The following article has been excerpted from Parenting Gifted Kids. This book provides a humorous, engaging, and encouraging look at raising gifted children today. Jim Delisle, Ph.D., offers practical, down-to-earth advice that will cause parents to reexamine the ways they perceive and relate to their children.

Dear Mom,

I’ve asked the receptionist to give you this as soon as you get back from your meeting, so you’ll know where I am. Mike’s mom is taking me home with her. She was the only person available to take me to the emergency room. My arm isn’t moving very well because of the bandages, so I hope you can read this okay.

The firemen said the wiring was very old. You’ll be glad to know I saved the family album. Fluffy should be okay, but it doesn’t look so good for Tigger.

Also, my algebra teacher wants you to give her a call.

Love,
Bobby

P.S. Just kidding! I’m fine, the house is fine, and Fluffy and Tigger are fine. I am getting a D- in algebra, though. What a relief, huh?

You can read Bobby’s letter from a number of vantage points. If you’re a stickler who hates surprises, you’ll be punishing Bobby for his insolence in making you fret. If you’re a fun-lover who thinks practical jokes are the highest form of art, you’ll fall over yourself laughing at the wittiness of Bobby’s deception. And, if you’re a realist, you understand that Bobby is right on target—compared with all the awful things that could happen in life, a D- in seventh-grade algebra is not so bad after all.

Expectations. We all have them for our kids. Whether in the realm of grades, behavior, or the development of a social conscience, we have certain limits for our children. What gets parents of gifted kids in trouble regarding expectations is when their level of acceptability is only understood vaguely by the child, causing a disconnect not even obvious until it’s too late. So, when the report card comes home replete with B’s and C’s, the curfew is broken, or the principal calls with word that your child is correcting his teachers every day in class, you decide it’s time for one of those “little talks” that never work out quite the way you intended. As you sit down to chat, the scene already looks confrontational, and before the first tear is shed, threat made, or apology offered, you realize the lines of communication are as weak as a 16 in Blackjack. The conversation goes something like this:

You: “Son, I know you are capable of work that is better than this.”

Not you: “Dad, you just expect me to be perfect all the time.”

You: “That’s not true.”

Not You: “Yeah? How about that time I brought home a B on that science project . . . ”

You: “You mean the one you threw together at the last minute? I wasn’t mad about the grade, I was disappointed with your effort.”

Not You: “Yeah . . . like all I ever do all day is just lie around playing video games. I’m in all the honors classes, you know. Sometimes, I just need time to relax.”

You: “And you thought that relaxing until the night before your science project was due was a fine way to relieve the pressure?”

Not You (big sigh): “OK, I screwed up. Your little gifted genius can’t always cut it. Big surprise—I’m human!”

What follows next is either a stomping out of the room (by either of you), a final parental statement that proves defeat (“You’re grounded until I see improvement” is common), or a boatload of tears based in frustration. Saddest of all, the situation was not resolved and “You” and “Not You” still are chasms apart in understanding each other’s perspectives on what success looks like. Let’s examine some of the underlying reasons that gifted children and their parents often differ on how high is high enough when it comes to achievement in school. Only then can a truce be declared where there are no losers, only winners.

Even if you knew your son or daughter was gifted from day one, when such impressions are confirmed by test scores there comes a feeling of pride and relief—your suspicions were confirmed by school personnel who know a gifted kid when they test one. Often, what follows is a honeymoon period where the gifted label is worn proudly (but humbly, of course), and life goes on much as it did before. Like every honeymoon, though, it ends abruptly and reality sets in; there are tests to take, competitions to enter, and academic challenges to master. It’s only natural, as a parent, to assume your gifted child will excel at each and every endeavor attempted—hey, that’s what being gifted is all about, isn’t it? You look around at the other gifted kids, and they seem to have no trouble juggling multiple projects and extracurricular activities. Your kid will be the same, right?

