Helping the Child with Exceptional Ability

Susan Leyden

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2005
• eBook ISBN: 9781134941810
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Education General

First Published in 1985. In view of the current fashion not to segregate children of different abilities into separate streams, teacher in ordinary schools need to have a least some knowledge of how to cope with children pf exceptional ability as well as those who learn more slowly. This book is intended for such teachers and others as such as health visitors, social workers, nursery and playgroup staff, who are in contact with exceptionally able children. It is not intended as a high-powered academic text: rather it adopts a strong practical focus, it does not deal with lengthy with the problems of description and definition of giftedness, nor with the question of the validity of the subjects as a focus of study. It accepts that gifted children exist and is concerned with how their emotional, social and educational needs can be met.

CHAPTER 1

Introduction: Beyond ‘Normal’ Expectation

Katie was a startlingly pretty child with a mass of auburn curls, huge blue eyes, and dimples. She sang with a true clear voice, took dancing and guitar lessons, and enjoyed writing stories. She was an avid reader. She was also an out-going child, very much at ease in the company of adults whom she liked to entertain with bright social conversation. She was confident in manner, even a little gracious. Her parents adored her; I disliked her on sight. For Katie was only 3 years old. Poor Katie. Apart from her doting parents, no-one felt comfortable in her presence. Everything about her jarred one’s expectations.

First there was the contrast within the family. Both parents were in their late 40s when Katie was born, and both were as plain as she was beautiful. They were usually taken to be her grandparents. Then there was the mismatch between her age and the manner and content of her conversation. The unexpectedness of it, the discomfort of being addressed in such adult terms by such a tiny child aroused a sense of indignation and disapproval in those who met her. On top of all this were the surprising accomplishments. A 3-year-old is just not expected to be able to do all the things that she did, and with such evident enthusiasm. Katie was something discordant. She was an exceptional child— and no-one liked her.

Another example. A friend came to tea bringing with him Anthony, his 9-yearold son. Seated round the table we talked of this and that, of mundane affairs, ordinary concerns, until someone asked the boy about his interest in some science project. From an awkward and rather taciturn lad, he became transformed: his eyes lit up, his hands moved rapidly in the air, words poured forth—theories were expounded, experiments explained in lengthy and (for us) confusing detail, research findings elaborated, hypotheses raised only to be discarded, and the whole peppered with references and personages and texts beyond the understanding and experience of any others present. The rest of the company watched with mounting feelings of amazement and dismay. I remember thinking that we were hearing something remarkable, that Anthony was displaying a level of understanding and knowledge that was not at all in keeping with his age. I was also aware of the general discomfort and unease that this was causing. We simply did not know how to respond. We understood almost nothing of what he was saying. He, on the other hand, was so engrossed in his subject, and so caught up in the telling, that he left no room at all for the participation of others even had we been able to follow his thinking. We were left to smile politely while uttering such meaningless comments as ‘How interesting. Is that so…? How fascinating.’

We were all relieved when the time came for Anthony and his father to go. How, we wondered, was he regarded by those of his own age group?

A final example. Fiona had joined a group of ‘scholarship’ students preparing for the Oxford and Cambridge examinations through a series of fortnightly seminars led by university lecturers. Fiona had achieved ‘A’ grades in no less than 12 O-level examinations. (She subsequently gained 5 grade ‘A’s in her Alevels.) She plays the cello for a county orchestra, has a lovely singing voice, and is beautiful into the bargain. During the seminar discussions it became obvious to the other students that this girl’s depth and breadth of knowledge was of a different order altogether from their own. She was clearly exceptional, even among the very ablest students. ‘But,’ said one member of the group, ‘the really surprising thing about Fiona is that she is so nice!’

These three examples from many exceptional children I have met and known, epitomise the fundamental dilemmas presented by unusual development, dilemmas which need to be clarified and understood if they are ever to be resolved. They demonstrate in the simplest terms that the whole question of giftedness is one, not of definition, identification, categorisation and prescription, but of relationships—of the responses of persons one to another, of the communication and expression of feelings, of the inclusion or exclusion of individuals and groups. The main contributor to the confusion and ill-judged position-taking regarding children of exceptional ability has been the failure to recognise that at the heart of the matter we are dealing not so much with a special endowment inside a person, but with what happens in the dynamic relationships and communications between people.

