I vividly recall sitting in a waiting room, thinking my daughter’s future was being determined 15 feet away. There, behind closed doors, a child psychologist was administering the Stanford-BinetIQ test designed to detect early signs of genius. If my daughter aced the exam, she might gain entry into New York’s top elementary school for gifted students, a feat that would likely put her on a fast track to academic and professional success. An average score would mean – well, in New York such things make parents shudder.

My daughter was 3 years old.

Her SB results indicated she was above average but not brilliant. Hunter College Elementary School was not an option.   Later came the Otis-Lennon School Ability Test (OLSAT) and the Bracken School Readiness Assessment (BRSA) for entrance into a gifted and talented program. I anxiously waited for results that might show I had spawned a prodigy, but hopes fell as the numbers arrived.  She did not qualify for the citywide Andersonor NEST. A nice gifted and talented program on the Upper West Side offered her a seat, but it had a few drawbacks, and getting there would be a daily inconvenience.

Today, nearly two years after that first IQ test, I’m making a resolution for 2011: No G&T testing. My daughter, now 5, is happily enrolled in a general-education kindergarten at a fine NYC public school three blocks from home. She’s doing well and is fitting in among her Manhattan classmates, all of whom seem like good, bright kids. Her teacher seems to be pushing my child’s development at the right pace. I can’t imagine a rigorous G&T program would be a better fit.<!--more-->

I didn’t always feel this way. When the good-but-not-stellar test scores arrived, I took it personally. I reasoned (as do most fathers) that my daughter was capable of greatness. Any failures must therefore be mine, not hers. Perhaps we spent too much time playing in the sandbox, and not enough with alphabet flashcards. Surely I had squandered precious hours, missed once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. As a result, doors were closing that might have led to wonderful opportunities.

I’ve since learned this mind-set misses the whole point of a G&T program. Kids who are truly gifted – those who flourish amid an enriched and accelerated curriculum – possess a natural curiosity and persistence, and parental prep rarely fosters such qualities. Gifted programs certainly have flaws (G&T classes have been eliminated in parts of NYC where they would be of great benefit to exceptionally bright kids), and the idea that a quiz can accurately predict which 4-year-old will grow into an Einstein is problematic at its core (marshmallow test, anyone?). But when the system works, G&T programs challenge and nurture naturally bright kids in ways typical classrooms can’t.  (Testing begins January 10 for this year's 4-year-olds who have already signed up.) G&T is not the Ivy League of public education, but rather a rescue rope that hoists bright kids out of insufficiently stimulating schools.

My daughter's NYC elementary school meets her needs, and then some. Her future has not yet been decided. Doors remain open. And to her mother and me, my little girl remains the greatest gift any parent could receive.