::: it was easier to fly slicing potatoes :::

As long as I can remember, my father has taught me fear. Don't take risks, don't take chances, don't dream dreams or trust others. Just fear. I didn't recognize it as fear when I was a child and was told that if I was ever found riding my bike on the road, it would be locked up forever. Living on a rural piece of property with no good riding land, I just never rode my bike. I wasn't allowed to spend the night with friends, go on dates or take walks. I wasn't allowed to have poor friends, black friends, hispanic friends or friends whose parents were divorced. I still had them, of course, because my dad, in spite of how much he loved me in his own way, wasn't really involved in my life.

Still, his fear branded me, instilling in me an unhealthy obsession with freak accidents and a very vivid imagination (okay, maybe God gave me the imagination, but my dad helped me with the vivid part). To this day, if one of my children has gone overseas, or over to the neighbor's house, if they are jumping on the bed or jumping on the trampoline, if they are climbing ladders or climbing trees, he's there, fretting, warning, instilling fear.

I was cutting potatoes for dinner when The Baby came running into the kitchen, her pink My Little Pony from McDonald's held firmly in her grip.

"Can I help cut potatoes?" she asked, grabbing one of the wet potatoes from the bowl. My first reaction was to tell her no, that I'm busy, that I want to get this done quickly.

And then I heard my father's voice behind me. Literally. He was sitting at the counter reading the paper, and I heard him say, "No, no, no. You'll cut yourself."

And then I remembered my grandmother, my father's mom, placing a potato in my hand long after I should have learned to cut potatoes, showing me how to cut towards my thumb, letting the blade meet the pad of my thumbprint. She taught me to peel them so that a long, unbroken string of brown peeling would fall to the counter with each peeled, naked potato.

I also remembered my husband's grandmother teaching me, long after I should have known, that potatoes need to be started in cold water when making mashed potatoes.

I took a knife from the utensil crock and handed it to The Baby. She dropped the My Little Pony on the wet countertop, taking the knife into her hand. It took a few tries to show her the right way to hold the potato, the right way to hold the knife, to keep her fingers out of the way, to angle the blade toward the pad of her own thumb, but soon she was peeling potatoes, cutting them into cubes and dropping them into the big pot full of cold water, which went onto the hot stove, and was turned into delicious whipped potatoes with browned butter, which she brought to me in a little vintage bowl and asked me to photograph.

I know that my father loves me. I know that he loves and wants to protect his grandchildren. But I will choose today not to allow my children to be bound by fear, not to let others bind them to fear, and we will both be better for it.  And maybe my father will even be better for it, too.

::: seeking the waterfall :::

As part of our Ambleside curriculum, the girls and I have been studying the world's wonders through our geography book, Richard Halliburton's Book of Marvels, The Occident. Richard Halliburton is our absolute favorite geography teacher, though he's been gone from this world since 1939, shortly after The Occident was written. While reading The Occident and one of our other geography books. V.M. Hillyer's  A Child's Geography of the World, I got the itch to visit Niagara Falls. After doing a little research, I discovered that The Falls are only a five-hour drive from us and asked Bo if he'd be up for sitting behind the wheel for ten hours. It wasn't until after he'd agreed and I'd made the plans that I found out he'd never seen The Falls!

So, early Saturday morning, while 19-year-old Bard was on Fall break from University, Bo and I woke everyone (except 18-year-old Houdin, who is at Discipleship training for his trip to Africa) early in the morning and prodded them into the car for a road trip. "We'll be in the car for ten hours," we told them. "Bring a change of clothes. And comfortable shoes. And a raincoat. You might get wet!"

They were confused and thrilled as we passed first a sign for Pennsylvania, and then New York, and then, when they just couldn't take it anymore, we told them where we were going. Some were less-than-thrilled. The Baby thought we were going to a movie or an amusement park.

But once they got there, and they saw the rushing Niagara River and the absolutely breathtaking Falls, they were smitten. The winds were high as we rode the crashing waves of Horseshoe Falls on the Maid of the Mist, yanking shouts of joy and amazement from our bodies.

We got wet. Very wet. I was so thankful that we had and brought our waterproof camera. And that change of clothes!

When we all climbed back into the car for the ride home, we were exhilarated, inspired, ALIVE! A stop at Steak 'N Shake for dinner and a run to the Krispy Kreme next door (we can't get Krispy Kreme near us anymore!) made the day just about as perfect as it could get.