But what precisely does this mean? The explanation can perhaps best be given by looking again at the encounters with the three young people described. What was significant about the first two children’s behaviour was not the behaviour as such but the reactions it provoked in those around them. The fact that little Katie had, by the age of 3½, developed language more consistent with that of a 9-yearold, and a social poise that appeared quite out of keeping with her age, could not be judged a problem in itself. We are all aware that children grow, develop and acquire their living skills at greatly varying rates. Children are not expected to be at similar stages in their development at particular ages. We do, however, construct certain ‘limits of expectation’, mental yardsticks by which we measure each new encounter. We develop an understanding of that which we judge to be a reasonable, expected, ‘normal’ range of behaviours. These mental yardsticks are arrived at through both our personal and our shared experiences. It goes almost without saying that the yardsticks of ‘normality’ will be relative to the time, the place and the experience of those who share them. What is felt to be normal in one situation may not be so in another. Take, for example, the question of height. A person may be judged to be extremely tall in one setting yet quite normal in another. A pygmy may be a giant amongst his own tribe, yet taken for a midget in a group of Masai warriors. There are no absolutes in the questions of tallness or shortness. Extremes can only be judged in relation to the environment in which they occur. This will be true of any experience. A problem only arises where the occurrence of an experience, be it physical, social, emotional or intellectual, falls outside the normal expectations of those involved. As with Katie, the problem of the precocity of her language and social poise lay not in the child, but in the response it evoked in others, and consequently and most essentially, in the messages that passed from others to her, messages of surprise, wariness and disapproval.

The case of Anthony, the 9-year-old scientist, was similar, but with additional significant elements. His conversation, too, was startling to those around because of the incongruity of his age and the level of intellectual understanding and experience he displayed. But here the mismatch was dramatically compounded. With Katie, although her language and manner jarred and evoked unkind and unhelpful responses, at least it was possible to pursue a conversation with her, to share her interests and understand her enthusiasms. But Anthony was caught up in a world of thinking and pursuits beyond the comprehension of those around him. We were left on the sidelines of his action, reduced to behaving as spectators—applauding politely at appropriate moments. Again, the problem could not be said to be Anthony’s brilliance in itself. Given a different setting, given a different audience there would have been no problem. The problem lay in the mismatch between his understanding and that of the people around the table. We felt inadequate, but more importantly, Anthony himself probably felt alien—and no doubt frustrated by the lack of adequate response.

Fiona, on the other hand, demonstrates that brilliance per se is not necessarily a problem. No-one denies that her talents are many and varied, that the level she achieves in the many fields of her interests are levels to which few of us would aspire. She is indeed richly and generously endowed. Yet the surprise for Fiona’s companions is that despite her exceptional talents she is a pleasant person to have around. They not only admire, and perhaps even envy her, they like her. How has this come about? Why should her companions marvel at her niceness? Why should they have expected her to be otherwise? What unhappy correlates have gathered themselves alongside the notion of exceptionality, and why should such expectations have developed?

This would seem to be the heart of the matter, and the focus of concern for children and parents alike. The real question is not ‘Can I describe this child as gifted?’ or ‘Do this child’s abilities qualify him to belong to a particular category?’ It is rather ‘How can I understand what is going on between this child and me, between this child and others, and between this child and his world?’ It should also be ‘How can I, as the more experienced adult, guide and enhance this young person’s life in order that he may make the very best of all his talents and qualities, whatever these may be?’

This book makes no attempt to define the undefinable, nor to create categories for what is essentially the unclassifiable. It is about the growth of relationships, with particular regard to the consequences of exceptional development. Issues raised are examined from theoretical and practical viewpoints at the various stages of a child’s growth from early infancy to adolescence. Each phase presents its own problems and dilemmas, and its own range of possible resolutions. The nature of the problems, however, are such that they require not prescriptions so much as insights.

