Boy Genius Rivals Sister for Smartest Kid Award

Surveys of parents show 95% of children are significantly above average.

OK, every parent thinks his child is brilliant and can do no wrong, I get that. I'm sure even Adolf’s Mutti probably thought he was ein kleine, schöne, Wünderkind. I admittedly succumb to that same parental fantasy. But with N my prideful befuddlement comes not from seeing example upon example of brilliant and flagrant anecdotes to confirm an already solid conviction of a future messiah in our midst, but contrarily, that he seems like a pretty ordinary kid who doesn’t do much too provocative – that is until he floors me with sudden glimpses of something unexpectedly sharp hidden from general view. L generally seems like a pretty smart kid; with N we’ve been reserving judgment, but… it’s hard to pinpoint, but there are signs that there’s something stirring in there.

N’s closet talents have been showing themselves in our story times. I’ve been reading the kids The Wizard of Oz. As we read L sits glued to my hip, interrupting me, asking questions, reacting to the story, fully engaged. N, on the other hand, is across the room playing with his toys, reading other books, singing or talking to his play things. He by all appearances, couldn’t be less interested. As per our routine, before we pick up the evening’s chapter we always recap the few chapters we’ve just read. Every night it’s generally the same. I’ll ask each kid a question. (“What was the name of the people who lived in the Wicked Witch of the East’s land? What was their favorite color? How did the tin woodman become all tin?”) L, who in my mind is clearly headed for greatness, will generally get it right (usually) though sometimes she’ll struggle and give up. N, who is as equally nonchalant about the quiz time as he is about the story itself and generally has to be asked three times because his attention was captivated by a cobweb in the corner or a particularly intriguing sock lying on the floor, will (once you’ve locked him in), quickly blurt out even the most obscure answer and then, services rendered, go back to his playing. In more honest retrospect he probably doesn’t get the right answers particularly more often than L (though Stacy will admit he gets them more often than she does), it just strikes me so much more because he, by all rights, shouldn’t.

I expect it’s a boy thing, and I, like Stacy, don’t really understand boys. Sure, I was, in theory, one at one time, but I was definitely the first-child, studious, still and quiet, very focused, wimpy type – much more likely to read Shakespeare and get beaten up than to watch cowboy movies and beat up. N is all kinetisity. Or maybe it’s a second-child thing – he’s not as worried about stoking Mommy and Daddy’s approval by appearing to hang on our every word. (L’s a first-child in spades.) Whatever it is, it gives us little bursts of excitement and makes us glad. Just like having L’s wide eyes glued to us as we read.