Or not. Placing assumptions on your child due to a one-word label—gifted—places you smack in the danger zone of unrealistic expectations. You know that no gifted child, including yours, is good at everything, but when that C in math comes home, do you remember this thought, or do you cringe, even a little, at this “low grade”? And, when your little angel gets lunch detention for “forgetting” to turn in her homework three days in a row, do you see this as simply a wake-up call for your daughter to get better organized, or are you afraid to show your face at parent conferences for fear that teachers will whisper, “Yes, those are the parents of the gifted girl who got detention!”?

The label itself should change virtually nothing about the expectations you have for you child, in and out of school. Why? Because the label seldom comes as a surprise, serving more as a validation of your suspicions than as brand new information. Too, the kid who had the label applied on September 19 is the same kid you tucked into bed on September 18. If he was goofy and disorganized and wore nonmatching socks before being identified as gifted, he’s likely to be the same even after the aura of giftedness has been noted. Keeping your expectations in check and being realistic is a challenge. After all, when your 140 IQ kid forgets to take out the trash—again—it’s natural to want to say, “Aren’t you supposed to be gifted? How can you forget something so simple?” Stifle this temptation, as even if it’s said in jest, it’s just one more subtle indicator that gifted kids are supposed to be flawless, not real.

Your fifth grader is sitting in her mixed-ability social studies class and last week’s quizzes on Bulgaria’s prosperity are being returned. Your daughter earned a B, which is fine with her, as she is far more interested in emerging Asian economies than those of former Soviet republics. Still, the kid behind her—a competitive little thing—spies your daughter’s B and whispers oh-so-coquettishly, “Hmmm . . . I got an A on the quiz, and I don’t even go to that stupid gifted program.”

Slam . . . dunk. One more small but significant indicator to your daughter that this gifted label is sometimes not all it’s cracked up to be.

It is not uncommon for gifted kids to be reminded that they are supposed to act gifted 24/7/365. Classmates and teachers alike look incredulous if a gifted child answers a question incorrectly. Responsibility is an assumed trait, so it’s not unusual that when a gifted child joins in on the armpit chorus when the substitute teacher asks for quiet, the real teacher returns the next day and says to all, “I am especially surprised that John (yes, your John) took part in this immature activity. I count on you to be a role model, John.” Time and again it happens, in and out of school. Grandma gives your gifted child $5 for every A, but nothing for any other grade, while she rewards the nonidentified sibling with $10 for every A and $5 for every B, because, “He has to work for his grades, dear. Yours come naturally.”

Given these superinflated expectations for perfect grades, behavior, and organization, it is no wonder that many gifted children feel, despite their efforts not to, that it is their job to be flawless. Disappointment follows when any level of success lower than perfection is reached, so much so that many gifted students regard a B+ as the worst grade of all, “because I came so close, but still ‘failed.’” Ouch.

I’ve been in enough classrooms in my life to know that many teachers—indeed, perhaps most—see the grade they are teaching as a dress rehearsal for something bigger in the real world. Whether it’s 12th-grade English (“College is tough, you know”) or 5th-grade fractions (“If you don’t learn them now, you’ll be behind next year”), teachers lead students to believe that the worst is yet to come.

Yet, as I reflect on my favorite teachers, I recall the ones who cared more about today than tomorrow. Mrs. Bradley made second grade special for me because we sang everyday in class, for no reason at all. Mr. Bennett, my first male teacher, extended our recess on warm, fall days so that he could teach both the boys and the girls how to throw a spiral and fake a pass. And, in 11th-grade American Government, Mr. Maloney played The Beatles’ song, “Hey Jude,” for our group of horny and vulnerable 16-year-old Catholic boys, informing us that the song’s lyrics were not about drugs and sex, as we all thought, but dealt instead with something called “angst . . . a quality, gentlemen, from which you shall all someday suffer.” I wrote angst down in my notebook so I would recognize it when it appeared in my life. Years later, when it did, I silently thanked Mr. Maloney for his long-ago guidance.

