I haven't thought about the TAG program in years, but I found this thread fascinating, so here goes. Given what we now know about CIA MKUltra
programs and other experimental methods of mind control, I wouldn't put anything past them. And I can't help but notice many similarities in our
stories.
My childhood was pretty normal. Working-class family, Pacific Northwest. I was the only child until I was four. I was already reading, so my parents
put me in school early. My book smarts took them by surprise. I started new schools for kindergarten, first and second grades, so I was already a bit
shy. At my final new school, the teachers convinced my folks to hold me back into first grade to be with kids my own age, for "social" reasons. They
agreed, figuring it was better to do so at a new school with a fresh start. Three weeks into the year and I was disrupting the class, having finished
my assignments early. They had a conference and moved me back into second grade. None of the older kids would talk to me, they were too cool. None of
the younger kids would talk to me, they were in awe. This solidified my status as something of a loner.
I was still at the top of my class, even being a year younger. I remember my folks being impressed to see me write a report on the honeybee in under
20 minutes. I don't remember taking a lot of tests until about fourth grade. Our primary school had K-3, the middle school had grades 5-8. That left
no place for grade four, which was all by itself 20 miles away at a smaller elementary school in a tiny town. They always said it was because the
district didn't have space for all those kids, throughout the 80s. Years later, they expanded the primary school and did away with the special fourth
grade. I never considered there might be anything unusual about it, until now. You never know, right?
It was in fourth grade that I saw the speech therapist. We went to a tiny closet room and took tests and did puzzles and worked on my lisp. To this
day, I don't remember much about my actual classroom, except my awful sea-witch teacher. All I remember about fourth grade are the playground and the
tiny closet with the nice lady with all the tests.
It was in fifth grade that a few of us were invited to join TAG -- it was called Odyssey of the Mind in our region. One or two periods a day were
reserved for the seven of us, from three grades, to go down to the computer lab, where we got to play with the latest Macintosh, build bridges from
toothpicks and do logic puzzles. A few of the top scorers got to attend conventions in the city, mostly boys, always the math geeks. I remember
feeling bitter they wouldn't let all of us go.
It was structured elitism at its best -- they rest of the school was jealous that we got to have fun instead of doing busy work. Meanwhile, within our
inner circle, they made sure we knew that we were all good, but some of us were better. We were all smart, but some of us were smartest. Those who
didn't make the cut for top military recruitment were studied and surveyed and ultimately kept entertained until they hit high school, when interest
in propelling gifted students seemed to vanish.
My family moved to a small rural school before I hit eighth grade. I was several grades ahead in math. I should have moved on to algebra and geometry,
but instead was forced to take eighth grade math with the other twelve kids in my grade. I went on to become a smart-ass rebellious teenager and
graduated from state university with a journalism degree. Funnily enough, I did actually score higher on my SATs in math than I did in language.
These days, I'm raising chickens and learning to grow food. I have since lit my journalism degree on fire.
Having just stumbled on a fascinating phenomenon, I'm compelled to ask: How many of you also have Rh negative blood? It's rare, but among
truthseekers and high-IQ types, it's very common indeed.
Best of luck to you all.