Graphic by Anjali Rao-Herel ‘22
By Annabelle Mackson ’23
Human Resources Coordinator & Staff Writer
The older I get, the more I realize how unfairly children and young adults with traditional academic interests are treated by both adults and their own peers. This criticism is a reflection of how intelligence is only valued in the classroom. This sentiment particularly affects children whose academic interests extend beyond the classroom. Furthermore, school has become less about actually learning new things and more about filling the requirements of academic proficiency that signifies success in education. Children are not being praised for being voracious readers because classes often treat reading as a checkpoint rather than a way to understand new material. Students whose interests aren’t being supported by their peers or teachers can feel as though their efforts and genuine interests don’t really matter. I know that was the case for me.
I was one of those children who read nonstop. Reading was my main form of entertainment and I did extracurricular research constantly. Thankfully, I didn’t have to face quite as much of the criticism that others might have experienced due to my educational background. I was homeschooled until the age of 13, so by the time I enrolled in public school, I was already set in my ways. However, it didn’t stop negative comments from other kids, who said things like ‘Oh, you genuinely like to read?,’ ‘You actually like this?’ and ‘Why do you care so much?’ I was firm enough in my convictions to not let their comments change who I was, but this treatment certainly made me feel ostracized.
I am not about to say that I was some genius child with an eidetic memory, but I had — and still have — an intense obsession with books, which has also fueled my love for researching obscure topics. These interests fed directly into how I was perceived by fellow students. My enthusiasm was strange compared to their indifference to the class material, and I felt out of place being so excited to learn something that no one else seemed to care about. This is endemic of a larger issue called “academic apathy” that children generally begin to encounter in middle school. Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines apathy as having a “lack of interest or concern,” and academic apathy is this concept applied to formal learning.
This concept is not new. John H. Bishop voiced his concerns on the topic in the Educational Researcher journal in 1989, saying, “the fundamental cause of the problem is our uncritical acceptance of institutional arrangements that do not adequately recognize and reinforce student effort and achievement.”
A more recent example is the 2015 doctoral thesis of a Walden University student, in which she noted, “Students [interviewed] shared that they believe that their school sees them less as learners and more as a means to an end since schools are rewarded or sanctioned based on the achievement levels of the students.” The lack of flexibility and student input in public schools is what creates this disinterest, something that was entirely foreign to me. Over time, I noticed that my zeal for learning was a result of the freedom a homeschooled education provides; I could adapt my own learning to my curiosities and avoid some topics entirely if I had no interest in them.
General academic interest wasn’t what made me feel othered, it was my love for reading. Some of my classmates could not fathom that I actually enjoyed reading books for fun, much less that I spent most of my free time doing so. I understood that everyone had different interests, and I am still baffled that they could never understand the same for me. I was always respectful of the passions of others, but had noses turned up at me for expressing interest in things that they deemed nerdy.
I never felt bullied — the people who mattered to me understood my interests even if they didn’t share them and I was always supported by my teachers. Sometimes, that backfired and made me seem like a goody-two-shoes when I genuinely just liked what we were learning. What bothered me the most, however, was when I was criticized for the way I spoke — and still speak, though I receive this response less frequently now. As a result of my avid reading, I had a larger vocabulary than my peers. I cannot count the amount of times a peer would stare at me in confusion or the number of times I was told to “say that again in English.”
I handled these problems myself, but I wish that the adults around me had done more to help than just commend my efforts. I know that sounds conceited, but I would rather have them tell others not to judge me for my passions and mannerisms than praise me for being the bigger person. Comparison, even secondhand, breeds resentment, and I fully believe that more could have been done to make sure that both my peers and I felt comfortable and confident in our interests and hobbies.