CHAPTER 2

Infant Stages

Until comparatively recently it was thought that the newborn infant was a primitive organism, not much more than a bundle of reflexes designed to ensure the creature’s survival—the cry to summon maternal care, the rooting to seek the nipple, the suck and swallow to take in food. The newborn infant was presumed not to be particularly aware of its surroundings, or to be much affected by the particular nature and quality of its care (extremes of neglect or inappropriate handling excepted). During the past twenty years, however, there has been a dramatic advance in the whole field of inquiry into infant development, and in the study of early communication between infants and their caretakers. This has been partly due to the advent of video-recording, allowing the behaviour of adults and babies to be captured on film and then analysed frame by frame in terms of the sequences of events that occur between them. The results of these studies have radically changed earlier concepts of young babies. Just how important these discoveries will prove is only now beginning to be understood; without doubt we shall be forced to revise and redirect enormous areas of our thinking about the development of personality and the growth of human relationships.

Far from being relatively passive, indifferent to his environment, acting only in response to his own internal dictates, we are shown a little creature initiating and partaking in the subtlest forms of contact with his caretakers, synchronising his movements, demonstrating from the earliest days an ‘intention’ to explore and respond to the aspects of his environment. Of course, in the early weeks the intentions are barely recognisable as such. Purpose and control need the maturing experience of time and practice to develop into competence. But what is now realised is that the capacity for ‘thought’, be it of the most primitive kind, exists within the child certainly at the time of his birth, if not before. Perhaps even more important have been the revelations of what happens between the infant and other human beings from the very first moments after birth. It is now clear that babies develop rapidly the ability to distinguish between sounds and sights and to respond selectively to them. Within weeks a baby will know the difference between his mother’s face and voice and that of others, and will show distress or pleasure according to the expression on her face or the tone of her voice. Whereas before we did not feel it mattered too much who handled the baby, nor how he was looked at or spoken to so long as it was with reasonable care, we now understand that it does, that the baby is aware, and that in a primitive sense the baby minds. What also must be taken into account is that, despite ‘knowing’, ‘feeling’ and ‘minding’, the baby is in a relatively helpless position with regard to communicating these feelings. He is dependent on the adult’s ability to recognise and interpret any communications expressed through the cry, the gaze, the smile, and the movements of arms and hands.

These potentially revolutionary insights into the behaviour of infants may have a particular significance for the study of exceptional children’s development. We may still be unsure as to the relative importance of our genetic inheritance and our physical and social environment in making us who we are and bringing about the differences between us, but even so, it might be plausible to suggest that we are at least born with differing ‘response patterns’. Any mother, or any person who has closely observed newborn infants, will say that this is so. We need, in fact, claim no more than this. To be born with different response patterns would indeed set off a train of response relationships that would ensure unique development. It is possible that children who later develop their abilities to exceptional levels are born with a highly sensitised capacity to respond to their environment. Learning is all about experiencing. It is through our contact with our world that we grow to know our world and to develop our capacity to ‘think’ about it and to organise ourselves within it. If a child is born with highly sensitive response mechanisms he will experience more and take in more of the environment more rapidly than an infant with slower or more muted receptivity. We could claim that such potential for responding may be related to a genetic component and therefore inherited. Whether it is or not may be of great interest to those concerned with the academic study of human psychology. It is of much less importance to those whose business is living with children. What is important for them is to be able to understand what the consequences of such a possibility might be, what being born with highly sensitive responses could mean. It could mean for instance, that a highly responsive child would be acutely affected by everything that happened around it and would perceive events more intensely: sounds, images and physical sensations would be felt more strongly and would evoke sharper reactions. Such infants would be particularly vulnerable to stress through over-stimulation or excessive reaction. We have in fact become increasingly aware in recent years of the importance of reducing the potential sources of stress to all infants through more considered handling and general care. Such movements as the birthing techniques of Dr Leboyer, and more recently, Dr Michel Odent in France, are just part of the growing understanding of infant sensitivity.

It is therefore this aspect of children’s differences—the possibility that a heightened capacity to receive the outside world and to respond to it may well be at the basis of later exceptional development—that will be explored during the course of Chapter 3. If there is any truth in this possibility then there are issues and implications all along for the child and for those involved with him.

