourself."

Yet, now, I ask myself: is that really the problem, or is it that the educational system doesn't believe in him? After all, they are monitoring the attendance and behaviour of their best student. Somewhere along the line, his school has come to misinterpret him, as a human being, and fail to understand his essential quality. It seems, furthermore, that he has internalized that view and doesn't believe in himself - which prevents him, of course, from seeing his own evident merits.

This saddens me. For when I read his words, I saw a mature and humane thinker, able to express himself well. Yet, he is not appreciated - and so does not appreciate himself.

I think it is time schools appreciated their students for their deeper qualities - and not just the superficial issues that may have got this intelligent boy labelled as "trouble".

Every time he wrote for me, I pointed out the merits of his words. I only hope it sank in. I only hope he came, finally, to believe in himself and his merits - for clearly, no-one else around him has.

(If you would like to learn more of Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged eight years and four months, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, four years and nine months, and Tiarnan, twenty-six months, please go to: http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, the Irish, the Malays, Singapore, College, University, Chemistry, Science, genetics, left-handedness, precocity, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, gifted adults and gifted children in general. Thanks.)

Why: "The Boy Who Knew Too Much"?

It seems from some of the comments I have received, over the months, that the meaning behind my blog title is not as universally understood as I would like. To clarify a little I am going to post a copy of a comment in response to one puzzled commenter:

"The title of my blog is meant to capture the sense one gets on talking to Ainan that no-one could possibly know so much. It is not meant to propose the idea that he should know less. Naming a blog can be tricky since words may be misinterpreted, or read in ways other than intended. Ainan "knows too much" only in the sense that he creates in a listener the sense that what he does is somehow bordering the impossible...for how can one so young know so much? That is what I wanted to relate.

My title is not giftist - it is a title written from wonder - though I see how it could be misread."

So, my blog title is meant to evoke the wonder that comes from speaking to Ainan, when he chooses to speak his mind. It was never intended to suggest that he be diminished in any way. Thus, it cannot be said to be "Giftist" (a word of my invention, recently).

I hope that answers anyone who has taken exception to the title.

On having a sense of humour

Do all gifted people have a sense of humour? Do they understand when another is being light of heart?

I don't think so. The evidence of a recent post shows an utter lack of a sense of humour in one "member of the gifted community". It seems that they were unable to identify when I was being light of heart, in my many posts about my children's actions.

I find this worrying. This person thought that I had compared my son, Ainan, to the "Second Coming", since I had talked of his experiments with walking on water and had pointed out that he knew nothing of religious history, so he had not been inspired by anyone. He - or she - had clearly overlooked my intention to tell a light-hearted anecdote of life with Ainan. I find that amazing.

Indeed, by pointing out the fact that Ainan knew nothing of religious history - I was DISCONNECTING him from the actions of Jesus - for they could have had no effect on his thinking. He was just a child at play. What was interesting to me, in his experiments, is the way he approached it - his structured analysis of the situation - and his modest degree of success in accomplishing his aim, with materials he found lying around. That is characteristic of Ainan: he works with whatever is to hand.

This incident leads me to wonder how much else of what I have written is misunderstood. Much of it is written to entertain and inform. If it succeeds in either intention, I am happy for it. That someone should miss the point of my writing and then promulgate an opinion of me based on that misunderstanding is rather saddening.

To bolster their argument, they "appealed to authority", saying that Gifted Psychologists disagreed with some of the things I said. Well, let them disagree. I disagree with almost everything psychologists do. I met a lot of them at University - and they were often lacking in insight into Humanity, in a way which was quite perturbing. I never met a creative mind among them: perhaps that is why psychology has yet to become a real science - there are too few really good thinkers working in it (though there may be some, but not enough).

So, reader from Iowa, Fairfield...thanks for your comment. It was nice of you try to make the message gentler, towards the end. However, I shan't publish it, but I have addressed it, partially, here.

Perhaps a blog would be easier to understand if you could hear when I was laughing, as I wrote.