I think back to elementary school. My handwriting was always neat and perfect, and during class, I kept my eyes on the swaying hem of my teacher’s dress. She would hand back my pristine homework that never had any eraser marks on it and praise me by patting me on the head with a hand that smelled like soap. “You’re such a good girl,” she would say. “Keep it up.”
ah yes, the gifted kid wasteland
