“You know what’s frustrating, Mom?”
“What’s that?”
“Whenever I know the right answer, the teacher doesn’t call on me. But whenever I don’t, that’s when she calls on me.”
“I know, that totally stinks. It happened to me too.”
“What’s even worse is that she always gives those easy ones to the smart kids.”
The smart kids.
The words hung like a cartoon bubble, floating above my 6-year-old’s head, before landing with the thud of an iron anvil on the white carpeted floor of her room between us. I froze, staring at the size extra small, long-sleeve shirt I was in the middle of folding, rapidly flipping through the Rolodex of responses I might whip out to address the situation.
My instinct was to rally with the party line that there are no “smart kids” and recite the growth mindset mantra, newly implemented at her own elementary school, which says you’re only as smart as the effort you put in. But her words ping-ponged around inside my head at an Olympian’s pace and my own words sprung feet, digging in and lodging themselves firmly in my throat...
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