out now is the democratization of genius. Part of us wants to believe that everyone can be a genius.” I was never a very good history
student, and sometimes I was a very poor one. So I was more than a little surprised that I couldn’t put Darrin’s book down. It was
beautifully written. The meticulous research and careful argumentation somehow did not get in the way of it telling a story. And then,
at the very end, on page 243, I got to the acknowledgments: “I have undoubtedly suffered from many delusions in my life—and
undoubtedly suffer from many still. But being a genius is not one of them.” Then Darrin says, with humor and affection, that when he
was growing up, his parents saw to it that their son “never got too big for his britches.” And even more to the point, he recalls being
tested as a child for his school’s gifted program. There were “shapes and pictures and the like,” but the only thing he remembers with
certainty is “I didn’t pass.” Darrin remembers watching his classmates “trundle off each week to special
classes for the specially
endowed.” And then he reflects on whether getting labeled nongifted was, in the end, a blessing or a curse: “At an early age, I was
told, with all the objectivity of science, that I was not the recipient of gifts. I might have just thrown in the towel then and there, but I
am a stubborn sort, and I spent many years disputing the verdict, working away to prove to myself and to others, dammit, that I had
not been slighted at birth.” Similarly, Michael Lomax was not easily identifiable as any kind of prodigy. Nevertheless, he has an
illustrious résumé: he is president and CEO of
the United Negro College Fund, a leadership position he has held for more than a
decade. Before that, Michael was president of Dillard University. He has taught English at Emory University, Spelman College, and
Morehouse College and was a two-time mayoral candidate for the city of Atlanta. “Honestly, I wasn’t considered the smartest kid,”
Michael told me recently. When he was sixteen, his mother nevertheless wrote to the president of Morehouse College to ask whether
her son could be admitted to its prep school. “Of course, there was no prep school at Morehouse!” Michael chuckled. The Morehouse
president decided, on the basis of Michael’s outstanding grades, to admit him as a freshman to the college. “I got there. I hated it. I
wanted to leave. I was number one in my class, but I wanted to transfer. I got it in my head that I would be a better fit at Williams
College, so I applied. I had done everything, and they were about to admit me, and then the director of admissions said, ‘Oh, by the
way, we need an SAT score.’ ” Because he’d been admitted to Morehouse without a formal application, Michael had never taken the
SAT before. “That test was make-or-break for me. I sat down and took it. And I didn’t do well. Williams didn’t admit me.” So
Michael stayed at Morehouse
and made the best of it, graduating Phi Beta Kappa with a degree in English. Later, he earned his
master’s degree in English
from Columbia University, and his PhD in American and African American literature from Emory
University. Now sixty-eight years old, Michael told me, “At my age, I think it’s character more than genius. I know all kinds of very
talented people who squander their great talents, or who are dissatisfied and unhappy because they think talent is enough. In fact, it
ain’t even
near
enough. What I tell my kids, what I try to tell my grandchildren, and anybody I get a chance to mentor is this: It’s the
sweat, it’s the hard work, it’s the persistence, it’s the determination. It is the getting up and dusting yourself off. That’s what it’s all
about.” In anticipation of hate mail about this passage on gifted and talented programs, let me say this: I am
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