Needs More Sparkle

When I was a kid in elementary school we had a program that was for “academically gifted” children.  Somehow I got included in this group.  I guess it had to do with standardized testing scores and teacher evaluations, but I’m not too sure how it was determined.  At this point in my life, I really enjoyed these classes.  We would do all sorts of fun activities and participate in debates and open forum discussions.  Plus, our janitor found a snake in a classroom once and we got to keep him for a while.  His name was Yonkers.  Who wouldn’t love a class like that?

Of course, in my elementary gifted classes there were some moments that were not as enjoyable.  Like the day I found out Santa Claus was not real.  I suppose I cannot really blame the teacher.  I mean, we were all supposed to be pretty advanced, so why would a group of advanced and gifted ten year old kids still believe in Santa?  I got over that though and moved on to middle school.

Still a part of the gifted classes, I would leave behind my regular classmates to go learn with the “smart” crowd.  But I realized that maybe I did not fit in with these intellectuals after all.  While I was at home writing my first research paper in MLA format in sixth grade, my friends were on the cheerleading team and going to sporting events.  This really got to me and put me in a funk, yet I kept going.  Then, I had to write a speech that I have conveniently blocked from my memory as it was so awful to write and then memorize.  All I can remember is what my paper said when my rough draft was handed back to me:

Needs more SPARKLE!

Um, what?  Sparkle?  What was wrong with this woman?  I am a twelve year old in sixth grade and you want me to write a speech while my friends have sleepovers and play outside; a speech with “SPARKLE?”  I did not even know where to begin to find this sparkle, and frankly I’m not sure if I ever found it.  That speech was the first time she asked for sparkle from me and it was not the last.  I spent three school years with Ms. Sparkly McSparkleson as my teacher, and those three years were lackluster and sparkle-less as far as my writing was concerned.

I wonder how Ms. McSparkleson would feel about my writing now?  Then again, maybe I don’t.