My point here is that when teachers or parents focus too much on the future at the expense of the present, education becomes a meaningless stepping-stone to a faraway greater good. I was never afraid to sing in Mrs. Bradley’s class, and I don’t recall her ever telling me that if I didn’t learn “My County ’Tis of Thee,” I’d be banished from third grade. And, at the time, I might have liked Mr. Bennett because extra recess meant less time for social studies, but I recall him now because he realized the importance of football and crisp, autumn days to a boy whose own dad was often too tired to toss a few laterals in the backyard. Instead of worrying about future events over which they had no control, these teachers concentrated on the “me” that existed that day. In doing so, I gained confidence to play around with this serious business called education.

As you look at your own son or daughter, stepping off the bus or out from behind the steering wheel, remember that the only assurance we have is that they are with us right now. We want their futures to be long and bright, and we do everything in our parental power to make that so, but if we focus so much on tentative tomorrows, we may be giving away the greatest gift we have—today.

Can you do at home what teachers sometimes forget to do at school? Leave the bright and successful futures that many gifted children have in their sights alone for a while, and remember to celebrate today’s achievements and triumphs, and to put today’s disappointments in proper perspective. Remember Bobby, whose note opened this chapter? His D- in seventh-grade algebra is not going to keep him out of Harvard; conversely, an A+ in seventh-grade algebra will not guarantee him a seat in that esteemed institution on the banks of the Charles River. Your child watches your attitude toward everyday successes and mistakes carefully. Tread cautiously if most of your remarks are punitive or psychologically threatening (“Do you really think these grades are high enough to get you into a good college?”), and pat yourself on the back if the encouragement you give is both genuine and good-natured (“I realize you are disappointed at not winning the spelling bee, but I truly appreciate the effort you took to succeed.”). Simple, dumb things that state the obvious are simple, dumb things that really matter.

Carleton Kendrick, an alumnus who interviews potential Harvard students, meets with applicants on their home turf to see if they have what it takes to succeed in the “Ivies.” Naturally and noticeably nervous, the applicants arrive at the interview to meet someone who simply wants to get to know them better. As Kendrick (2001) writes:

I try to get beyond their Miss America-like, rehearsed responses. I’m looking for clues as to whether they’d make considerate roommates, inquisitive scholars and generous contributors to Harvard’s community. Most often, these frightened, pressured high achievers have trouble finding their own voice. Instead, I hear them speak in the success-oriented words of their parents, teachers and college coaches. (p. 40)

Kendrick goes on to state that way too many straight-A students participate in organized sports at the last minute, “so it looks good on a transcript,” or they complacently accept high grades instead of leveling with their teachers that the “new” material they are learning is old-hat. Or, they are fulfilling someone else’s dreams, not their own. Sarah, her school’s valedictorian, is one such example:

“Math and science have always been easy for me. I don’t like them nearly as much as literature, but they’re what I do best. I guess I’ll major in them in college, get a graduate degree in them and then get an engineering job and get married. That’s what my parents expect.” Sarah was 17, a broken sparrow, dying to be middle age. (Kendrick, 2001, p. 40)

Not long ago, Stanford University received 14,912 applications for its upcoming freshman class. Of these, 3,200 applicants had straight-A averages and the rest were not far behind. Yet, only 2,626 students were accepted, leaving disappointment—indeed, devastation—for thousands of top scholars who thought they had done the right thing by earning the highest of high GPAs. But, without a vision, without a passion to pursue one’s own dreams—even if they are unrealistic and odd—these straight-A students were the academic equivalent of Stepford Wives, cookie-cutter copies of one another speaking in united monotone. Sorry . . . they’re not Stanford material.

So, what to do? Of course, you already know the answer but, should it have slipped your mind, let me introduce you to E. Paul Torrance, an investigator of creative children and adults for more than 60 years, who will remind you of the obvious.

