Remarks on the end of TIP

[The first wave of TIP students held a Zoom gathering this weekend to mark the end of the Duke University Talent Identification Program. I was given the honor of providing the opening remarks, which are reproduced following.]

Thank you for joining today, and for giving me the opportunity to address you all. I wish it were under different circumstances, but I am grateful all the same.

I last spoke at a large TIP gathering in 2011. It feels like a lifetime ago — so much has changed for us as individuals, and as a society.

These last few years have been personally challenging, this one in particular. TIP’s end is one more grim casualty of 2020.

I feel a deep sense of grief and loss at the news of TIP’s closure because of what TIP did for me. It had a direct and transformative impact on my life. Not just as a teenager, but as an adult as well. 

I think about how many of you were friends then and are still friends now, because of the special connection we shared at a critical moment in our lives. I think of how those friendships have persisted and grown as you have turned into such remarkable people. It is difficult for me to fully convey how important you all are, and how much I treasure these relationships and how they have enriched my life.

I also grieve the loss of what TIP represented and meant. The best days of my youth, if not youth itself. The joy of running fast and free, physically and intellectually. The sense of endless possibility and discovery. TIP’s ongoing existence made it easy to tap into those feelings. Seeing first-hand how TIP still had a similar impact on kids decades later provided a sense of continuity and community. I was proud to support the organization and deeply gratified to see its mission continue.

I acknowledge any experiences I would have had during those critical summers of my youth would have likely been transformative and defining, and that friends I made during that time would be important. But I didn’t have just any experiences or meet just any people. I went to TIP. I met all of you.

Beyond personal significance, I am dismayed at the loss of what TIP actually was to the larger world: a program to identify, support, and cultivate talented kids. Particularly those who needed some kind of help, or were in difficult or isolated environments. 

40 years after TIP’s founding, our society is more aware of people, particularly kids, who are different, unusual, or gifted. We may not be achieving the level of attention and care we strive for all the time, but at least there is more recognition of special needs for individuals. That is a significant improvement from what many of us experienced as children at home, in school, in life. 

Some of that is directly attributable to the work of TIP and similar programs. Some of it is because of people like you, who grew up and tried to make the world a better place for those who followed.

There are also more resources for gifted kids, their parents, and educators now, and those resources are more widely available. Again, at least partially thanks to TIP, which set an example, inspired, and provided materials and programs. And thanks to some of you, who became educators, researches, and writers yourself.

The internet has also played a significant role. The internet has made it easy to distribute knowledge and materials related to gifted education. There are videos and classes and online programs, all easily accessible.

The internet has made it easy for people to feel less alone, to find others like them, and stay connected in ways we perhaps only dreamt of 40 years ago, when a long distance phone call cost nearly $1.50 per minute in today’s dollars.

But as COVID and social media have shown us recently, the internet, for all its wonders, is not nearly as good as real life. The virtual world can be superficial, hollow, and unsatisfying, if not actively harmful. Not all people possess the self-discipline required to succeed in fully digital education experiences. Not all people even have access to the technology, much less the training, to fully take advantage of what is offered.

Real life, real connection, is better. There is something special that happens when you bring people together in one place with a common cause. We felt it on East Campus 40 years ago. We felt it at the reunions we have had. 

That spark of connection is essential, vital, and worth cultivating. I notice how it is muted as I address you now, over the internet. I am deeply saddened knowing it has been extinguished for future students.

After 40 years, TIP had obviously changed quite a bit. The program was much larger, for one thing, and reached far beyond Duke. The kinds of classes on offer had changed as well. Less hardcore. No more college or high school credit, for better or worse. Less freedom for the kids. More structure. Traditions. Rules. It had become a much less stressful and improvisatory environment. That is probably a good thing. Probably.

As one of you pointed out to me, TIP’s existence and success as an institution meant that it had become a kind of checkbox for college applications, with some students doing it solely for that reason.

On balance, I think that’s all OK. The world has changed quite a bit as well. Ideas about what’s acceptable and appropriate for kids have changed, too. Perhaps TIP was a kind of mirror, reflecting ideas and ideals around gifted students. Over time it had to change, as our own reflections have over the last 40 years. 

