By Coleen Armstrong

Why, then, I wondered, did he so rarely live up to his own promise? Why was his participation so sporadic, his grades merely average? If Kenny was capable of a much better performance, then why didn’t he reach for it?
 
“I like to make my own decisions,” he answered in response to my troubled queries. Oh, yes, the old my-way stance, with its built-in excesses, the kind which kept people sitting on park benches for decades. Couldn’t he see its fallibility? Kenny’s cavalier view of himself had become irritating. What I saw before me was unacceptable: a kid mortgaging his own future, purposefully hiding his light under a shroud of disinterest and disinclination.
 
And for what purpose? To remain autonomous? To be left alone?
 
On the other hand, I discovered that he enjoyed being singled out, considered special. So I worked it, making no effort to hide my appreciation of his on-target insights. To my delight, the class good-naturedly joined in with encouragement. Kenny was soon considered the brain, the star. With such unified acceptance, his verbal responses became quicker, more pointed––and his written paragraphs tighter, more literate. His grades improved.
 
One day, as the bell rang, after I’d returned a test (upon which Kenny had earned a perfect score), he stopped at my desk. “See?” he inquired, holding up his paper. “I told you I was smart!”
 
Actually he had not told me, I mused; I had told him. But no matter. His articulation had finally made it real. He’d removed the mask of complacency and was blossoming in its absence.
 
Not long afterward, however, I assigned a composition––outlining expectations, yet also leaving plenty of room for creative slants. Then I waited eagerly to see Kenny’s effort.
  
But on its due date, he was absent.
 
Greeting him happily upon his return, I extended my hand for his paper. He grinned––and shrugged.
 
As I watched over the next few weeks, he withdrew further, backing once more into passivity. His grades once again became--average. I was shocked and confused. What had gone wrong? Had the burden of being a star grown too heavy? How could I re-spark him, see the promise refulfilled?
 
But whose promise? His own, of course. That was the hard part. This was his show, not mine. There was no permanent benefit in my pushing and pulling, especially if he stopped pulling the very moment I stopped pushing.  
 
Still, I couldn’t leave Kenny alone, not yet. Perhaps he was just taking a mental break. Trying to decide if being considered exceptional by everyone, including himself, was really worth exceptional effort. I needed to find a way to show him that it was, that being smart was not an anchor, but a pair of wings.
 
The real work still lay ahead––for both of us.

Coleen Armstrong’s distinguished teaching career includes several state and national recognition awards.  She is the author of Please Don’t Call My Mother:  How Schools and Parents can Work Together to Get Kids Back on Track and The Truth about Teaching:  What I Wish the Veterans had Told Me.