During the first two years the main areas of concern would seem to be those of management and of developing satisfactory relationships within the family. Things can sometimes go sadly wrong. Let us examine some of the key issues to see what might be happening, and what can be done to ensure a happier development.

Crying

One mother recalled the first twelve months with her eldest son as follows:

He screamed from the moment he was born. He would cry all day long, and often into the night. Nothing I did seemed to calm him or put things right. I tried leaving him alone, carrying him about, feeding him, playing with him, walking him. Nothing worked. The odd times when he slept— and he didn’t sleep much either—were heaven. I dreaded his waking up. I was sure the neighbours thought it was all my fault, that I was a bad mother. I ended up almost hating the child. I often thought I might go mad and harm him. I certainly wished I’d never had him. It seemed like a nightmare. I felt I had been conned. I never imagined motherhood would be like that.

Those who have never known a really ‘difficult’ baby in this sense can have little idea of the stressful nature of the experience. Those who have will readily be able to identify with this mother’s feelings. A baby’s cry has a particular effect on adults; it provokes an immediate reaction from them. It cannot be ignored and, if prolonged, becomes unbearable. It is nature’s intention that it should be so, for the crying is a signal from the infant creature to its caretaker: a mechanism to ensure its survival. When the system works smoothly, all is well. The infant calls, the caretaker responds, and the infant’s needs are answered. Sometimes, however, the system breaks down. The infant cries, the adult responds, but in spite of all attempts to solve the possible problem, the child does not quieten. There then arises a situation that is acutely uncomfortable. The baby is clearly distressed and indicates this in the only way he knows how. The caretaking adult wants to respond, because there is love and concern for the child, but also because the sound of the crying is so powerful an irritant that there is a strong need to stop it. If all attempts to calm him fail, the adult may become increasingly depressed or irritated, overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness and despair. Sometimes the misery of the situation results in actual physical violence. In any event, the feelings that are aroused and transmitted between caretaker and child will be intense and unhappy. What can one do, faced with a child who refuses to be soothed, once one has attended to all the obvious possibilities of hunger, pain or other general discomforts? It might be worth considering the following as sources of distress.

Over-stimulation

Babies, particularly very sensitive ones, can easily become overstimulated, exhausted by the bombardment of a myriad sensations of sound, sight and touch. The more sensitive the child, the more keenly will these experiences be felt, and the more acute the distress once saturation point has been reached. Unlike the adult, the baby has no way of signalling he has had enough except by crying. If a baby cries a lot, it. might be worth considering whether he is over-tired, over-dazzled—overwhelmed by noise and movement. Jiggling and rocking which are often resorted to may in fact make matters worse. Wrapping him up snug and tight in a shawl and sitting calmly with him in a quiet place can sometimes help. A slow gentle rocking can soothe, or gentle caressing of the baby’s back and limbs. A variety of approaches can be tried with the aim of reducing the input the baby is receiving. Later, when he is bigger and stronger, a highly responsive child may get over-tired much more quickly than others, simply by the amount he takes in through eager exploration. He may seem grisly, scratchy, easily upset. Again it is worth considering this behaviour in terms of over-sensitivity with a consequent need to reduce the excessive strain.

Under-stimulation or Boredom

An eager, responsive baby will want to explore his world. As an infant he is dependent on the adult to create situations where this can happen, bringing the world to the child. It has been thought that babies should be left alone for long periods during the day to learn how to entertain themselves: that this was good ‘training’ for later life. We no longer believe this to be a helpful or proper way to treat them. All that is learned through such practices is that the world is a cruel and lonely place, that adults cannot be trusted, that they do not come when they are needed. Babies need constant contact with others. They will only learn to know their world by exploring it, first through sight and sound, later by touch ...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Preface
• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5
• Chapter 6
• Chapter 7
• Chapter 8
• Endpiece
• Appendix A Summary of Methods Used for Assessing Ability
• Appendix B Intelligence Testing and Exceptional Ability
• Appendix C Behavioural Checklists to Help in the Recognition of Exceptional Ability
• Appendix D Bloom’s Taxonomy
• Appendix E Providing Opportunities for Intellectual Growth
• Further Reading
• About the Author