The summer before my freshman year in high school mom enrolled me in a week-long workshop on organizational skills. This was the latest in a series of desperate attempts my parents made to will into reality the high hopes adults had for me. There had been special reading assignments to keep me engaged, rewards, threats, regular meetings with teachers, and ultimately ritalin, but my marks never rose above a pedestrian level. I was a nuisance in class, I hated homework, these were the facts, but my parents, god bless them, could not accept the child they felt was “gifted” was not on the Harvard track.
Scott Anderson
Scott Anderson
Scott Anderson
The summer before my freshman year in high school mom enrolled me in a week-long workshop on organizational skills. This was the latest in a series of desperate attempts my parents made to will into reality the high hopes adults had for me. There had been special reading assignments to keep me engaged, rewards, threats, regular meetings with teachers, and ultimately ritalin, but my marks never rose above a pedestrian level. I was a nuisance in class, I hated homework, these were the facts, but my parents, god bless them, could not accept the child they felt was “gifted” was not on the Harvard track.