No car breakdowns! No major arguments! No unexpected expenses! And our randomized playlist even seemed to cooperate, throwing out songs like "Running with the Buffalo" by Peter Mayer, "Counting Road Signs" by Jonathan Reuel, "Coastline" by Brothers Creeggan, "Get On Your Boots" by U2, and "Suitcase" by Over the Rhine, and, just as we were rounding the last curves before our road at 10:45 PM, "Golden Slumbers" by The Beatles filled the van full of sleeping, sleepy and half-asleep travelers.

While the characters in Whittier's poem below didn't find the waterfall they sought, we did, and we were pleased in the seeking, as well.

Seeking of the Waterfall
~John Greenleaf Whittier

They left their home of summer ease
Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees,
To seek, by ways unknown to all,
The promise of the waterfall.

Some vague, faint rumor to the vale
Had crept--perchance a hunter's tale--
Of its wild mirth of waters lost
On the dark woods through which it tossed.

Somewhere it laughed and sang; somewhere
Whirled in mad dance its misty hair;
But who had raised its veil, or seen
The rainbow skirts of that Undine?

They sought it where the mountain brook
Its swift way to the valley took;
Along the rugged slope they clomb,
Their guide a thread of sound and foam.

Height after height they slowly won;
The fiery javelins of the sun
Smote the bare ledge; the tangled shade
With rock and vine their steps delayed.

But, through leaf-openings, now and then
They saw the cheerful homes of men,
And the great mountains with their wall
Of misty purple girdling all.

The leaves through which the glad winds blew
Shared. the wild dance the waters knew;
And where the shadows deepest fell
The wood-thrush rang his silver bell.

Fringing the stream, at every turn
Swung low the waving fronds of fern;
From stony cleft and mossy sod
Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod.

And still the water sang the sweet,
Glad song that stirred its gliding feet,
And found in rock and root the keys
Of its beguiling melodies.

Beyond, above, its signals flew
Of tossing foam the birch-trees through;
Now seen, now lost, but baffling still
The weary seekers' slackening will.

Each called to each: "Lo here! Lo there!
Its white scarf flutters in the air!"
They climbed anew; the vision fled,
To beckon higher overhead.

So toiled they up the mountain-slope
With faint and ever fainter hope;
With faint and fainter voice the brook
Still bade them listen, pause, and look.

Meanwhile below the day was done;
Above the tall peaks saw the sun
Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set
Behind the hills of violet.

"Here ends our quest!" the seekers cried,
"The brook and rumor both have lied!
The phantom of a waterfall
Has led us at its beck and call."

But one, with years grown wiser, said
"So, always baffled, not misled,
We follow where before us runs
The vision of the shining ones.

"Not where they seem their signals fly,
Their voices while we listen die;
We cannot keep, however fleet,
The quick time of their winged feet.

"From youth to age unresting stray
These kindly mockers in our way;
Yet lead they not, the baffling elves,
To something better than themselves?

"Here, though unreached the goal we sought,
Its own reward our toil has brought:
The winding water's sounding rush,
The long note of the hermit thrush,

"The turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond
And river track, and, vast, beyond
Broad meadows belted round with pines,
The grand uplift of mountain lines!

"What matter though we seek with pain
The garden of the gods in vain,
If lured thereby we climb to greet
Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet?

"To seek is better than to gain,
The fond hope dies as we attain;
Life's fairest things are those which seem,
The best is that of which we dream.

"Then let us trust our waterfall
Still flashes down its rocky wall,
With rainbow crescent curved across
Its sunlit spray from moss to moss.

"And we, forgetful of our pain,
In thought shall seek it oft again;
Shall see this aster-blossomed sod,
This sunshine of the golden-rod,

"And haply gain, through parting boughs,
Grand glimpses of great mountain brows
Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen
Of lakes deep set in valleys green.

"So failure wins; the consequence
Of loss becomes its recompense;
And evermore the end shall tell
The unreached ideal guided well.

"Our sweet illusions only die
Fulfilling love's sure prophecy;
And every wish for better things
An undreamed beauty nearer brings.

"For fate is servitor of love;
Desire and hope and longing prove
The secret of immortal youth,
And Nature cheats us into truth.

