Drew Petersen didn’t speak until he was 3½, but his mother, Sue, never
believed he was slow. When he was 18 months old, in 1994, she was
reading to him and skipped a word, whereupon Drew reached over and
pointed to the missing word on the page. Drew didn’t produce much sound
at that stage, but he already cared about it deeply. “Church bells would
elicit a big response,” Sue told me. “Birdsong would stop him in his
tracks.”
Prodigies are able to function at an advanced adult level in some domain before age 12. “Prodigy” derives from the Latin “prodigium,”
a monster that violates the natural order.
These children have
differences so evident as to resemble a birth defect, and it was in that
context that I came to investigate them. Having spent 10 years
researching a book about children whose experiences differ radically
from those of their parents and the world around them, I found that
stigmatized differences — having Down syndrome, autism or deafness;
being a dwarf or being transgender — are often clouds with silver
linings.
Families grappling with these apparent problems may find
profound meaning, even beauty, in them. Prodigiousness, conversely,
looks from a distance like silver, but it comes with banks of clouds;
genius can be as bewildering and hazardous as a disability.
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