wanted: Tufte, or possibly a skilled semaphore operator

I plonked my hands on my hips, and glared. The Man, on the other end of the glare, was infuriatingly stolid.


Fine. I flung my hands up, and stomped for emphasis. Be like that. Although, for the record, "I turned out just fine" is what you said about formula, also.  He winced slightly, remembering the MIL's lecture about his early babyhood and what, exactly, he'd been tippling at the time.

Actually, he said, there is something that we do agree upon.  Reached over, grabbed a pen and a pad of sticky notes.

Many sticky notes later, we were still quibbling over the details, but we had this:

Assume a graph.

One axis is P = a child's potential. Keeping in mind that a good chunk of this is bunk, because potential shifts, depending on any number of things, including that nasty 'use it or lose it' thing. Add in circumstance, opportunities available, etc, and you may feel yourself perfectly free to sneer at the axis in question.

The other axis is A = the child's achievement. The kid's five. I'd settle for consistent bottom-wiping on that axis, said one of us, maintaining deniability. Er, yes, said the other. Good point.  So, unless you think that achievement is something that can be pinned to a clear and appropriate standard, feel free to wave off that axis, too. Or, if you are Malcolm Gladwell, fling up your hands and consider stalking out of the room.

But, for the sake of argument, let's consider this: assuming that not all gifted kids are created equal. And that some of those kids will soar, no matter what. For them, P = A, and we all want to know how their parents did it. Or, possibly, how it was done despite, even irrespective to their parents. (I'm not just using Malcolm as a prop here, he really does have some fascinating thoughts on the subject.) See their happy, rising bubble? That's them.

Let's say that some kids aren't gifted. Blithely ignoring the question of the specifics of their education, the problems with how we identify giftedness, or any of the other things that make me inSANE where the concept of giftedness is concerned. Right. For these kids, ignoring a host of issues and a recent, smack-you-in-the-face documentary, let's have their P = A, although without the happy rising bit. See the square where the two axes meet? That's them. We've circled them for emphasis, and possibly in rebellion against the over-simplistic divide between the two groups.

At this point, I'm worked up into a seriously pissy maternal bundle, but our sticky's not done. Going back to the idea that not all gifted kids are equal - nor are they homogeneous - and for the sake of making a semi-clear point, ignoring the fact that we didn't extend this reasonable consideration to the non-gifted kids. The sticky be small, people. For this third group, the P is way ahead of their A, which means that in the classroom, these kids are likely to be one heck of a PIA. Or quietly miserable.


I wonder if those are the kids who drop out, one of us said, morose in the aftermath of an overdose on nastily personal statistics.

That's what I'm worried about. That he'll be in that group. At which point, his P slides back to smack him in the A.

The Man folded his arms and considered. Okay,  he said. I understand that.


We contemplated the sticky note, letting silence replace the discussion about why, how, and what the hell are we supposed to do now. So, if I show people the sticky, will that avoid all of these awful -  

No. But at least you'll be able to explain what you are worried about.


So, there you go.

I want my script back

Okay, so this is how it is supposed to go:
[scene]
Congratulations, your child is gifted. You can stop worrying about how much you suck at saving for college, he's going to go anywhere he wants, on a full scholarship, partly because he's spent his summers doing some really astonishing and groundbreaking biochemical research or maybe something involving quantum physics, which you don't understand because you are just his mom - but that's okay. 


Oh, he's also going to be wonderfully happy, because he's going to have a rich intellectual life, energized by the pleasures of research and discovery. And yes, there will be grandchildren.
[end scene]

Except, this is how it really does go:
[scene 1]
Gifted? What about his brother? Are you saying that the Eldest isn't gifted?
[incoherent, defensive end to scene]

[scene 2]
Gifted? who isn't? 
[silence, end of scene]


[scene 3]
Gifted? I see. So what kind of learning environment are you looking for?
um. I don't know. In your experience, what works?
Depends on the child. 
[insert garbled explanation from the parent, shuffling of paperwork by expert hands, lapsing into silence by parent]
Well, there's a gifted school that we usually refer children like this to.
[flabbergasted end to scene. repeat with each school visited.]

[scene 4]
Gifted? Are you saying that you want the school to take resources away from struggling kids for a gifted program?
um, no. Kids should get the help they need.
Differentiated instruction already has the teachers working with different kids, at different levels. I think you are making a fuss over nothing.  And is it really necessary? Lots of gifted kids turn out just fine.
[abashed end to scene]

[scene 5]
Gifted? Really. And you are asking schools to do what?
Well, see, the expert said - 
My kid is gifted, and I'm not asking the school to do that. What makes your child so special?
[abrupt silence. merciful end to scene]

And here is the short guide to the gifted conversation. Insert silent, notetaking mama with appropriate facial expressions as needed.

