He was one of those kids who failed most of his way through school. 

Although definitely not because he was lazy. 

I had watched him the last couple of years with interest as he neared my room and the grades I taught.

He seemed a bit shy for the first several weeks, even the first couple of months. 

His grades had been on a smooth slide downward ever since the first day in my class; Parent/teacher conferences were nearing, and I wondered what I was going to say about it to his parents. 

He seemed especially dejected one day, and, on a whim, I told him to run out to a room we normally used for visits; that I’d meet him there as soon as I was free.

I honestly didn’t have an agenda as I walked down the hall towards that room; but I knew my chest felt pretty tight.  I guess you could say I felt sad for the way his life was turning out.

I stepped into the room and his eyes fell as soon as they met mine. 

I sat down across from him, and we were quiet for a spell, just sitting there.

I asked him what bothered him the most.

He thought a little and said, “I guess it’s cause I fail all the time.  I never make good grades.  I wish I could.  I’m not very good at sports.  I’ve never been good enough for my other teachers, I doubt I’ll be good enough for you.”

Suddenly, inspiration struck me, probably from the upper stretches of the celestial range, more of the heavenly sort, as near as I could figure out. 

And before I could stop myself, I said, “Yes, you have failed, and your grades show you are failing in my classroom also.  But that’s not what I’m going to tell your parents when they come in for their visit about you.”

He looked up, fleetingly, with the barest glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I’m going to tell you what I’m going to tell them.” (I had his full attention now) “You aren’t dumb, regardless of what others have made you think.  You have a completely different system of operation up there in the top of your head.  It’s like this for me and other normal people; we have 4, maybe 5 marbles up in our heads and each marble stands for an idea, concept, or theory of life.  It’s not hard to reach up and grab one, look at it for a while, then toss it back and get back to schoolwork or whatever is in front of us.  You have 30, maybe 50 marbles up there in your head, and each one is brightly colored.  Some are 3D; some are charged with extra energy.  So, when it comes time for schoolwork, it’s honestly a real job to try to focus on it, because you have all these ideas and things are vying for your attention, instead of just one or two like I have in my head.”

“YES!!”  He almost shouted it.  “That’s exactly what is going on!  All day long, I have all these things I’d like to try or do, and then I realize I have schoolwork and I can’t stop thinking about my other ideas.”

“Right.  You are failing because you are rather intelligent.  From now on, don’t try so hard to suppress those ideas; come tell me about them, and then do your schoolwork.  It will all shake out okay.”

Let’s just say our young man turned into an all-out apprentice in the school of new ideas.  I was practically inundated with ideas for the next while, and a new zest for schoolwork also developed, because I had told him he would need at least a little bit of schoolwork to make those other ideas work out.

*****

I lost track of him for the next several years.  The first thing I heard was the rumor.

Supposedly, it was revival time at their church.  His dad was a preacher.  Revivals can be trying times to an early teenage boy who has lots of ideas, maybe not all of them exactly church material.

He had to wait every evening, after church, while his dad had visits with people. 

He got really tired of waiting.  So tired, that one evening, he fired up the family van and pulled it under the carport at church and left a neat set of blackies leading off the slab and out into the parking lot. 

The next evening, one of the evangelists, having heard of the minor debacle, approached him with concern for where his life was headed.  He mentioned that the direction it was going might get really warm in not too long.

It didn’t set well.

The next afternoon, while his dad was gone to church for more visits, he pulled the family van into the shop for a few modifications, that, to him had seemed long overdue.

He tied a heavy-duty fish line to the back of the accelerator pedal, fastened an eye hook of sorts directly behind it in the floor, and ran his fish line through that. 

Next, he fastened another eye hook of sorts to the far left, in the corner where the cab wall and floor meet.  He threaded his fish line through that, then directly back along the kick panel, running it through little loops along the way as he did so.  Eventually, he terminated it under the driver’s seat on the floor in front of where he normally sat.

All was ready.

Patience wasn’t a problem that evening.  Expectations almost trumped it a few times though. 

Finally, his dad and mom came out and they joined him in the van and started leaving the church yard.

It couldn’t have worked out better. 

One of the evangelists strode out for a last word with his dad about plans for the next day.

He started to reel in his line.  It felt like a big one on the other end.  As he reeled in the line, it took up slack until his fish line was taut all the way up to the back of the accelerator.  The strain of the line eased the accelerator forward.

His dad felt the van trying to move and secured the brake with substantial pressure from his foot. 

It was exactly what he needed.  He reeled in the line like his life depended on it.  The front van tires spun madly and dug twin potholes into the graveled yard.  His dad’s easy-going conversation changed into a frantic stutter as he desperately tried to arrest the screaming engine and all the extra commotion now in motion.

But he had no control over it.

Rumor has it that he got another visit from the evangelist.

And maybe most of it is rumor, but I have my doubts.

I think one of those gaily colored marbles happened to break loose in that fantastic mind of his, and he followed that glittering marble, much to his dad’s chagrin. 

And, I suppose, in a way, I am somewhat to blame.