This article is based on my personal experience of being a gifted underachiever; in some cases it may be more appropriate to say I am simply gifted at underachieving. Both are accurate descriptions.
I generally don't tend to think of myself in terms of being "gifted". The reason that I'm attracted to writing on the topic is the hope that my story may serve as a clue for parents who find themselves at the mercy of the wonderfully alien (sometimes intimidating) "Gifted Kid". The second purpose of this article is to give an "inside" perceptive of a kid with certified "high potential" that grew up to be happy, but lost all of her ambition along the way.
I started my Gifted Education when I was in Elementary School. I had consistently scored high when subjected to standardized testing, but it wasn't until the end of forth grade that I was officially deemed "Gifted" by the state of Florida.
My parents were thrilled. My mother especially relished her bragging rights. At that point, I was the only child in my-immediate and extended-family who had been granted such a lofty title. I remember resenting the suggested idea that the recognition was due to my parents' diligence, and not my own merit, but I kept my mouth shut because I genuinely enjoyed the attention they lavished on me, even if it was possible that it was simply an indirect effect of their pride in themselves.
It's been a while since I was enrolled in Elementary, or Middle School, so I'm not sure what the quality of Gifted Education is presently, but I have to say that when I participated, it was an overwhelmingly positive experience.
In Elementary School my entire day was spent with other gifted children. It was an exciting time in my life. I found myself continuously stimulated and grateful that I was given access to such an enriching environment. I would say that the quality of education I received was equivalent to that of a top Private School. I attended Public, and I only had 14 students in my class.
When I graduated to Middle School, the program was cut to one period a day. The cutback was balanced out with a terrific teacher who had experience with mentally precocious children. My previous teacher seemed to have the same special skill-set. They made me feel valued for my intelligence, but still allowed me to be a kid. They also managed to elevate something I was good at (learning)-which I enjoyed- into something I could be truly passionate about. The goal wasn't really good grades, it was learning how to become a free thinker.
Learning was not a pointless task that was necessary just to get a "good job", it was a call to adventure. If I had been treated any differently it would have made me feel less like a smart kid, and more like a glorified trained monkey
I would rate the quality of my Gifted Education, for that first year of Middle School, equivalent to an above-average after-school program.
"Normal" school work was incredibly dull. I would barley get through my other classes (although, I was still a straight A student). I got used to being able to put the least amount of effort into my studies and still managing to ace the class. This lead to a bad habit of neglecting to do homework, and tuning-out the less articulate teachers. Despite my bad habits, I would perform immaculately on tests, including standardized ones.
My parents measured my success in terms of grades. B's were not acceptable in my household. It was easy to get high marks (to keep things peaceful), but getting the perfect grades just raised my parents' expectations to monstrous proportions. It just meant that I raised the bar another notch. It wasn't above my head, but it had approached chin level fast. Taking the empirical evidence into account, I doubted that it was going to suddenly move at a slower pace; it was also not ever going to go back down.
This is the point I started feeling a lot of anxiety. I feared that one day I would finally hit my ceiling, but that the expectations would keep growing disproportionately to the level of challenge I was facing. Sure, school was easy now, but high school was around the corner and an ominous shadow of AP classes and punishment for failure was starting to cloud my future.
It was like a vicious cycle where doing "my best" would just lead to more pressure not to "screw up." I didn't receive any boons for my success. It dawned on me that I had as little freedom being an overachiever as I would if I was a delinquent. The only difference was that as an overachiever I was missing the opportunity to do the "crime" for the "time I was serving". At first, I had been so eager for praise that I never considered what it might cost me.
I felt trapped and disappointed. Maybe I really was just a glorified trained monkey after all.
* [It's necessary for me to interject here. I don't blame my parents for my lack of ambition. I just wanted to stress that I'm not trying to pull the "crappy parent card". In my heart, I know that they simply wanted to keep me "motivated". My intention for sharing these thoughts is two-fold. Firstly to give an example of "negative motivation", and secondly, to give a glimpse of my perception at the time. ]
Seventh grade was the apex of my discontent and disappointment. I was surprised that my English teacher (I found her intolerably boring due to her passive aggressive attitude towards students) also instructed my Gifted Class. Unlike my other teachers, it was obvious that she had little real interest (or respect) for our intelligence. Where there was once an open door for discussion and exploration, I found a brick wall of "Regurgitate what I taught you. Do the trick I taught you!" "
She managed to wipe away any doubt of my trained monkey status.
Half way through the year I had an epiphany: academic achievement was a joke. It was tedious work that didn't afford you any perks, and it left you feeling drained. They didn't want you to be a free thinker, they wanted you to learn how to take direction.
I would just move on to the next phase of indoctrination in high school, the next in college, until finally I would hit the big time in a career that could showcase my skills at jumping through hoops of various shapes and sizes. School wasn't a place for learning or expansion, it was a machine designed to pump out good imitations of intelligent beings that looked good on paper.
I came to the conclusion that it just wasn't worth my attention anymore.
* [On a side note: these thoughts may sound harsh, but without someone willing to discuss these observations openly (and honestly) I felt bitter and lied to. At the time, my parents wanted me to be a doctor or a businesswoman. I wasn't interested in either. I wish I would have known how open my options were. When I talk to younger people now, I concede that "academic achievement" is not all it's cracked up to be, but it does offer them the freedom to work in a field that they didn't know existed by will probably love, or even give them the freedom to create their own.]
Over the next couple of years my ambition took a nose dive. Incidentally, I read a lot of books on my own (and class) time. I was so pleased with learning on my own terms that I decided that school was the last place to learn anything real. I opted out of the Gifted Program for the rest of my time in school. Eventually, I dropped out of High School.
* [Secretly, I think I had so many people who heaped expectations (and their personal agendas) on me that I was afraid that I would never live up to my mythical "potential". Maybe it was easier not to try, because if I stopped trying there was no way I could fail.]
I got my GED at 18. I attended several different tech and community colleges finally getting a degree in film, which seemed interesting at the time.
It has taken me a long time to regain my ambition. Ironically, I'm going back to school to for a degree in Education. Let's just say I want to be one of those people that can show kids-like I was-that there's hope. I want more educated, motivated free thinkers to shake things up. That's a pretty tall order, but I'm confident that I have high potential.