"O kind allurers, wisely sent,
Beguiling with benign intent,
Still move us, through divine unrest,
To seek the loveliest and the best!

"Go with us when our souls go free,
And, in the clear, white light to be,
Add unto Heaven's beatitude
The old delight of seeking good!"

::: the homework issue :::

Since Monet has made the transition from home education to private school education, there has been one major issue that has been a challenge, and that has been the issue of homework. Almost every school evening has ended in tears, both his and mine. I know this is an old story for many of you, but after home educating for almost 20 years, it's a new one for me.

If you're struggling with the homework issue, too, there is a good, clear, easy to follow article about motivating children to do homework here.   After reading it, I see a lot of areas where I can improve and help Monet achieve his goals. Up until now, I have just been hoping that the motivation for doing his homework would kick in, that he would do it because he knows he has to, and he would go from hating the homework to finding fulfillment in completing it. The article gives some excellent tips on how to help kids do the work, including setting a mandatory "study time" whether the child has homework or not. Setting aside a period of time and a quiet space of their choice for the child, plus helping them come up with an organizational method of assigning priorities to their homework assignments gives them the structure they need to get the work done. I hope to implement some of these suggestions today, and would love to hear what has worked and not worked for you, too.

::: ideals :::

"Don't let your home become some terrible miniature copy of the school.  No lesson plans!  No quizzes!  No tests!  No report cards! Even leaving your child alone would be better:  at least they could figure out some things on their own." ~John Holt

I love reading John Holt, as I was reminded by this post by Tonia from Study in Brown. It sums up what I wish for in my idealistic educational fantasy-land. Why can't I make it work in my own life? Why does that kind of life tend to end up making me feel undisciplined and borderline negligent of my children's education?

And, is it just me, or does the word "ideals" connotate naive and impossible daydreams?

::: abraham lincoln's world :::

One of the books we're using for Sweetheart's Ambleside lessons this year is Abraham Lincoln's World by Genevieve Foster. I hadn't been familiar with it, and, let me tell you, so far I *love* this book. I love how the author puts so much humanity into the historical figures, and how she weaves their lives together so that we have a context of who was doing what during which time in history. And the illustrations, also created by Genevieve Foster, are alive with personality. The author's passion for all things historical is apparent, and can be attested by her philosophy of learning history:

History is drama, with men and nations as the actors. Why not present it with all the players who belong together on the stage at once, rather than only one character on the stage at a time?

Her philosophy works for this book. I look forward to delving further in and, along with my daughter, watching history come alive.

::: pros and cons of homeschooling :::

For those who have questions regarding the pros and cons of homeschooling, and don't we all, I would like to point you to a post by one of my favorite bloggers, Ann Voskamp of Holy Experience. In this post, Ann speaks so much of what I would say here were I as eloquent and articulate as she. My favorite part of the post, the one to which I say, "Amen!", is this:

Ultimately, for us, a quality education focuses on commitment, of both the learner and the teacher. A commitment by both parties to authenticity, joy, curiosity, and consistency. These elements of an education then translate into necessary, future life-skills.

For us that means living:

Authentically.
Live your life. Invite your children to join you! Read together. Pray together. Sing together. Work, bake, garden, chore, clean, sew, fix, build together. Don't fabricate artificial demarcation lines between schooling and living. Live a one-piece life. Live holistically.

Joyfully.
Explore! Be awed by His World! Restore Wonder! Be a creative, thinking, exuberant person who spills with the joy of learning. Your zest for learning and life will be contagious--the children will catch it!

Curiously.
Read, read, read. Fill the house with library books. Play classical music. Post the art of the masters about the house. Go for walks in the woods. Learn a new language, a new culture, a new poem. Everyday set out to discover again, and again, and again. The whole earth is full of His glory! Go seek His face...

Consistently.
Consistently pray. Consistently read. Consistently keep the routine. Consistently live an everyday liturgy.

Children thrive in routine. So do households. Have hardstops: times that you fully stop to pray, to read, to write. Regardless of what isn't done, what isn't finished. Make a full stop, do the needful thing, then return to meals, laundry, household management.
Consistently be consistent.

That's all. The curriculum doesn't really matter, so much. Use what works for you, how He leads you.

Just make it part of your real life, make it a joy, make it a discovery, and prayerfully make it consistent.

