for a girl who grew up watching nascar with her older brother, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when my 2nd grade teacher told us the story of “the tortoise and the hare.” it outlined what seemed to be a fair race, not favoring one contestant over the other, but later proved to be a story about individuality and motivation. at least, that’s as deep as a 7 year old’s philosophy could pull.
we read the book, and we split our notebook paper in half to take notes on the elements of the story we read. i raced through the assignment, then went on about my day as usual. my friends studied for their friday test, while i sat back doodling on notebook cover. i had already done well on every other test in her class, so why should the next one be any different?
i breezed through the test, and in true ironic fashion, aced it like i’d aced every test before it.
this cycle continued on through the entirety of middle school and freshman year, the pattern of not studying because i didn’t need to, then passing the test anyways. i never developed a clear study routine, or even study schedule. for the better half of elementary school, i skipped regular classes to attend the gifted kid class, where we played chess and solved real-world problems.
i had been told my entire life that i was a “gifted kid,” that i had a knack for test-taking and work completion, that my parents read books with me as a child, that my brain naturally retained information easier, that my adaptability skills were impeccable.
education was a race, and my fellow gifted kids and i were well aware of our natural speed compared to our peers. we were running this race like it was nothing.
in 10th grade, my depression struck. my motivation to wake up in the morning began to dwindle, and everything felt like a chore. i had no friends, i had no one to turn to in my family, and i had no sense of security. i started to feel like the hare when he took his break toward the middle of the race – except i wasn’t resting, i was just working on autopilot.
so as we were ahead, the other hares and i were slowly being caught up to by the tortoises. of course, once they surpassed us, we had no one to blame but ourselves; we knew we had an advantage, we used it, and it came crashing down. that’s our fault.
what wasn’t our fault, however, was that we were plucked from god’s green earth, dropped into a track, and said, “you have an advantage, you do not; race against each other.”
the system that standardizes our goals are truly at fault, because it provides a false accountability model for educators and learners alike. students with learning disorders or disabilities (diagnosed or not) and students who excel far past the average are held to the same standard. the result? hares who burn themselves out halfway through the race, and tortoises who barely pass the finish line.
