CONFESSIONS
of a late boomer

My first kindergarten memory is bizarre, abstract, but reminiscent of my early school years. I’m in a dark room, looking out at the other children play. I’m not sure why I’m in this room. Perhaps a form of punishment for something I did? Or perhaps inflicted by my desire to cringe away from others, from strangers. Regardless, my memories shift to another place. I’m in first year in primary school. I’m straining to see the blackboard charred with chalk, white and glaring. Some parts green. Some parts red. There’s a diagram, I think. The other children are looking on intently, only I can’t see much, and I’m wondering what the fuss is anyway. So I did what was natural to me, I dazed off distractedly. I was tallest in my class then, sitting at the very last wooden desk, furthest from the blackboard. I was under little scrutiny. Another isolated memory appears. I’m in standard one D. Obviously I’m in the class with slow learners.

My remarkably skinny, “hairyfoot” teacher plays a game with us every morning. She pretends that we have a mailbox, and every day the mail comes in. One student is randomly appointed each time to collect the letters and read it to the class. Nothing happens to me directly in this memory but even now an extremely disconcerting feeling wells up within me when I think of it. Remnants of the fear that one day I would have to collect and read to the class. Might I stumble? Would they laugh at me?

What my parents didn’t realize until I was placed in the D class, was that, it wasn’t that I refused to learn, or that I had no ability or propensity to excel. It was simple. I suffered from continuous ear infections. If I heard properly at all back then I don’t recall. Further, it was discovered that I was practically blind, and was born that way. No wonder I could not see the blackboard or discern that coloured chart my teacher was trying to demonstrate in first year. And whatever cues I had missed as a result of these conditions coupled with my distractedness earned me last place in class.

The adverse reaction to my peers could have been a genetic response, a result of my innate introversion, or perhaps just shame from being so dumb, or self-consciously lanky (towering over everyone else). I had gotten used to the idea that unlike my brother and sister I was never going to be the A student. I had gotten used to the idea that some students did well, and I wasn’t one of them. This recognition became part of my awkward, timid personality. And in standard two my skinny, angular face, popping undecidedly above my neck was blessed with gold-rimmed big-framed glasses with inch thick lenses. I still recall a boy in the savannah heckling me as rain descended from nowhere, “Wipe your windshield!” Behind me, a cacophony of laughter.

But somehow I focused and climbed the academic ladder. In my last string of primary school memories, I’m now in standard five B. My teacher is reading our end of term report. He smiles as he announces, ”In 15th place, none other than…” He was so happy, like it was his own personal triumph that I had made it to the middle and not the absolute back of the class. He was surprised and proud. By the time high school rolled around, I was growing into my own. Though I could not learn a foreign language to save my life, and math and physics weren’t friends, I was in fact one of the smartest students in class. When we were finally allowed to choose our subjects, I was grouped into modern studies – a combination of arts, science and business subjects. On graduation day I’d earned a trophy for excellence, and by the time I moved into 6th form I was practically teaching the West Indian history class.

By then too I had the discipline to reorganize myself. I analyzed my weaknesses. The main one was that I could pay more attention in class. And when that failed me, I started learning by myself at home. I had the will. By then too I had gotten contact lenses, and though I wasn’t as cute as a pixie, I wasn’t bad looking either. Most of the other kids had leveled out to my height by then. In fact, I discovered that I was a bit on the short side. My degrading thoughts about how I looked were fading; it became less and less important.

But I realized, in the university years, that though my life had turned around drastically, it’s hard to escape your childhood. For no good reason I would well up with fear if called upon – though I knew my smarts by then. I still avoided my peers, those I didn’t know very well, those who seemed different from me. I would not participate unless openly invited. thus I made few friends, but those friends I did make, were real, were true. They are friends, who I have in my life till this day. I’d fluffed the crowd it seems to find that core.

And years later, though I still recall the tragedy of my formative years, I know that I’ve made more of myself than my early teachers expected, perhaps more than my parents expected. And though I’m a writer, have published tons of articles, have made a prominent name for myself in the media landscape in the Caribbean, have written a novel, have produced a talk show, have made significant headway in the fashion and beauty industry, etcetera - I know even now that my high school friends must think, “Is that the same girl I knew?”

Truth is, I’m a late bloomer.

In a tutorial at University, my Literature professor asked a question about the text we were analyzing. When others clamored to answer I remained silent. He said, “I want you to answer.” His intent eyes showed that it wasn’t a dare. It sparkled with the knowledge that I knew the answer.

When I finally spoke, he was dazzled; so was I. “Slow to come up with the answer,” he said, “but when she does, it’s a darn good one.”

This summed up for me everything I’ve been trying to say in this article: That whilst I was slow in the early years, and my abilities took their time to develop, I had observed, learnt and gathered. And when I was ready to put my talents to use, they unleashed in a way I never thought possible.

So it is with the late bloomers, who like slow-boiling pots, need time to gather wisdom and make sense of the world.

Ability is not static property or something hard-wired into the brain by prepackaged genes activated at birth. "The genes don't act all at once, but can take years to unfold," says Dean Keith Simonton, a psychologist at University of California at Davis. "We know that the genes are partly responsible for brain organization, but we also know that the brain is not completely organized until well into adulthood." Think of the artist who discovered her calling at 50 years of age!

And, like water to a flower, the environment plays a critical role in the activation of these ability genes. I found it difficult to see and maneuver in my early environment, but I was constantly stimulated by love and learning in my household. In reality, talent emerges over the course of a lifetime of reciprocal interactions between the developing brain and a stimulating environment.

One notable late bloomer is Albert Einstein, who suffered from speech difficulties at a young age. Also, studies indicate that twenty to thirty-five percent of U.S. and British entrepreneurs are late bloomers, Richard Branson is listed amongst them.

So if your child is not doing well in school or your peer is lagging behind – keep in mind that that person is still on the path of growth, and given that potential, the will and a stimulating environment, anything is possible – literally.