I was watching a TikTok last night where the creator was commenting on the characteristics of people who are gifted and talented, and that sparked a very random but important memory. I’m stunned I haven’t yet shared this story with you, my dear reader. (And if I have, let’s play pretend that you’re hearing it for the first time, ‘mmkay?) Like to hear it, here it go…
Go back with me to the fair and lovely 1990s, when your Square Peg was in high school and living the life of a teen obsessed with grunge music and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. (The dichotomy of it all.) It was the summer after my Sophomore year. One day, I was chatting with a friend and decrying, as 15 year-olds do, that my Sophomore English class had been horrible and that I wasn’t looking forward to the same for junior year. I told her about no one being excited about anything we were reading or learning. That people had spent more time hurling spit balls toward the wall than digging into the syllabus or listening to the teacher.
My friend looked at me and said, “why weren’t you in GT English?” (As in Gifted and Talented) I blinked at her. “What do you mean?” I asked her. “Meaning you clearly are way advanced for a regular English class. Didn’t your counselor ever talk to you?” she asked. My counselor? The lady I had met maybe once or twice? “Uh, no. I just thought…like I just thought people were picked for stuff like that,” I responded. She shook her head. “No. You have to ask for it. You tell them you want to be in GT and then they have you write an essay and decide to put you in or not. You should go for it. Regular English class is not for you.”
I remember wondering: all this time I could have been with like-minded fellow English lovers? I could have been discussing the deep things of literature and narratives and text instead of dodging spit balls? And why hadn’t my counselor said anything?
But I proceeded with the plan: I went to the school and found an administrator, told them about my desire to take the entrance essay, and eventually, took the entrance essay. When I received my schedule for the upcoming junior year, there it was, confirmed: [Government Name], English 11, Gifted and Talented.
Yes, I whooped and jumped for joy. It’s what happy nerds do. It went on to be the most amazing class I’d ever taken. My teacher, my fellow students, the content, even the homework–I loved it all. It was in this class that I remarked to my teacher, “I’m not sure what my major should be in college.” And her response: “Of course you do. You’ll major in English. You love English.” And it was my thing, and she knew how I loved it, and I did major in English, and I don’t regret it to this very day. For my senior year in high school, I was automatically placed in AP English, which was where I discovered the wonder of Jane Austen and even more literary gold.
There’s plenty I could say about how GT placements do build a new level of anxiety and sometimes unmanageable expectations and comparisons for young minds. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses. But that’s a different conversation. The biggest lesson learned was: even at that young age, I took control of my own learning and education. I re-shaped my narrative. And that’s life, isn’t it? Not waiting for people to notice. To take the initiative when you need to.
We are the architects of our own creations and foundations. I believed it then, in my little teen brain, and I believe that now.
This was brought to you by a random memory.
This Square Peg. 