One day, in grade three, a teacher came by my classroom and told me to follow her. I was absolutely petrified— never in my five years of study had I done anything wrong, so what could this be?
I was brought to an empty classroom at the end of the hall, where a psychologist poked and prodded at my mind. She studied me as I played with coloured blocks, and asked me bizarre questions, like what democracy meant to me (as a Sonia Sotomayor-idolizing seven-year-old, I had lots to say).
A few days later, my mum received a phone call, informing her that I was gifted. When she broke the news to me on our walk home, I was elated— I had been told that I was special my whole life, and now there was paperwork to prove it.
I felt like Harry Potter receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter, except I wasn’t in denial that I was special—in fact, I even felt that it was my right to be gifted, a scholarly manifest destiny, of sorts. I had been academically ahead of my peers for a while— reading texts that were far above my grade level, and doing math problems in my head that others needed paper to solve. But that was because my family had brought me up that way. My older brother, an English major, had introduced me to advanced texts at a young age, and my father, a former professor, would sit down with me every night to do math problems of his own invention. I had been shaped into a so-called “gifted learner” because that’s just how my family raises their kids[1].
It is after this event that I developed what I like to call “Jeff Winger syndrome”. Jeff Winger is a character on the NBC show Community, who has always believed that he is special. However, a pivotal turning point in the series (the pottery episode), makes him realize that he is just like everyone else. My Winger-esque deception disintegrated in front of my eyes this year.
Prior to Grade Eleven, I was one of those students— I didn’t study for tests or try on assignments, and yet I wormed my way to the top of the class. I wasn’t used to pushing myself in school because academics were something that came naturally to me. However, this year, with five AP courses, more leadership roles in extracurriculars, and a new part-time job, I was, for the first time, struggling academically.
My grades dropped from the high nineties to the seventies, I lost sleep over the most mundane homework questions, and I would sit through a physics class without understanding a single thing. Most devastatingly, I realized that I was just the same as everyone else. The gifted designation on my IEP had no meaning anymore. I wasn’t magically staying on top of all of my work as I had before; I was sinking— drowning, even— and I was pulling my grades and mental health down with me. Because of my “giftedness”, I wasn’t used to trying, so this year, when trying was my only option, it was as if I had forgotten how. I realized that I didn’t know how to study for tests or manage my time wisely because I had gotten by without doing so in the past.
I am now on the path of recovery from the inflated ego that the gifted program burdened me with. I am learning that I, too, am human and that I, too, have flaws. Isn’t it hilarious that I’m learning that at age sixteen?
Maybe it would have broken my heart, but I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if someone had humbled me early on. What if someone had told seven-year-old Skyler, with her arsenal of World War Two facts and Harry Potter lore, that she wasn’t special? Would I have cried, telling them that they were wrong and that my mum said otherwise? Or, would I have listened to them, erasing the picture-perfect image I had constructed of myself in my head?
I can’t say for sure; I was an emotional kid. But, what I can say is this: I wish someone told me that I was normal earlier.
[1] This brings up the important discussion of nature vs. nurture— are children inherently gifted, or is it a matter of their environment? I believe entirely that any child who grew up in my household would turn out to be “gifted”— with piano lessons, library camp (yes, this is a real thing, and yes, I went every summer), and math enrichment classes, it would be pretty difficult for any child raised by my parents to turn out “normal”. I also am a firm believer that I would fail the gifted test if I were to take it again at this point in my life.