~Ann Voskamp

There are many more great words there on Ann's site, as well as some delicious photographs.

Always Learning

"The parent who sees his way––that is, the exact force of method––to educate his child, will make use of every circumstance of the child's life almost without intention on his own part, so easy and spontaneous is a method of education based upon Natural Law. Does the child eat or drink, does he come, or go, or play––all the time he is being educated, though he is as little aware of it as he is of the act of breathing."

~Charlotte Mason

Atta Girl!

The amazing Bard was named to her university's Dean's List for the Fall 2008 semester!

She's enjoying school, taking voice and guitar lessons, is one of the producers for a weekly live soap-opera type performance, landed a role in God's Favorite--this term's theater production, sings with the Women's Choir, is enrolled in several Honors classes, tutors part time, and is double majoring in English and Communications.

Not too shabby, eh?

A Trip to the Zoo

Yesterday, on a whim, we took a trip to the zoo in the Big City. It was a quick, low maintenance outing--grab the kids, throw some bottles of water in the bag, and out the door. It turned out to be one of the best outings we've had in a long time. The zoo was beautiful, the weather was very cooperative, and the kids were on their best behavior. How often does that happen?

Here's Monet taking a break from his self-appointed stroller-pushing duties. That rope bridge isn't very stroller-wheel friendly. ;-)
The girls were very impressed with the hugangous monarch caterpillar. I was very impressed with the amazing gardens!

An inside look at a cone-shaped hydrangea.

The jellyfish exhibit was absolutely incredible. God was very imaginative on the day he dreamed up these creatures.

The butterfly bench was quite creative, too. God must have been feeling very imaginative on the day he created creative human beings. :-)

Then tonight we had a family night, choosing for our movie disc 3 of Planet Earth, the Shallow Seas segment, which featured many of the animals we saw at the zoo. The series is awe-inspiring, giving us a glimpse of what goes on in places we'd likely never get to see otherwise. If you haven't seen it, you simply have to.

And now it's thunderstorming (good thing it wasn't doing this yesterday!), so it's time to shut down for the night. Blessings!

::: we need more fresh fruits and veggies in our lives :::

Isn't it funny how one day, you're just breezing along through life, comfortable in knowing who you know, not really expecting to make any new friendships or relationships, and the next thing you know, your life is changed, your circle of friends has grown, and you'll never be the same?

On Thursday evening, it was my responsibility to welcome the Junger Chor Speyer (the Speyer youth choir) to our town, mostly because the rest of Bard's touring choir lived over an hour from where the Speyer choir would be staying for the night. Bard was well-received last year when she visited Speyer, and I wanted to make their visit special, too.

When they first arrived by bus, several hours late, in the dark and rain, I was only able to meet the director and her husband, and then, only briefly. From there, it was a whirlwind of activity--leading them to the hotel, hitting a deer (and hoping the large tour bus wouldn't hit us in the process), running for pizza as a sorry replacement for a sit-down dinner in a local restaurant, struggling with the language barrier and the general uneasiness of getting to know strangers. It was immediately a learning experience.

My confidence flagged when I was approached by a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged German man who asked me something I couldn't understand. When I answered with, "Say that again?" He blustered, wagged his head and wandered away. I found out later that he was Herr Burgermeister, or the mayor of Speyer. "I am the Burger King," he told me in shaky English, laughing at himself. It turns out that he had taken English for thirteen years but retained very little of it. He was a bit lost in America.

As I stood in the hotel lobby, worrying about their food (too greasy), and their drinks (too sweet), and the language barrier, and their general well-being, one of the choristers approached me and spoke in slow but easily-understandable English. Honestly, I don't remember the exchange, but I remember knowing that the walls were coming down. It was a general conversation--we shared names, she told me that they'd had a long, long bus ride, that perhaps the bus driver had been lost--even going the wrong direction--and that they had lurched to a stop on the way to the hotel.

"That was because we hit a deer," I said. She glanced around for help. Speaking to a young German who stood close by, she asked, "Was ein 'deer' ist?" He responded in German, and she nodded in understanding. "Did it run away?" She asked. "It, um..." I made a large gesture with both of my hands. "It sort of...rolled away." We both laughed. Laughter I could understand.