But despite TIP’s influence and society’s improvements, one core aspect of TIP’s mission remains unfulfilled: Supporting underprivileged kids. Students who don’t come from backgrounds or environments like I did, where schools had decent (for the time) gifted programs. Or parents who could afford to invest in their children’s potential, like mine did. 

Over the last 40 years we have seen our society become less equal. TIP had increased its efforts to reach those under-served kids. I commend that ambition, as I wish they had done even more.

And ultimately, that is where I most keenly feel the sadness and mourn the loss. Not for our shared past. Not for the compromised present. But for the possible future.

TIP wasn’t perfect, but it existed. It tried and sometimes succeeded in achieving lofty and ambitious goals. Like us. 

I missed it terribly when it was over for me. I miss it even more now that it is over for everyone.

Thank you, Dr. Sawyer, for creating this experiment and bringing together all of these people for so many years.

Thank you to Dr. Greg Kimble and Mark Delong and Dr. John Kane and the countless other instructors and TAs who spent their summers (if not entire years) making TIP happen.

Thank you, Deborah-Kay, Shawna, Tasha, Vicki, Brian, and the other staff who kept the program running, growing, and thriving for so many years.

Thank you Andrea, for your tireless efforts in building and maintaining our 80s alumni group. Thank you Jonathan Wilfong, as well. 

Most importantly, thanks to all of you for participating then and now.

You all have made a difference in my life, and the lives of many other people. 

Verbally and mathematically precocious youths rule.

The Duke University Talent Identification Program (1980 - 2020)

After 40 years of serving gifted and talented children, Duke University has abruptly terminated their highly-regarded Talent Identification Program (TIP), laying off all employees of the non-profit organization. Like many other educational programs, TIP suffered from the loss of revenue from canceling its summer residential programs due to the pandemic (and perhaps Duke deciding they'd rather have a different type of summer program).

This is terrible news for the kids, and for gifted education. It is also extremely unfortunate for the hardworking staff who kept the program running, and now find themselves unemployed.

It is a devastating loss for me as well. TIP changed my life twice, and saved it once. 

As a student, the 4 summers I spent at TIP were major defining experiences of my life. The person I am today was greatly shaped by my time there, and the students and faculty I met. Many of my TIP friends remain my closest and best friends today.

As a teacher, TIP reminded me of the person I had forgotten I was, and the person I had forgotten I could be. My first summer teaching inspired me to leave Los Angeles for San Francisco. Teaching at TIP also reinvigorated my passion for music, after a decade in L.A. had nearly killed it. Several of my former students have gone on to either make music their vocation, or their passion, and I am still in touch with some of them. Several of the instructors I met during that time remain good friends as well. 

One of my TIP friends saved my life. A story for another time, though some of you have already heard it.

I have written about some of my TIP experiences here as a student and as an adult occasionally, but perhaps not as much as I should. 

Today's news is roughly equivalent to finding out that your childhood home, your high school, and your alma mater all burned to the ground. I am heartbroken over the loss of something so important to me, sympathetic to the dozens of TIP employees who have been laid off, and sad for all the gifted kids who will never have the TIP experience.  

Thank you for everything, TIP. 

There are so many special people I met through TIP as a student and teacher I can't even begin to list them all. I am sure all of them are feeling the same terrible sense of loss I am. 

Thank you, Dr. Sawyer, for your persistence, belief, and hard work. TIP would never have happened without you.

Thank you Dr. Greg Kimble, Mark DeLong, Angela Teachey, and all the other tremendous instructors and teaching assistants who both saw our potential and put up with our adolescence.

Thank you Deborah-Kay Hughes, Shawna Young, Vicki Rennecker-Nakayoshi, Tasha Martin, Brian Cooper, Ramon Griffin, Vicki Stocking, Hollace Selph, John Pollins, Lynn Daggett Pollins, Pamela Clinkenbeard, and the countless other hard-working people who kept TIP's back offices running.

Thank you G. Stanat, Glen Borg, Art Shepard, and all the RAs. You were role models of the best kind, and provided a different, but equally important kind of education out of the classroom for your young charges.