How To Grow Up Creatively Gifted

1. Don’t be afraid to “fall in love” with something and pursue it with intensity. (You will do best what you like to do most.)
2. Know, understand, take pride in, practice, develop, use, exploit, and enjoy your greatest strengths.
3. Learn to free yourself from the expectations of others and to walk away from the games they try to impose on you.
4. Free yourself to “play your own game” in such a way as to make good use of your gifts.
5. Find a great teacher or mentor who will help you.
6. Don’t waste a lot of expensive, unproductive energy trying to be well rounded. (Don’t try to do everything; do what you can do well and what you love.)
7. Learn the skills of interdependence. (Learn to depend upon one another, giving freely of your greatest strengths and most intense loves.)

Note. Compiled from Torrance, Murdock, & Fletcher, 1996.

Post this chart someplace obvious, and highlight in bright yellow or pink those items that matter most to you. Write all over the page, and encourage your children to do the same. Discuss the meaning of these pearls of wisdom with your kids, and ask them, “What the heck do these have to do with being a 9- or 12- or 45-year-old smart person?” In other words, when school is over and grades are as irrelevant as hurricane insurance in North Dakota, consider what remains in one’s life. You’ll find, I believe, that Torrance and his colleagues hit the mark with uncanny accuracy.

Never before in our history have gifted children been exploited so blatantly. With today’s mania for testing everything, year after year after year, to “prove” whether or not our public schools are any good, gifted children have been used to shore up academically weak schools. Time and again gifted children are told, explicitly or through implication, that it is their brains that will show government leaders that the neighborhood school is just as good as the private academy down the street. Because in today’s world of providing vouchers for parents who choose to send their children to independent schools, every public school administrator is out to prove just who is the top dog when it comes to academic achievement. And, which kids will lead us there? You guessed it, yours.

This is exploitation for at least two reasons. First, because so much emphasis in our schools is to note competency, not excellence, the kids who score highest on mandated annual tests may, ironically, have learned the least that year. Second, due to increased pressure for all students to perform well on these assessments, many instructional hours are lost to test preparation; a “skill” that most gifted students mastered long ago.

Some high achieving students are taking matters into their own hands. In test-frantic Texas, Mia Kang, a straight-A freshman at MacArthur High School in San Antonio, boycotted the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills (TAKS) test in 2005 by writing an essay on her answer sheet, stating how these tests are damaging her learning. The drill-and-kill mentality is destroying the thirst for knowledge and creativity in a whole generation of students, Mia contends, and teachers are forced to abandon lessons that deal with critical thinking, creativity, and discovery. Her school counselors admonished Mia, telling her she is choosing the wrong battle to fight and that she is jeopardizing her graduation. Mia’s response? She believes colleges will see beyond the absurdity of today’s politically charged academic benchmarks, and admit her based on her full academic record. And, if not, Mia has this to say, “If my high school diploma means I passed one test in the 11th grade, then that’s pretty meaningless” (LaCoste-Caputto, 2005, p. 8A).

Just down I-35 and a bit to the east, Macario Guajardo, a fifth grader in Edinburg, TX, is also boycotting the TAKS, even though not taking it may mean he is retained in fifth grade, which is the reason for his refusal. With his father’s support, Macario is bypassing the test because he believes that too much emphasis is placed on this one-time event without regard for the rest of a student’s academic record (LaCoste-Caputto, 2005).

Did you just read right? Did I say “with his father’s support”? Yes, and Mia also has her parents’ support for her boycott. Perhaps there is a more important lesson than can ever be measured by the TAKS in these two stories: Families are united against the absurd premise and pressure that guides standardized testing in today’s schools. If a bandwagon was ever needed to be joined in support of your gifted child’s education, perhaps this test-taking boycott is just such an issue.

What do academics, the school orchestra, soccer, and the science fair have in common? Each is competitive, whether the opponents you are trying to beat are classmates striving for a hard-to-get scholarship, First Chair in violin, the visiting team of athletes, or the seventh grader’s trifold poster in the next booth revealing the secrets of DNA. Competition is imbedded in our culture in so many ways that it is difficult to come up with a group activity where the end result does not produce winners and losers.

