When someone mentions a Super Kid some people conjure up a picture of a tall blond Adonis who exceeds in athletics. Other people see a quiet, slightly built genius with books under his arm and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose ready to momentarily fall off. Then there are others who see the lovely slender girl who always gets the lead in school productions and has eyes that are so blue that they shine as far back as to the last row of the audience. Sure these are special and gifted kids, but to me super kids have a different connotation.

In my time as a school nurse I have come across kids who are, in my opinion, more than super. They have qualities that go beyond the word super; the ones who can't read but come to school every day on time, cleanly dressed with pencil and pad ready to climb that mountain with their fingernails. They try, believe me they try. If given the right ingredients like understanding parents who aren't ashamed, caring teachers, friends that don't laugh, they make it, and make it well. I've seen it. Then there is the stutterer, whose every syllable is to stacatto rock, afraid to open his mouth. He comes to school to learn. He struggles. He sweats. He cries. With luck, a speech teacher and pathologist and supportive people around, he grows up and becomes a news commentator. It's not unobtainable. I've seen it.

Then there is the beautiful little blond girl with curly hair who wears two hearing aids. Batteries go dead, ears with appliances hurt, the speech sounds strange, yet every day is present at the desk when attendance is taken, there to learn and grow and knows how it feels to be different. (This girl graduated from college and is a mother today.)

Then there is the child whose mother is ill and the father is absent and has adult worries about survival, but comes to school to belong. What of the child who isn't growing and is the shortest in the class and every day along with help with his homework he is given help with hormone injections. He comes to school and raises and waves his hand for the teacher to see him as the regular size kids. That is courage and perseverance.

How can we not be supportive of the grossly overweight child who can't do the somersaults in gym that other kids do, but goes home and has someone in the family push them over so they will be like other kids in the gym. The sighs of relief they make when their turn is over is heard through the heart and not the ears.

Then there is the child whose bones are brittle and with every fall wears a cast for months along with the wheelchair and crutches. These kids come to school and struggle to get to class without falling again. Are they nervous, you bet, but they are there.

These are the Super Kids. They deserve the accolades. They deserve the gold stars. They deserve the grants and scholarships. They have the stamina to fight for their education and these are the kids who go out into the real world with an understanding of what it is all about.

I will never downgrade the child with the high I.Q., with muscles to match, parents who meet their needs, reads two books a day, has friends galore, understands math ahead of the others, and walks through the school with all aware of their intelligence. More power to them. We need them. They are truly the gifted ones, but when the class graduates I want to see the ones who couldn't read and now do, the ones whose bones couldn't heal and now walk, the ones who couldn't hear and now play music, the ones who couldn't speak and who are now on the debating teams, to be brought onto the stage called out by name and be given a long standing ovation for all they have done, and then call the teachers.

Ada Shapiro, RN