[scene]
Well, so your child is gifted. Do you know what that means? No? We-ell, school is going to be a bit of a challenge. There's only one gifted school in your area, and it's oh, an hour away. You'll take him there, right? No? Well, then, most of his real learning will probably happen outside of school for a while. Most schools don't have gifted programs until the 6th grade, and right now, most of those are on the budgetary chopping block. So, even if he's willing to sit politely and be quietly bored - because, you know, boys are good at that - then he's likely still SOL, which means that you are going to have to keep a careful eye on behavior issues that arise. Setting aside, of course, that a good early education experience is pretty important, let's just assume that he's going to be fine, no matter what.** Work habits aren't really important, because, you know, he's so smart - and he's going to be really popular because he'll know the answers to all the questions. Oh yes, all. Because he's gifted, so by definition, he's going to be gifted at everything. 


Except sports. There's a rule about that somewhere.


And that 18-25% drop out rate for these kids? Don't worry about it. You can afford to pay for extracurriculars, right? Good. Resources for parents are online, and you should know that it's a really bad idea to talk about this to anyone in person, and most parents-of-gifteds will refuse to admit to anything of the sort if you ask them, in person. Talk about it with others, and you will be seen as elitist, bragging, a pain in the academic arse, and so on. Also, you'll have a sudden urge to sew suede patches onto perfectly whole sleeves, and start smudging your home with certain aromatic pipe tobaccos. Either that, or you will begin to explore marketing options for your child's artwork or other salable skills - he what? no, the arrangement of Star Wars scenes does *not* count.


Harrumph.
[end scene in a whiff of disapproving silence]

or, if you prefer the condensed version:

[scene]
Your kid is gifted. He - and you - are screwed.
[end scene]


Offended yet? I am.
Coming next: a conversation with graphs


**"The observations reported by Barbarin and Crawford (2006) are entirely consistent with numerous research studies that have shown the quality of the teacher-child relationship to be a major contributor to school success in the early childhood years (Birch & Ladd, 1998; Hamre & Pianta, 2001; Howes et al., 2008). Howes and colleagues (2008) found that the best predictor of gains in academic outcomes for preschoolers was high quality instruction and close teacher-child relationships. Hamre and Pianta (2001) found that children's relationships with their kindergarten teachers predicted academic and behavioral outcomes through eighth grade. Combining scores on conflict and dependency scales into a variable they called relational negativity, they found that, "Particularly for boys, kindergarten teachers' perceptions of conflict and overdependency were significantly correlated with academic outcomes throughout elementary and middle school" (p. 634). "  more can be found here.

choosing an opinion

Some days, I think that everybody is testing their kid for this or that. Other days, I think that this must be impossible - if it takes 24 months to get an appointment for developmental testing at the local children's hospital, then how? where? are these tests being done?

I'm not sure if we can get to you before next fall, said the nice lady from the public schools. We've got quite a wait list. 
It's going to take a while to set up the appointments, said the friendly person from the pediatrician's chosen psych department. Do you need to see a psychiatrist, or a social worker? A developmental pediatrician?

I had no idea. Who should we see? Who could look at the Toddles, and see through the carapace, and past any filters created by our fears? We were, after all, filling out the questionnaires - and I knew well how easy it is to talk our way into a diagnosis. At chez Imperfect, if we're not being pushed off-base by some parenting worry, some medical concern or other, would we know what to do with ourselves? Hemophilia, allergies, immunology, dermatology, rheumatology, neurology - by now, I think we're beyond worried, we've paddled around in skepticism, and now? Now, I fear, we might be in a rut. Diagnose our kid with something new? Sighhhh. Lacking the expertise to argue against it, all too vulnerable to our own worries, all we could do is stack the deck in the favor of clear-sightedness.

Test him? Fine. But not once - twice. That spring and summer, we talked to two thoughtful, careful women, one recommended by the Eldest's heme team, another by our pediatrician. Realizing their doubled role, the two talked to each other.

And they tested the kid.

It was three days of stomach twisting. The Toddles refused to enter any offices, so the testing happened in waiting rooms, on the floor. And I sat behind the child, silent and oh, scared shitless. Filling my hands with yarn, because, hey, it was something to do.

And stared.

I've only seen this once before, the developmental neuropsych told me, but he's beyond even that.  I watched the Toddles, and found nothing to say. I don't think there's a school in the area that can handle him,  the neuropsych said, gently. I'll give you the name of an educational specialist, and maybe she can help. 


Behind us, the Toddles was playing with three, four digit numbers. Flying airplanes. Whisking through school competency tests for 14 year olds. Giggling. Was this hiding in the carapace? Did it have a name?

Gifted, the neuropsych told me. Do IQ numbers mean anything to you? [name of tests] scores?
I shook my head. Breathed a bit. Not autistic? Not -  I rattled off the litany of our fears.
No. But, she said, you might think - and began explaining how this or that behavior looked like this or that psychiatric/developmental condition, but - but I was gone.

Not autistic. Nor normal. Going to be okay? The two developmental medical folks thought so, but offered qualifications. Footnotes. Gentle explanations of what their expertise did and did not cover. But didn't my expertise cover the kid? And what about -

I whipped out my phone.

Um, yeah.  the teacher replied. We knew that.
Oh,  I said. I didn't.


The kid curled into me. Let's go home, he breathed, and sank into his carapace. I carried him to the car, red curls tickling my chin, his legs wrapped around my hips. Can it be quiet now? he asked, and lost in my own thoughts, I agreed.

What lens do I need, to see him clearly? What lens had I wearing?