It's a strange feeling to sit in a room full of people speaking a language you can only barely understand when you hear it directly spoken to you, and very, very slowly. It's another thing when they're all talking and laughing at once. Are they talking about me? Are they laughing at the food? I watched them point, amused, at the grease that was dripping off their up-ended pizza, and I felt more than slightly embarrassed as they filled their cups partway with Coke...then partway with water. The kids and I had assembled small treat bags for them, gifts from different businesses in our county who make unique food items, like fresh-pressed cider, baby swiss cheese, chocolate buckeye candy, and beef sticks. The beef sticks, I learned later, didn't go over very well (greasy, salty and very strange), but they smiled and nodded when I asked them how everything tasted. All of them, I noted, drank the cider and ate the cheese gratefully. I also learned later that they drink apple juice, wine, and water when at home. Rarely do they drink soda. And I had bought fifteen bottles of Coke products.

But little by little, I got to know them and learned more about each of their personalities. Robin was shy. Stephanie was smart and funny. Felix was agreeable, bubbly and always smiling. Angelina was enchanted with the American drinking fountain that she'd only seen in American films. Johnny was concerned that we would think they were "stuck in the past" because of their 2,000 year-old city and their beautiful churches and buildings. Julian was silly and full of energy. Hubert was somewhat of the "dad" or "big brother" of the choir. And Jochen was sensitive, intelligent, ornery.

It was Jochen that I particularly took a liking to. His sense of humor and orneriness was apparent when we visited a local store where the woman giving the tour repeated over and over that the things there were hand-made, not from China. I rounded a corner to find Jochen snapping a photograph of a white box that was clearly labeled, "Made in China." I grinned, and we had a discussion about the ubiquitousness of foreign-made products, with me telling him about the problem of Wal-Mart and him telling me that it's hard to find German-made products in his hometown, too.

Over the course of the next few days, I talked to Jochen about the issues in the United States, and he told me that some of these issues existed in Germany, too. But many of the things that we deal with, he and his friends did not understand.

They laughed at the signs on the doors of a public school that said, "No guns allowed." Wasn't that just common sense, they said? Jochen was saddened by the English slogans printed on children's t-shirts, things like South Park catch-phrases and other disrespectful messages. He said that, in Germany, young children wear these English t-shirts because they're from America, but they don't know what the phrases say or mean. Often, they are vulgar or inappropriate, and very young children wear them, not even realizing. I was struck by their desire to emulate our youth, who wear these things fully aware of what they're saying.

I became very aware of our culture the more time I spent with the German choir. They were served pizza several times, and given food-service sloppy joes and canned corn at one private school. At home, they told me, they sit down for lunch and have a formal meal. Tablecloths. Nice dishes. Silverware. Fresh asparagus. Fruit. Red wine. White wine. Mineral water. Brown bread. And here, fruit was practically non-existent in our meals. At each gathering, I noticed that we were overrun with casseroles and sweets, but fresh fruits and vegetables were rarely present. Stephie told me about the first day they arrived, and how they were served pizza with a "fat lake" in the middle. Jochen was so excited to see strawberries at one meal that he practically rushed to the bowl. But they were still frozen and practically tasteless. He was thankful for the bowl of fresh apples, though. Those were mine, I told him proudly. I got a grateful pat on the back.

On the fourth day of their visit, their bus driver raved about a place they would just love. She told them all how great it was, and took them to Dave and Buster's. Did they like it? I asked. One after another, they shook their heads. Unbelievable, they said. The food was very good, yes, but the noise, and the waste of money, and the games--how violent! And young children playing these games! Six and seven years old playing first-person shooter machines! Jochen shook his head sadly, "If one of my seventh- or eighth-grade students was playing one of these games, I would talk with their parents. Tell them this is not allowed." Do your youth not play basketball? Do they not go outside and wrestle or play?

I felt as if scales were falling off my eyes.

I mean, none of this was new to me, but it was indeed more obvious and more troubling than I had admitted before.

Jochen and I compared notes during the last evening of their stay in my area. American schools, he said, seem to have more money. Things are cheaper here in America. Everyone drives cars. There are parking places for everyone. Littering is a problem in Germany just like in America. People don't care; they throw their trash everywhere and criminals put on orange jumpsuits and clean it up. In Germany, buildings are old and in need of repair. In America, most of our old buildings are demolished, making room for new ones that are in need of repair. I know that America isn't perfect, I said, but where do we start to make changes? But it's not just America. It's not just Germany. The problems are big everywhere. We both agreed.