To some people, all this competition is just fine. After all, in the adult world, we compete for jobs, prestige, and recognition. Whether it’s the prettiest wife, the largest SUV, or the greenest lawn in town, it is the rare capitalist who doesn’t want just a little more, a little better, than the Joneses next door. If we weren’t a competitive society, we’d turn off the Super Bowl when the Discovery Channel offers an intriguing alternative.

But, what happens when the competition becomes the goal in itself, rather than the happy result of striving to do well? When even a silver medal in the Olympics is returned out of shame of not winning the gold (this has happened), or Nike sells millions of T-shirts bearing the message “Second place is the first loser,” we have lost sight of the original intent of 99% of our competitions—to have fun, to improve skills or knowledge, and to share camaraderie with others who enjoy what we enjoy. In this climate of win or else, many gifted children who fear the embarrassment of not being No. 1 opt out of the game. They sit on life’s sidelines more out of fear than disinterest.

Although it would be unrealistic to insulate our kids from everything competitive, we can attempt to balance these win/lose situations by doing simple things with our children that emphasize the importance of simply being who they are. For example, have you ever watched your daughter’s eyes when you told her a story in which she is the hero? Do you recall the glow on your son’s face when you combed through the piggy bank with him, looking for that 1948D penny that would complete his entire set for that decade? Watch your teenager being taken aback when you ask, “So what’s your opinion on . . . ” and then you really listen to the answer.

Be silly together. Share meaningless secrets you promised to keep. Send them a newspaper clipping at college about an elementary school buddy who just got married. Put a happy face note in their lunchbox—daily! Wear Scooby Doo pajama bottoms (not in public). Admit when you are at fault. Tell them when you are feeling bad, and why. Back them up when they are committed to a cause, even if it’s one you don’t believe in. Tell them you are always proud to be their parent at a time when they least expect to hear it. Show up when you say you will, and stay away when you promised to do so. Have a race to see who can blow the most bubbles through a straw in a glass of chocolate milk.

OK, so this last one is competitive but, on balance, the others are not. And, that is the key word—balance—for when gifted children are put into competition because they are so smart, so capable, such strong leaders, they need to have downtime where they can do absolutely nothing except mess around. Or blow bubbles.

Now that I’ve revealed the issues surrounding expectations and why some gifted children feel compelled to be the best at everything they try, let’s examine some of the ways that we, as parents, undercut our children’s own efforts by saying things that are, well, just lame. They may actually sound good coming out of our mouths, and in our defense we will say that we stated them because we had the best interests of our children at heart. But, you know where that road leads that is paved with good intentions. So, with full knowledge that you might feel worse after reading this next section than better, I present four statements you should never say to your gifted child.

The reason this statement tops the list of the all-time worst things we say to smart, underperforming kids is that it is so vague it gives absolutely no clue as to how to improve. Potential exists in the eye of the beholder, and there is no clear line of demarcation that separates meeting your potential and not meeting your potential. Certainly, grades are not good indicators, as many gifted children receive A’s they didn’t deserve (for they did little work to get them) and yet, may have struggled to attain a C in Latin IV. Which is worth more—the lazy A or the hard-earned C? Also, when we use the potential argument, we often do so with a certain smugness that turns kids off immediately. This smugness may not be obvious to you, but it is to them. Here’s why: By stating “you are not working to your potential,” there is an implicit message that we, the all-knowing and wise adults, realize what our kids’ true potential is, and when they reach it, we’ll tell them. Our game, our rules. But, if you think about it, do we really know the extent of our children’s talents? Don’t those limits change over time, as access to new information and interests causes our kids to achieve great things in some areas, but not others? Potential is a variable, not a constant, yet we treat it as if it were forever the same.

