It started in 8th-grade algebra and ended with me “dropping out” of high school.
I complained, frequently and bitterly, to the teacher about how bored I was.
Finally she came up with a plan.
As long as I scored well on all the tests, I didn't even need to do the homework.
This was *amazing* to me. I never expected anything like this. I was thrilled.
I still remember the excitement of *finally* finding out the mystery how you could ever get a *curved* line on a plot. (Of course, x *squared*!)
In hindsight, I realize what an amazingly constructive response my algebra teacher had. I feel lucky, and I'm deeply grateful to her.
The three of us looked at each other. It was a moment.
I told my parents I wanted to leave high school, and I that I thought I could learn more, faster, better on my own.
My mother, with a far better sense than I for marketing and spin, gently suggested that instead of calling it “dropping out” we call it “homeschooling”.
I didn't return to my high school that fall.
Other topics were flops: I dropped Latin after a couple of months.
“I wish I could have done that!”
“I would *never* have had the discipline to do that, at that age.”