Achievement is based more on motivation than on intelligence. In this story from my teaching days, a bright child presents himself as a moron to manipulate the system.

Gifted Entertainers

This true story is about a chronic underachiever and a retarded boy whom I taught at Central School in Transcona, a suburb of the City of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, many years ago. I seem to remember everything about those two boys except their names, so I have made them up.

Steven was one of the pupils in my grade 5 homeroom. He was older than the rest of the children, because he had already failed a couple of times. I was convinced that he was a gifted child. He displayed his talents every Friday afternoon when my class hosted a variety concert in my classroom. Different groups of children would spend their spare time all week long to prepare skits which they would perform for the other children. Every child would get one turn to prepare one presentation once every five weeks, either solo or with friends.

As word of our entertainment spread, other classes would invite themselves. Some teachers felt that maybe some of the skits ought to be censored, because grade 5 pupils are quite capable of presenting the shady side of life. I felt, however, that I would rather let the children present in the classroom life as they saw it than to talk about it on the playground or in backlanes.

The skits which Steven organized shone in those concerts and evoked more laughter and applause than anyone else's. In his classwork, however, Steven insisted on failing every test.

Deadpan Sidekick

Henry was Steven's sidekick. He was a retarded boy, unable to perform in regular academic subjects. He only was in grade V because of his age. He had failed several times already, but his achievements remained well below class expectations. That was all right with me. He was working to capacity, and that was all I expected of him.

Henry and Steven hit it off well together, possibly because they were closer in age to each other than to any of the other children. Henry adored Steven and became the deadpan sidekick for the comedy skits where he came to share in the applause at our weekly concerts. What a boost to his confidence!

Chronic Underachiever

As much as I was pleased with Henry's progress, I was convinced that Steven was failing on purpose, and I determined to get through to him. One afternoon, I kept him after school, doing one geography test over and over until he would quit writing down nonsense answers. I let him know that I had enough work to do at school to stay with him all night if necessary. His family would not be concerned. They were not in a habit of keeping track of the whereabouts of their children.

Steven did the simple test over and over, filling the blanks with silly answers. I would just glance at his paper and hand it back to him without marking it. After two hours, he finally got tired of the game and decided that he wanted to get out of school. So he let me win. He wrote in sensible answers and achieved a score of 90%.

From then on, we were the best of friends. The rest of the children in the class, of course, had always known that he was a bright boy, but no one would ever have divulged that information to a teacher. They knew how to keep their friend's secret. Now, however, I was one of them, because I was in on their secret.

The Prize Winners

The class' favorite subject was Art, possibly because it was also my favorite.

One day, I came across a special sale on sponges in a new department store. One huge bag of them only cost $1, all sizes, shapes, and colors. During the next art class, we used those sponges to decorate covers for the children's text books. We mixed bowls of tempera paint in which to dip the sponges to create interesting prints for the covers. The paper had been donated by a local bank and was covered with a map of Canada, but we turned the paper inside out where it was plain white paper.

Henry, true to his usual pattern, decided to work together with Steven. After they had made enough book covers, they decided to make a design on a plain piece of paper. That is when the two of them created the most beautiful design of the day. It won the school's art contest and was entered in the regional contest where it also won a prize. The work then went on to tour the province.

Those Professionals

None of the "professionals" believed what had happened. The principal saw that the two boys had signed their work, but she insisted that someone must have helped them. Well, every child in the class had seen them working on the print together with no help from anyone, certainly not from me. I never touch anyone else's work and have never allowed any teacher to touch mine.

The psychologist put Steven through intensive testing and determined that he was a borderline moron. She insisted that he be placed in a special school the following year. No one listened to me. What did I know, a mere classroom teacher?

After one afternoon with the psychologist, Steven marched into the classroom triumphantly and announced, "I sure fooled the psychologist. She thinks I am stupid, because I gave her all wrong answers."

Intentional Underachievement

There was method in his madness. He came from a family who did not believe in work. He underachieved on purpose to avoid having to put forth an effort the next time. He knew that he could sail through life on the welfare wagon just like his parents and his older siblings. He only achieved for me, because I demanded it, and he achieved especially well in Art class, because it was fun.

Art is supposed to be fun!

After I left Central School, no one fought for Steven, and he was placed in a program for slow learners. There he was supposed to acquire some practical skills to prepare him for a low paying job.

He should have become a writer of comedy skits. He certainly had the talent for it. Maybe he found a way to entertain friends after work when he grew up. I hope so. And maybe once in a while he will take a whack at some fun art activity.

Other Articles on Education

Being good is not good enough.
My first inspector was as tough on me as I was on Steven. He inspired me to be the best teacher I could be, because he recognized that I had the potential.
Teacher's Pet
I was as hard on my favorite grade VII pupil, but it took some doing to make him understand that I was picking on him only because I loved him.
My mother loves me too much to . . .
I was tough on my own son and lived to hear how he bragged about it to his classmates who learned to envy him rather than feel sorry for him.
A Corinthian Church Today
A lady principal struggles to bring her Manitoba Hutterian school into the 20th century.

© Traute Klein, biogardener