Jochen had mentioned to me on the third day of his stay that he had hoped to stay in a home with children and animals; he really missed his students, he said. While his home stays were very nice, and the people were wonderful, there were no children, he said. So on the last night of their visit, when they came to perform for all of our children's choirs and observe their classes, I approached him and asked him if he'd like to visit a class with children. His eyes lit up.

So I lead him through the halls towards the youngest training class where Mr. Walker, the choir director for the youngest group, was beginning his session with the 7, 8 and 9 year-olds. I introduced Jochen to everyone and told him I'd be back later to see how he was doing. I thought I'd take him around to several of the classes so he could see how they taught, too. But when I returned later and asked him if he'd like to stay there or visit elsewhere, he smiled, "I'll stay right here, thank you." And I could tell that he was getting a good dose of therapy. When he emerged from the room, he gave me a big hug. "Thank you for that," he said. I could tell it had been a much-needed break.

It was very hard to say goodbye to Stephanie and Felix and Hubert and Angelina. It was especially hard to say goodbye to Jochen, because I felt like I was saying goodbye to a younger brother I might never see again. He hugged me and thanked me for the everything, and I felt silly for fighting back tears. Thankfully, in the rush of it all, I was able to get e-mail and mailing addresses from Stephie, and Felix, and Hubert, and Jochen.

The mayor of Speyer, "The Burger King," invited me to visit his city. "We...uh...we...will drink Schorle," he said, which is wine mixed with bubbly mineral water. "And eat asparagus. And liverwurst on brown bread." He rubbed his stomach. "Someday," I nodded, grinning. He glanced around, looking for help. "Was ein 'someday' ist?" he called out, and, not finding an answer, looked back to me, shrugging. I made gestures with both hands, as if weighing something. "Maybe," I said. "Yes. No."

"Ah! Yes! May-be!" he nodded knowingly. And then he rubbed the fingers of his right hand together, making the universal sign for "money."

"Yes," I laughed, repeating the gesture.

"Maybe...in...uh, two, oh, oh, nine?" he said.

Wouldn't that be nice.

So they came in as strangers I didn't understand, but through the magic of the willingness to try, and the universal language of music, love and compassion, I've made what I hope will be lifetime friendships.

And I've learned a bit more about myself in the process.

::: it CAN be done! :::

The call came today in the late afternoon. Sixteen-year-old Houdin answered it, passed the phone to his sister, Bard, who took the tone of someone talking to an important person. After hearing comments like, "You're kidding," and "Oh my gosh!" I knew that something good was coming.

And I was right. I hope I didn't harm the admissions counselor's ears too badly with my scream. A full four-year scholarship to one of Bard's top two choices for college, after all, is worth a bit of a squeal. Just three weeks ago today, she was sitting in a room writing essay, and then answering a series of questions by a panel of professors, and then chatting excitedly about how she thought it went and wondering whether or not the profs liked her.

Apparently they liked her.

It feels so good to know that I made the right educational choice when I decided to be a home-learning family.

She's still waiting on word from her other top college choice. She's still in the running for a full four-year scholarship there, too. She's in the top ten, and will only get an offer if one of the top two declines. But there's still a shot. In the meantime, she has a lot of thinking, reading and comparing to do to decide where she's going to go.

I'm so proud of her.

And, I have to admit, I'm a wee bit proud of me, too.

Another E...

E is for True Education.

Read this over at True Vyne's site and I think I'll print it in a huge font and hang it on my wall. Thanks for sharing, T.V.

"At the beginning of every academic year I like to remind myself and my students that true education is a form of repentance. It is a humble admission that we've not read all that we need to read, we don't know all that we need to know, and we've not yet become all that we are called to become. Education is that unique form of discipleship that brings us to the place of admitting our inadequacies. It is that remarkable rebuke of autonomy and independence so powerful and so evident that we actually shut up and pay heed for a change."

~George Grant

The Problem with Praise

"For a few decades, it’s been noted that a large percentage of all gifted students (those who score in the top 10 percent on aptitude tests) severely underestimate their own abilities. Those afflicted with this lack of perceived competence adopt lower standards for success and expect less of themselves."

This article, via TrueVyne, is going to take some real attention. I think it's something I really need to absorb.