If you believe your gifted child can do better than present efforts show, why not say something like this, instead, “Simon, let’s take a look at the work you’ll be doing over the next 9 weeks in school. Which subject do you feel you can improve in, and how can I help you reach your goal?” Yes, it’s still a sneaky way of kicking your kid’s academic butt up a notch, but at least it focuses on specifics, not amorphous generalizations. And, specific goals are the only ones ever reached.

Everyone knows my Aunt Stella. She is like a motorist who causes an accident, but drives away oblivious to the mayhem left behind. Here is just one example of her poise. When I received my Ph.D. at age 28, I was the first in my extended family to get a doctorate. Upon receipt of my degree, my parents sponsored a party, Aunt Stella being one of the guests. As she drank her white zinfandel (ugh) and gobbled down the free food, she gave me the kind of praise Aunt Stella is known for.

“Jimmy,” she said, “we are so proud of you. You have accomplished so much.” She took a minute to chew . . . OK, two minutes. “Just one thing makes me sad,” she added, “why didn’t you become a real doctor? You always had the brains to become a real doctor.” She shrugged her shoulders and squeezed my cheek, “But, we’re still proud of you for this Ph.D.-thing.”

If I had become a “real” doctor, I am convinced I would have gone into pediatrics. Aunt Stella’s comments would have alluded to the fact that I had the brains to be a surgeon.

Your child has met Aunt Stella already—many times, perhaps. The world’s Aunt Stella’s are not cruel, they are merely misinformed. They believe they have the best interests of your gifted child at heart by always urging them to look ahead at what’s next rather than examining what is good about what lays right in front of them. They second-guess every decision and every triumph, letting your child know that with a little more time, effort, or enthusiasm, they “coulda been a contenda.”

That single word—but—is one of our language’s natural depressants, dampening a compliment the way a rainstorm ruins a picnic. But diminishes the importance and worth of even the most genuine compliment that preceded it, erasing any semblance of pride a child might have accepted as credit for a job well done. In a very real way, it becomes a kick in the BUT.

The solutions are easy. First, tell your children that the reason they have two ears is so that some things that enter one of them can exit the other side without ever stopping in the middle to think about it. So, when an adult who really doesn’t know your child (Aunt Stella never knew me, though she thought she did) gives them a kick in the “but,” remind your son or daughter they have your permission to ignore them. This is not being impolite, but merely practical, for if every smart kid has to listen to every urge to improve from every person who thinks they have the right to offer an opinion, your gifted child will be inundated with confusion.

On the other hand, if the “but culprit” is you or someone near and dear to your child’s existence, the solution is pretty simple—keep your mouth shut. Instead of saying “You did a fine job on that report, but if you had used five more references you might have gotten an A,” simply say, “You did a fine job on that report.” Period. End of sentence. Compliment stays intact. Should you feel strongly that you still need to prod your child to do better, that’s fine. Just do so at a later time, after the glow of the compliment for a fine job has been absorbed.

Here’s the scenario: Your child has decided to take an advanced class at school and you are very pleased, especially because the subject is calculus—your favorite! You know you will be able to help with homework in a meaningful way.

Class begins, and shortly thereafter, so do some problems. Where previous classes have been pretty easy, this one challenges your teenager, raising self-doubts about the wisdom of taking such a tough course.

“Time for me to intervene,” you think. So you do. Dredging up your knowledge of things mathematical, you begin to help with homework. When your captive audience (i.e., your teenager) hits snag after snag, you watch the frustration and offer a word of advice. Hugging a now-slumping shoulder, you say, “I know this is new to you, but you can grasp it. In fact, in time this’ll be easy for a smart kid like you.”

Ah . . . I can already smell an argument brewing, probably beginning with, “Just because I’m smart it doesn’t mean . . . ”

Unintentionally, you just made a gifted kid feel dumb by suggesting a concept that was personally difficult to grasp is actually pretty easy. Your teen’s inner thought becomes “Hey, if this stuff is so easy and I can’t get it, I must be more stupid than I thought. Maybe I’ll drop the class.” It may have been inadvertent, but your words still sting, especially if your child was honestly trying to grasp an elusive concept that was crystal clear to you.

