18 May The Gift Of Happiness
Is My Child Gifted — Or Just in the Wrong School Environment?
When her bright, quirky son became withdrawn and unhappy at school, Jane Eldridge wondered if giftedness was the issue. Years later, she realised the more important question was whether he had found the right place to belong.
Editor’s note: This article was first published in 2007 and has been lightly updated. Understandings of giftedness, neurodiversity and school belonging have continued to evolve, but the central question remains relevant for many families: is my child in an environment where they can thrive?
When a bright child starts to withdraw
As the mother of a sad and withdrawn nine-year-old boy, I inwardly cringed at my inability to extend him socially or academically, despite knowing intuitively that intellectual stimulation would be his only salvation.
For two years, I stood by helplessly watching a vital and clever little boy transform into a bored, lonely and apathetic child who was achieving only a fraction of what he was capable of. So inept and desperate did I feel that I spent many long hours, days and months pondering the question: is my son gifted?
Could this be why he was not flourishing in mainstream schooling? Was this why he was bored?
He had never been formally assessed, and I had had no success convincing him that he might benefit from external programs offered for gifted children. So, realistically, I had no theoretical grounds for believing that my child was unusually bright.
Yet somehow, I clung to the notion. Was I just thinking what all mothers think about their children? I didn’t think so. This child was different, and I didn’t need testing to confirm it.
The signs were there early
Academically, he always seemed ahead of his peers, and from an early age, he also appeared to have an inherent eccentricity.
He was an interesting, quirky little fellow who had very firm views on a variety of topics. His opinions were heartfelt and focused, and he had the vocabulary to challenge opposing views convincingly.
His comprehension was sharp, and by the age of four, he had developed an astounding command of the English language. Quite simply, he understood everything we said to him.
At preschool, he was deemed to have leadership qualities because of his well-developed — even obsessive — sense of social justice.
Life progressed quite normally and happily. At school, he was very popular. He developed confidence in his eccentricity and continued to lead because his friends were drawn to the fact that he was so comfortably different.
When school no longer felt like the right fit
Regrettably, the comfort did not last.
When my son was eight, we relocated from an inner-city suburb to a regional centre. He started at a new school in Year 3. The transition was seamless, and we were more than impressed with the school.
We were excited by the prospect of him being exposed to a greater range of outdoor activities than he had been in the city. Up to this point, he had excelled in everything he had attempted, and we welcomed the opportunity for him to extend himself in the sporting sphere.
The first year was brilliant. He loved the school, enjoyed the sporting component and thrived socially and academically.
In the second year, things soured.
This enthusiastic, motivated, popular and cause-driven individual became a withdrawn, unmotivated and unhappy boy whose only passion seemed to be finding ways to emulate his classmates. He developed an uncharacteristic shallowness that found expression in the desire for brand-name clothing.
His grades took a surprising nosedive, and when we spoke to his teacher, she informed us apologetically that she was unable to prevent his self-sabotage.
When “fitting in” becomes the only goal
Despite trying to convince ourselves to the contrary, we knew this was not “just a phase”.
We had tried everything within our power to restore him to his former, motivated self, and his teachers worked tirelessly with us. But nothing changed, and my son spiralled into a state of despair in which he despised the fact that he was “different”.
His state of mind made it difficult for us to convince him to gravitate towards different social circles. For him, it was all about fitting in with the majority.
Suggesting that he attend programs designed for gifted children only seemed to heighten his sense of alienation. He just wanted to be “normal”.
Finding children who spoke his language
After 18 months of watching our son self-destruct, my husband and I became desperate enough to analyse his life and the people he had called soulmates thus far.
We were searching for the niche that had fostered and nurtured his earlier growth.
All we came up with was a motley crew of friends who bore no resemblance to him or each other. They did, however, share one similarity. They were all a little “different” in an extremely intelligent and perhaps eccentric way.
He was clearly inspired and challenged by children who spoke his language. And although I would never presume to understand this language, I believed it was underpinned by some kind of deep intelligence that most of them were not even aware they possessed.
Having arrived at the conclusion that our son was a square peg in a round hole, the challenge for us was to rectify the situation without inflicting too much pain.
The school change that helped him thrive
We decided that success was contingent upon placing him at a larger educational facility where there was more likelihood of him rubbing shoulders with his “own kind” — whoever they might be.
As we were reluctant to place too fine a point on his being “different”, we attributed our decision to move him to the fact that a larger school could offer him more opportunities.
Ostensibly, he bought that reasoning. At a deeper and perhaps subconscious level, I believe he felt saved.
Two years down the track, my son is transformed.
He is a healthy, intelligent and cause-driven eccentric who is very popular. He achieves outstanding grades and excels in sport as well as the arts. But most importantly, he is happy and has a zest for a challenge of any description.
Does the gifted label really matter?
Do I still believe my son is gifted? My experience has taught me that my view is irrelevant.
The label is incidental.
In fact, I now subscribe to the view that even entertaining the possibility that one’s child may be gifted can be a dangerous practice. Categorising a child in terms of academic ability can potentially sway parents to mould the child’s education according to specific and limiting criteria.
Within the narrowest academic definition of “gifted and talented”, my son’s abhorrence of tailored programs designed for intellectually able children might indicate that he was not gifted. Yet within a broader definition, he may well slot in.
At the end of the day, labelling him as gifted or otherwise would not have impacted upon our decision to change his school anyway.
But it could have, and perhaps that is the danger.
The better question for parents to ask
My belief is that a child’s development overall is specific to the individual child. What works for one child may not work for another. Implicit in this is that environment is a key factor.
A child will thrive if he or she is happy, and happiness is contingent upon finding one’s own niche.
So the more pertinent question is this: is my child being educated in a school that enhances and promotes their strengths, and encourages them to achieve to the best of their ability?
I believe the answer lies in listening to and accepting the language of the individual.
If a child can relate to and identify with their peers at some level, the comfort born of this security will be sufficient encouragement for the child to reach their potential.
Jane Eldridge no longer wonders whether her son is “gifted” — she is just relieved that he has found his own niche.