Recognition

I have spoken and written frequently about my involvement with the Duke University Talent Identification Program. I have written about the impact on my life, some of the instructors, and even a bit about my teaching experiences.

This year, I was presented with the “Distinguished Alumni Award”, one of four honorees for 2012.

One of the other honorees was perhaps my best friend at TIP, Douglas Arner. We've fallen out of touch over the last few decades, though last I checked he was happily married to a wonderful woman, and splitting his time between Hong Kong and London. Apparently he just had a child, and has written something like 11 books. (Doug, I really wish you had made it over!)

The other two were strangers, but their accomplishments were impressive enough to impart a healthy dose of Post-cocious syndrome: One is literally working on a cure for cancer (and received news of achieving an important milestone the day of our ceremony). 

The other works with notable inventor Dean Kamen helping create next-generation prosthetics and wheelchairs to help the disabled and combat veterans. And by “works with”, I mean he is apparently the #2 guy at the company.

Though I arrived very late on Saturday, May 20^th, I was still excited to be there. Waiting at the deserted airport for the rental car shuttle, I breathed in the cooling evening air. Here I was again. Despite the long, delay-filled day of travel and no dinner, I found myself cheerful and calm waiting for my rental car.

My eyes blurry from travel, I managed to find my way from RDU to the Millennium Hotel, the same place I’d stayed almost exactly a year ago for the reunion. I parked and slowly carried my bags to the lobby, savoring the peaceful Spring night. 

I caught the end of Saturday Night Live, marveling at Mick Jagger’s youthful energy while simultaneously thinking perhaps it was time for him to move on.

At 10:30 am, I blinked awake to my phone ringing. Fumbling with it, I made plans to meet an old friend and fellow TIP participant for brunch. 

Afterwards, we walked around East campus and caught up, talking about the past, and where our lives had gotten to in the present, and how we felt about all that. Throughout, I note how little East campus has changed in the nearly 30 years I’ve been going there. It’s a long enough cycle of time that some big old trees have died and been removed, and their young replacements have grown to similar or greater heights.

That night, I have dinner with some of the TIP staff, including one wonderful woman who has now retired from the program. Dinner is outside, viewing the beautiful landscape. The food is tasty and the conversation lively, but I’m distracted by the birds flying by and the spectacular, luminous pink sunset.

The day of the ceremony, I put on a suit and tie and try to look my best. I have a brief lunch with some of the program’s benefactors, staff, and parents of one of the honorees. Then it’s off to Duke’s basketball arena.

The ceremony itself seems to fly by. There’s an introductory speech by TIP’s director, and then a longer keynote by an environmental scientist. They read Doug’s biography. He couldn’t be here today, between his teaching commitments and newborn child. 

Then the next honoree. He stands and smiles politely as his biography is read. It sounds pretty impressive. He receives his award and sits back down.

Then it is my turn. I stand up and smile, trying not to look too ridiculous. They read my bio. I have no idea if people even know what any of this stuff I do is.

The next part is a really neat experience. TIP is more than just a residential summer program. It has a major “recognition” component.  7^th grade students who score higher than 90% of high school juniors on the SAT and ACT can take part in local events to recognize their achievements and talent.

The top 3% of those students are invited to Duke for the “Grand Recognition Ceremony”. Me? I’m sitting on stage looking out at them. The smartest, brightest, most gifted 480 7^th graders in the USA.

And then I get to put medals around each of their necks.

One by one, their names are called. They come up on stage and walk across, and I and the other 2 present honorees take turns draping a medal on them.

The variety is incredible. There are kids who look like they are already well into their teens, and some who look much younger. Some are tall. Some are short. I see boys and girls of every race, color, and creed. One young woman in full hijab. Some are dressed up perfectly. Some are in t-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops.

I look every single one in the eye as they approach. I say “Congratulations”, and sometimes, if inspired, some other bit of wisdom or humor just for them. If I caught their name, I use it. I shake their hand.

I try as hard as I can to convey how much I mean it. This is perhaps the first and last time anyone will ever celebrate them like this. To acknowledge they are different, and special, and that this is in fact, awesome.