Instead of using the smart kid strategy, say something like this: “I can see you’re having some difficulty understanding this concept. It is quite complicated. If it’s OK with you, I hope that we can work on it together until you feel comfortable with it.” This message validates your teen’s efforts and acknowledges that calculus is difficult. Also, it indicates that even smart kids will have to struggle with new material sometimes, a situation that may be fairly rare in your child’s prior educational experiences.

Now, who could argue that this statement isn’t a positive one? Well, me for one. Generally, this statement is said when a new academic venture is undertaken by a child who is unsure how well she will do. What happens, though, is a communication mix-up, as your child may misinterpret your best as the best. Further, if we venture into the realm of athletics, and we ask our child to “try your best” at water polo, the interpretation may be that best encompasses both academic and recreational activities. Doing something for the sake of just doing it doesn’t seem to be an option.

Think of the unreality of always trying your best. For example, do you try your best at every element of your daily, adult life—in work, in completing household tasks, in exercising daily? Or, do you realize that it is sometimes okay to have a house that is 70% tidy or a four-day-a-week exercise schedule rather than a daily routine? By sending the message that high grades do not always count, but high efforts always do, you leave too little room for the inherent pleasure found in occasionally being average. Trust me, as a mechanic I am mediocre. But, as an adult, I have the prerogative of saying those two magical words—hire out!—when faced with a task I do not want to exert my energy doing. Gifted children need the same degree of freedom to opt out of not being a top performer in everything they do. There is simply not enough time and energy in anyone’s life to excel at everything.

Have I given enough examples of the many ways we go awry as parents when all we are trying to do is help? Do you feel the same sense of guilt reading this chapter that I did in writing it? Indeed, I could not have written this prose if I had not done and said many of the things I am now asking you to avoid. Live and learn.

As parents, there are many things we say or do that we wish we could take back later. We, like our kids, are imperfect beings, and it would be silly to believe that even our best-intended efforts are always interpreted in the positive manner with which we offer them. So, if you find yourself in these pages, don’t feel guilty or dumb, just human.

And, should you think you’ve done irreparable harm to your gifted kid because you leaned too heavily on the achievement-at-all-costs mantra, just backpedal a little bit and be honest with your child: “Sam, I’m sorry what I said made you feel bad. That was not my intent. Let’s go back and try again.”

Life is filled with mistakes and miscalculations. What that means is that life is also filled with second chances. As we venture down this path with a goal toward being as close to the perfect parent as we can, let’s understand how ludicrous that goal really is. It’s the flaws that make us human and interesting.

In an odd sort of way, that’s comforting.

“If I get a B on my report card, my world turns upside down and my parents go crazy. I told them to stop but they didn’t, so I stopped doing homework for a while until they finally got my hint. Now, they’re proud of whatever I get.”
—Tom, age 13

“When I get anything less than perfect, it’s like the world ended. No one else is that way. They can do anything and be happy. I do like the same TV shows, sometimes (That’s not right, because I like the History Channel). But I do like the same guys. And I wear the same clothes. My hair is normal.”
—Laura, age 15

“I have this advice for anyone who lacks self-confidence: Get involved in as many activities as possible. Not so many that you come to the point of being totally stressed, but to the point of where you don’t limit your chances. Not only will you gain new experiences, but also you will meet new people, build new relationships, and find new ways to challenge yourself.”
—Olecoy, age 17

Kendrick, C. (2001, November). High achievers: What price do they pay? ASCA School Counselor, 40.

LaCoste-Caputto, J. (2005, February 19). They aren’t going to take it anymore. San Antonio Express News, p. 8A.

Torrance, E. P., Murdock, M., & Fletcher, D. C. (1996). Creative problem solving through role playing. Pretoria, Republic of South Africa: Benedic Books.