Going inSame: a gifted child’s perspective on being different

Every day I sit in my seat and try to ignore the fact that the pebbled plastic leaves grooves in my legs which will itch like crazy later and every day I am reminded that my feet are not flat on the floor. Every day I stare at the pencil in my hand and will it to do tricks or loops or flips or anything resembling writing while I doodle away in my mind. Every day I listen to conversations going on around me, everyone just talks talks talks talks, and every day I’m told I don’t listen. But I heard it all. I wish I could hear less of it.

I am so tired of forgetting the question when it’s my turn to answer. I wish I could stop licking my lip, tapping my foot, adjusting my sleeve, and I wish you wouldn’t call my name. I am so tired of the ideas and the dreams and the answers and the questions and the stories and the conversations, all of which regale me every second of every day. You say I daydream. But I am right here every second. I wish I could sleep.

I try to sleep. There are too many possibilities in the dark. All of the things I couldn’t answer in class are suddenly swimming before me. Only thing is, they are swimming with friends, lots of them, the answers suddenly better than anything anyone else said and I wish I could turn back time. I squeeze my eyes shut to close out the ideas and the answers and the images, but they find their way back in. Poetry writes itself, images present for creation, solutions come easy, action sounds delicious, as does too much food, dinner was too crunchy sticky bland, and all the time I wish I could stop it.

Then it’s morning and it’s another every day and another every day and another. But today, on the way to school, the sunrise moves me to tears and I can’t stop. It’s not just the color, so brilliant and crisp and beautiful, it’s the promise of something grand, something bigger than me, something I can’t explain, something I want to think more about, something I want to hold dear, to never let go. There is something promising I can be Same. Same, it says. Not different, but Same.

It’s all too much and I forgot my coat. Crisp sunrise turns to too cold in line waiting for the bell to ring. A coat is all I want, and to see the colors just one more time. But it’s not to be, the sun is up, the bell has rung, and the pebbled plastic seat leaves grooves in my legs which have already started to itch like crazy.

***

A friend asked me why I started a blog. She asked, “What would you like to get out of it?” The truth is that I didn’t get as far as what I hoped to get out of it. I planned to put as much into it as I could, as honestly as I could, and throw it out there. I write every day anyway, but I never before wrote about my experiences as it pertains to giftedness and felt that if my brouhahacrazyemotionalfunlovingohmygodmyponytailstootight&thecrazyistooloud style helps someone get out of the door on time one morning or makes them laugh or makes them understand their own child better… that is enough for me. Even better, if it helps a child understand him or herself better… THAT is the conversation I want to have. I get it. I really GET it. It’s just nice to hear that someone gets it sometimes.

It’s nice to hear that the different we feel as parents of these amazing children, the fight we feel when we hear that every other kid has the same problems, the different our kids feel despite being so amazing… It’s just nice to hear it is SAME somewhere in the world.