Most are awkward and shy. A few have the kind of self-confidence I still work to cultivate. A few are definitely…different. Most can’t help but smile a bit, which makes me very happy. One young man tells me “I’m a big fan of your work.”

Meeting and honoring all these kids takes a while. It’s tiring, but it’s also fascinating. I feel lucky to have this experience. We finish the names, and the families begin heading back to their cars or airports.

A few kids want their picture taken with me. “Did you really invent Rhapsody?” they ask. I explain that I was just one part of a great team, but that I did play an important role. They still think it’s cool. A bunch of families want photos with “the robotics guy”.

They hustle me and the other honorees outside for a few more photos and an interview. I go last, and try to find a shaded bench in the sudden 84-degree heat.

I catch a ride back to TIP HQ to collect my rental car. I say my goodbyes, remove my jacket, and climb into my giant Korean SUV. 

I drive over to East campus. I’m too tired and hot to walk very far, but I do check it out again and think about how much I’ve learned on this small stretch of ground.

These days, it’s hard for me to decide what had a greater impact – being a student or being a teacher. After all this time, I find I am still in both roles.

Back at the hotel, I change out of my suit into jeans and a t-shirt. I clear my email and work for several hours, until room service comes.

I put some music on. I look out the window and watch the trees ripple in the breeze until the night creeps in and erases them from view. 

TIP reunion, part 3: Precocious to Post-cocious

It's been over a month since the 30-year TIP reunion. I've had some time to reflect on my experiences and synthesize a bit of what I learned. I've managed to keep a few of the friendships I renewed at the reunion going and keep in touch with some of the people I saw there.

The reunion had a bit of a dark side, as most reunions do. In some sense, reunions are like going back to your childhood home - you are put into the mindset of being a kid again, or in this case, an adolescent. And that's not always pleasant, as there are parts of childhood best left behind. And of course, you're reminded of exactly how far from childhood you are...

One of the things I remember about being a gifted kid was a near-constant sense of inadequacy. No matter how smart or talented or bright or witty I was, there was always someone who exceeded my abilities, while making it look easy.

In a band? Some kids were in a better band. Putting out albums. Got a great score on the PSAT and SAT? Guess what? Only 2nd best, stud - that congressman's daughter scored 50 points higher and got the best score in the school. And so on.

TIP was the same way. I scored decently on the SATs as a 7th grader. But I met more than one kid there who got perfect scores on the SAT as a 7th grader. I was distracted, I goofed off, I didn't always do my best work. Other kids managed to focus and did. Even when I did do my best work, there were kids who just seemed to leave me in the dust. I taught myself geometry in about 2 weeks, passed the standardized test and got credit for it. But I did it while sitting next to kids who, in the same 2 week period, taught themselves algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and calculus.

Part of me wanted to try harder, to excel, to be not just "the best I could be", but "the best", or at least "better than that kid over there". Part of me knew it wasn't going to happen, because of ability or will or both.

Over the years I learned to deal with that longing and frustration. Perhaps I simply got better at justifying why I wasn't the best at everything, or even best at anything.

And yet, there I was, at the reunion, and suddenly it all comes rushing back.

I'm in the hospitality suite. I'm talking to a former classmate. She's got a Ph. D., and a lovely daughter who is not even 8 years old and is already asking her mom questions like "does an electron have mass?" Her life is dialed in.

Another of my former classmates is an economist contributing to a famous economics blog. Another is teaching economics at the Ivy League school where I majored in economics. Nearly everyone at the reunion had an advanced degree. They just seemed so damn smart and accomplished. Maybe I need to go back to school, do something meaningful. I ruminated and compared my own meager achievements to these people and found myself lacking.

But I start talking to them, and it begins to dawn on me: we all feel that way.

A guy who has started 2 successful businesses on his own feels like he needs to get a Ph. D in physics just so he can have one. And some of the people with one Ph. D feel they need to get a second one, because they don't feel like they've done enough. The people in academia wish they were out doing stuff in "the real world" and the people in the working world all think they should be teaching or researching.

When you're identified as having great potential, people tell you outrageous things. They say "you'll rule the world" or "you'll change everything" or "you'll be rich". You don't have to hear that too many times to start buying it when you're a kid. You want to believe it. You want to be the hero of the story, just like in all the books you've read.

