Intelligence
Blake was by far the most intelligent student I’ve ever taught.
His reading speed was dazzling. His memory was photographic. His grasp of concepts was both deep and divergent.
Not surprisingly, he scored 5s on all his AP exams and was a National Merit scholar with a near-perfect SAT score.
And yet, he was by far the most miserable student I’ve ever taught.
Everything annoyed him.
Everybody frustrated him.
All class assignments were deemed “stupid.”
Other students’ insights were “a waste of my time.”
I watched Blake seethe under the loathsome requirement of sitting through my detestable AP English Literature and Composition class for a full 50 minutes each day.
Every method I tried to reach him, interest him, woo him backfired, usually publicly. He had no problem expressing his caustic opinions aloud.
“This class kills my brain cells” is a tough way to start the day. My lame attempts at comebacks only confirmed his suspicions that I was of inferior mettle.
Oh, how I longed to pull out my SAT scores. My letter from the National Merit organization, way back when we didn’t attend expensive study courses paid for by Mommy and Daddy.
Entitlement
I felt badly for his parents until it became clear that Mommy and Daddy were not just aware of Blake’s attitude of entitlement, but they’d been actively encouraging it his entire life.
Intelligence, they’d drilled into him, meant that he deserved special treatment.
He didn’t have to do menial labor; that was for “lesser folk.”
He didn’t have to clean up after himself; that was a waste of his talents.
He didn’t have to respect other people; they had to earn it by living up to his high standards.
They’d taught him that to “be honest” meant saying whatever crossed his mind, without a filter. Anyone who “couldn’t handle the truth” just wasn’t as exceptional as he and, thus, deserved to feel inferior.
As I said, Blake was the smartest–and the unhappiest–student I’ve ever taught.
Service
I only recall seeing him truly happy on one occasion.
I’d gone with our seniors to a local elementary school where they spent several hours tutoring second graders. Blake was assigned to help two little boys in math, and they immediately started trying to show off to him how much they knew.
“Oh no,” I thought, “here it comes! He’s going to show them how dumb they are and break their little hearts.”
But I was wrong.
Something about their unabashed hero-worship must have reached Blake’s heart, because for once, he played dumb.
He pretended not to know what 10+10 was, and his little buddies were elated to “teach” him.
During reading, he “needed help” with the most basic of words, and again two little second grade boys came to his rescue.
On the playground, they coached him on the finer points of four-square.
By the end of the day, an exhausted Blake hugged two tearful star-struck little boys goodbye and fell asleep on the bus, a smile of supreme satisfaction (boarding on actual joy!) on his face.
And that’s when I realized what “bright” students need more than anything else: opportunities to use their God-given gifts to serve others.
Blake’s parents had idolized and deified his intelligence to the point that he was accustomed to being treated like a god. The only way he knew to treat others was with contempt.
This is what happens when parents glorify a child’s gifts rather than the Giver of the gifts.
Gratitude
In “The Abuse of Overparenting,” Dr. Lisa Firestone says “when we give our kids too much power, we start to act like victims to our children instead of the teachers, caregivers, and role models we should be. Overindulging, over-rewarding, or babying our children actually serves as a sort of pressure for greatness and a set up for disappointment. The empty acts we mistake for nurturance are, at best, substitutes for real love and at worst acts of actual abuse. It’s no great coincidence that many of the children we see being spoiled and indulged also appear unhappy and dissatisfied.”
I’m grateful that my own parents took a very different approach. As far back as I can recall, I remember my father teaching me that my gifts were cause for gratitude. That with great privilege came great responsibility. That because of the gifts I’d been given, my life would be one of service to God and others.
Using my gifts to glorify the Giver, I’ve been blessed with a life full of gratitude. Peace. Happiness. And joy.
How do you talk with your child about his/her “gifts”? How do you deal with attitudes of entitlement?
“But, Mom, this means I can’t go! It’s impossible!” wails Annemarie, tears coursing down her cheeks.
