AG

I learned to read with a children’s book. “Hot Dog,” not the food but the toasty animal, began my journey through the world of reading, the world of education, and the world of high standards. Even before that, around the age of three, my brother began quizzing me on my knowledge of fundamental vocabulary. I was soon the only student in my Kindergarten class, and the youngest student in my Kindergarten class, who could read. I was revered by teachers and children alike.

At that young age, I had screwed myself. The four year old can read; what is she going to blow our minds with next? I had surpassed the expectations of the average white kids, far surpassed the expectations of the kids of color, and I had elevated onto celebrity status with authority figures. I was what my school dubbed an “AG” kid; academically gifted.

My parents had plans of Yale, Johns Hopkins Medical, maybe Harvard Law. They had plans of me being big, changing the world, curing cancer. But, once you reach the top, you can only disappoint.

I’m not going to Yale or Johns Hopkins or Harvard. I don’t want to, and god knows admissions would laugh at me if I tried. But my parents still pretend that dream is alive, and they often reminisce about the days it was. They had noticed early on I had talent, my parents and the rest of the adults, and they thought I could hold on to that talent. Why did they think that? Was it because they’re hopeful, or because I’m white?

“If he’d been anything but an Indian boy living on the reservation, he might have been called a prodigy. But he is an Indian boy living on the reservation and is simply an oddity” (Alexie). I was called a prodigy. Sherman Alexie, an Indian author and child genius, was ignored when he taught himself to read. He perused Steinbeck while white kids learned Dr. Suess; but was he an AG kid? Was he moved on to the advanced material so he could better prepare for the world and indulge in his aching desire to learn? Or was he tossed aside because no one expects an Indian kid to change the world?

I was noticed; I’m white. Alexie was not noticed; he’s Indian. I never tried to advance my learning; he never stopped making that effort to not get where I effortlessly was. For me, it just came naturally; I never studied for tests, I played soccer when I had free time, and although I did my homework I never really worked. He spent his nights and free time and car rides and sporting events with books. He worked to get where he was and he advanced because he tried. And I was the one who was noticed.

At the time Alexie’s “Superman and Me” was published, he had become a prominent Indian author who visited schools on the reservation so that someday the kids can realize their potential even if others won’t. I can’t look back on how my life has turned out quite yet, but I can’t see it being much different than his. I want to inspire young people to write and tell them how great they are too, but the difference lies in the power I’ll have to do it. I’ll have the power and the status to be respected by the people I want to listen, and I won’t have to try very hard to make it happen. Alexie is good at his job and he does it admirably, and I’m still always going to be the one that's noticed.