But those expectations are unrealistic, if not misleading, for many reasons.

The presentation by the TIP researchers unintentionally referenced and reinforced those unrealistic expectations and dredged up all this stuff for everyone. After talking about gifted kids and how we grew up and what we were like, the researchers showed us photos of some other notable "gifted" people: Sergey Brin. Lady Gaga. A lady who'd won a big-deal physics prize.

I could feel all of the formerly precocious around me wincing in their seats as they thought "how come I'm not up there? Where did I miss my chance? Is it too late? What's wrong with me?" I saw the parade of faces and research as a kind of indictment: "How come you're not running the world yet?"

It was something of a surprise to find I wasn't the only one who felt that way. It was also a relief. And it was sort of funny, too, in how predictably everyone continued to want to (over-)achieve. It was a subject that came up repeatedly over the next day.

Of course there's something to be learned here. If I can look at these other high achievers and say "Hey, look, a second Ph. D? Dude, you really need to recalibrate your expectations"...well, maybe I need to look in the mirror and take some of my own advice.

"Diminished expectations" was a phrase kicked around a lot from age 18-22. That was when I and some of my more cynical classmates began to realize that hard work and raw talent were insufficient to guarantee success.

There were other factors at play that were just as much or more important than aptitude and effort, and often those other factors are the ones that really matter. Things like "who you know" and "how you look" and "being in the right place at the right time".

That was also around the time we began to realize there was also more to life than just work. I think of "Real Genius", a movie that affected my outlook in many ways. There's a scene where the two main characters are discussing a mysterious third person:

Chris: So, I talked to him.
Mitch: You did?
Chris: Yeah, and he used to be the number one stud around here in the 70’s. (whispers) Smarter than you and me put together.
Mitch: So what happened? Did he crack?
Chris: Yes, Mitch. He cracked. Severely.
Mitch: Why?
Chris: He loved his work.
Mitch: Well what’s wrong with that?
Chris: There’s nothing wrong with that, but that’s all he did. He loved solving problems, he loved coming up with the answers. But, he thought that the answers were the answer for everything. Wrong. All science, no philosophy. So then one day someone tells him that the stuff he’s making was killing people.
Mitch: So what’s your point? Are you saying I’m going to end up in a steam tunnel?
Chris: Yeah.
Mitch: What?
Chris: You are, if you keep up like this. Mitch, you don’t need to run away from here. When you’re smart, people need you. Use your mind creatively.
Mitch: (smiles) I noticed you don’t study too hard.
Chris: (smiles) Bingo.

You shouldn't compare your life, your self, or your achievements to anyone else. They are coming from a different situation, with different priorities. They make different sacrifices and are driven by different demons.

I will never forget the dark circles under the eyes of the girl who scored higher than me on the PSAT. She did very well in high school, but it was obvious she paid a substantial price for that success.

I think of my fellow TIP students, all of us considered precocious at one time, and now clearly "post-cocious". Potential is not a guarantee of anything. Achievements do not bring more than fleeting happiness. Aspire to being happy with who you are, not just what you do.

Use your mind creatively. Don't study too hard.

TIP reunion, part 2: Closing Remarks

The following are my closing remarks presented at the Duke University Talent Identification Program (TIP) 30th Anniversary Reunion on July 24, 2011

In applying for TIP in 1982, I had to write an essay on Montaigne. It seems appropriate to open with one of his quotes:

“Poverty of goods is easily cured; poverty of soul, impossible.”

When I was a teenager, Dr. Robert Sawyer asked me to join him in Washington D.C. for a presentation to some members of Congress. Even as a kid, I was a passionate advocate for TIP. I am honored to speak today, and grateful for the opportunity.

It is wonderful to see so many people here, many having traveled far to be here. I keenly feel the absence of some very important friends who were here the last time we got together: Ramon Griffin, Bill Bevan, and Greg Kimble.

Duke University East Campus

Gifted.

My freakish intelligence was recognized literally almost the day I was born. I was tested by scientists doing perception studies on newborns. They kept asking my parents to bring me back in because I was the smartest baby they had seen.

Many children are precious, I was precocious. We were precocious.

