Andrey D. (ILE) about the desire to be smart and unique

My teachers constantly told me that I had a “golden mind,” that I had a good memory, that I was smart. I considered myself almost like a “professor.” But by the fifth grade, my classmates slowly started to show me who I really was. As a result, I felt like a nobody for a long time. You know, later on, my school performance declined—I got weak B’s, and in many subjects, C’s.

<…> In elementary school, I was a very spontaneous child. I often behaved immodestly; the classmates would point at me and say, “Look, an idiot!” For example, during lessons, when the teacher was explaining something, if I heard something familiar, I had to raise my hand and continue for them: “I know this too!” And again, everyone would point at me and say, “Look, an idiot!” Of course, I was surprised—I thought I was so smart, yet somehow they were calling me an idiot.

From a child’s perspective, they call anyone an idiot who behaves differently from them. Gradually, I realized that the provocative behavior of young children, who don’t yet understand how things work and stand out by behaving differently from the group, makes them seem like outsiders… That’s how I felt—like an outsider.

<…> In those years, I was considered a difficult student. I behaved defiantly. In class, I misbehaved a lot: I sang loudly, mimicked the teacher. Of course, it was all subconscious—I didn’t realize why I was doing it. Now I understand that, first of all, I wanted to stand out in some way. If my classmates were proving to me that I was a nobody, at least I could stand out in something—even if it was just that.

<…> The most important thing is that you can’t belittle such a child. This child feels like the center of the universe, but if you convince them otherwise, they start feeling like a nobody. So it’s better for them to feel like the center of the universe than like a nobody. What they need is to learn the basics of interacting with people who don’t share their views.

When I worked as a teacher, I saw children like myself from my side. A boy, for example, in third or fourth grade, is considered very smart by everyone; he himself thinks he’s very smart, tries to speak like an adult, asks clever questions. But he isn’t really interested in the answers—he just wants to ask the questions so that everyone sees how smart and wonderful he is. And I noticed that I didn’t like such a child. Being smart is good, but it’s not necessary to show it off to everyone. And that’s what I was like as a child.

<…> Our history teacher once said a great line. When I tried to show off my intellect in front of her—which my father had tried to cram into me in a chaotic way, convincing me that being smart was good—she said something wonderful: “Knowing a lot is not the same as knowing.” Today, I really hold this view: a child should be developed, but they shouldn’t consider themselves smarter than others, and you shouldn’t force a child to be smarter than others.