Gifted.

Being gifted wasn’t easy, as everyone in this room knows. There were academic, social, and emotional drawbacks, and few resources available to help me or my parents cope. It's easy to forget what that was really like, and how horrible it could be.

I was often lonely, alienated, and unhappy. Teachers tired of my answers, energy, and enthusiasm. Other students treated me with something ranging from contempt to bafflement. Special programs and magnet schools meant I didn't go to school with the kids in my neighborhood, which made me an outcast at home, too.

I preferred the company of adults to kids my age, but the novelty of a kid who could beat them at Boggle and Scrabble wore thin quickly, and most adults aren't that interested in talking to kids (even gifted ones) for more than a few minutes.

My parents did the best they could. A family friend (Dr. Colin Blaydon) suggested my parents enroll me in a new summer program at Duke, the university where he taught mathematics.

I was accepted and took Writing I in the summer of 1982, taught by Mark DeLong.

I had no idea what to expect, but by the end of that first term, I knew what "gifted" truly meant. I worked hard and met students and faculty that were really smart.

I met kids who were obviously far more brilliant than me. I met kids who were more mature, together, and accomplished. And I met kids who were far more messed up, struggling in ways I found hard to believe. I still recall one fellow student who managed to lose his shoes in a tree while trying to retrieve a Frisbee. Others seemed barely capable of normal human interaction.

TIP was the first place I felt a true sense of belonging, of friendship, of welcome. That sense of home has been the heart of my involvement with TIP. That, and the delicious Union food and the wonderful temperate weather.

I don’t remember exactly how I met Dr. Robert Sawyer, but I did meet him that summer. I don’t need to recap all the things he did for TIP, or all the things he accomplished for gifted education.

However, I will tell you why Dr. Sawyer felt there was a need for something like TIP.

He wrote extensively about how terrible most “gifted” education programs and activities were. Sadly, he could simply change the dates on many of his earliest writings on gifted education and they would still be relevant today: the lack of academic rigor, the games masquerading as curricula, the slashed school budgets, the gap between rich and poor students…

Dr. Sawyer believed we could all do better.

He wanted a serious program for gifted kids. Something that would truly challenge and stimulate them. And perhaps he wanted a bigger audience for his square-dance calling.

More importantly, Dr. Sawyer told me he was concerned about gifted children in the more impoverished parts of the country. The phrase he used was “intellectual starvation”. He wanted to provide sustenance for these gifted children. To cultivate their nascent love of learning, so society wouldn't lose the benefits of their brilliance.

I remember being keenly aware of arguments that gifted kids, being already naturally advantaged by their giftedness, did not need any special programs or extra help; and that programs like TIP were just providing benefits to those already privileged. “Elitism”, they said.

Yet we all know how essential TIP was for our intellectual well-being. I can't imagine who I would be without it. I had a gifted and easy life and I struggled. How difficult were things for kids in more extreme situations?

The author's TIP residential group, Term II 1985.

Several reunion attendees are present, including Stacy Gardiner (front row, far left), Vernon Apperson (front row, 2nd from left, navy shirt), Dean Karlan (front row, center, white jacket), Colin Delany (back row, red shirt) and Elizabeth Sellars (front row, far right). The author is in the front left, wearing the bowtie and gray pants.

In the intervening years, I have seen some first-hand examples.

Boredom corrodes minds. Without opportunity and direction, kids' talents wither and evaporate, or curdle and turn destructive. Usually self-destructive.

I was a good kid. I played by the rules. My life’s turned out OK so far. Looking around the room, I'm guessing most of your lives turned out OK, too.

But I wonder about some of our peers…the kids who taught themselves calculus in a week but were incapable of getting to class without losing their shoes in a tree, who couldn’t interact. I know not all of them had the G/T classes and other advantages I had waiting when they got home.

As its first director, Dr. Sawyer worked hard to insure TIP reached out to minorities and girls, and spent as much money on financial aid as possible. The only thing worse than not having TIP exist at all was having it priced out of reach of those who needed it most.

TIP was expensive even back in those days. I was lucky – I never had to worry. In my time at TIP I met kids from every economic level, from big cities and backwaters, thanks to Dr. Sawyer. Many would never have made it to TIP without financial aid.

I attended TIP for 4 summers and a total of 6 terms in the 80s. I served on the advisory board in the 90s, and I taught in the last decade. I've had more of an opportunity than most students (and perhaps even most faculty) to see behind-the-scenes during my nearly 30 years' association with the program.

TIP has changed quite a bit since we were students. Organizations, like people, must grow and adapt in response to the times and their own needs. Today's TIP is not exactly the same as it was back in 1982. The world is not the same. Nor are we…but our original shapes are still recognizable, even as we've adapted to life, changed, and aged.

Dr. Robert Sawyer (right, white t-shirt, light blue pants) addresses former (and future?) TIP participants

TIP is a human institution, and is thus imperfect. Like all of us, it's made some questionable moves over the years. Been in a bad relationship or two. Maybe even said and done a few things it regrets with the hindsight and wisdom that comes with age.

You don't learn if you don't make mistakes and try new things.

TIP has never stopped trying to make a difference for those children at risk of intellectual starvation.

As you leave here, I would encourage you all to reflect on the impact TIP had on your life and consider a few things.

First, maybe give TIP some money.

TIP doesn't talk about this much, but they spend every spare dollar in their budget providing financial aid to students. They would give every kid a free ride if they could make the numbers work.

TIP also faces a number of surprising fundraising challenges due to their affiliation with a major university. They can't approach most companies or "compete" with Duke for funds.

TIP needs us. It needs our help so it can help those in need. Think about it, or better yet, do it.

Next, maybe teach. If I can do it, you can. I guarantee you will learn more than you teach, and you will find it to be a rewarding – if exhausting – endeavor. Teaching will also give you a new appreciation for the TIP staff and what they have to do every year to make the magic happen. And how challenging and satisfying dealing with gifted people like us can be.

Finally, think about your own life. Perhaps it hasn't turned out exactly as you'd hoped, planned, or feared. Or perhaps it has.

I know a lot about being a gifted kid. I still don't know much about being a gifted adult. After all this time, even Lewis Terman’s research doesn’t tell us much. We’re still figuring it out.

So here we are. It’s been quite a weekend. At most reunions, you meet old friends and reminisce about what you did.

Perhaps here you can remember who you were. How you felt. What you wanted to do. What kind of person you wanted to be. What kind of life you hoped to lead. How it felt to be excited about learning, excited about living.

Seeing you all, talking to you, learning about the incredible things you’re doing, and meeting your amazing kids has been a rejuvenating and humbling experience for me.

We were all gifted kids. Now we're gifted adults. Precocious then, post-cocious now.

As Dr. Wai said, “mostly normal, with some exceptional accomplishments”. That’s as fine and fitting a description of us as I can imagine.

Yesterday, Dr. Wai talked to us about the “black box” of TIP: Student goes in to the black box, something happens, better student comes out.

Why? Where’s the magic? Dr. Wai is looking into it. In true TIP fashion, some of you offered your own thoughtful suggestions and insights.

I offer this:
It can’t be the classes and teachers – we all took different classes with different combinations of teachers.
It can’t be the years we were there – TIP has continued on year after year, and had the same results.
It can’t be the campus – as we heard, TIP has spread to many different locations and still has the same results.
It can’t be the food or the shoelaces or the weather.

I eliminate the variables and I am left with the following inescapable conclusion:

The black box is empty. The only thing in it is…you. You change you.

We call that experience “TIP”.

This weekend and these past many years, we’ve heard over and over again that TIP made you who you were. Changed you.

Well, you just spent a weekend in the black box. You were here on campus. You sat in classes, talked with instructors. You ate the food. Experienced the weather. Wore the shoelaces. Danced the Time Warp. Were told by TIP about all the rules you were supposed to follow. You broke them. Caused the staff to revise them.

Dare to let this brief moment in the black box of TIP change you again.

To remind you not just what you did, but what you can do.

To remind you not just who you were, but who you are.

Gifted.

TIP's entire Term II student body and residential staff, 1984.

(Special thanks to Iran Narges, who provided perspective and guidance in shaping my words to best convey my feelings and intent for this very special event.)