Shermer says psychics and healers can feed the human desire to reconcile with a loved one who has passed on, or can comfort someone by telling her that her raising her granddaughter was "meant to be." In the same way, parents believing that their child is an Indigo might fulfill their wish to have special, gifted kids. These groups tend to be intentionally vague about the specifics so that potential converts can find whatever might fill an emotional void in their lives. Although these ideas may provide peace of mind, Shermer doesn't buy the argument that they aren't harmful. "What's the harm in doing drugs to avoid reality?" he asks. In the end, it's always better to believe harsh truths rather than comfortable lies.
So if these kids don't necessarily do better in school, don't necessarily perform any better at work or live any happier lives, what is it about them that makes them "advanced"? What's the difference between an Indigo and some kid who just doesn't like to do homework or follow directions?
Jeff Fitlow
Jan, shown with her grandmother, has the Indigo's trait of finding homework boring.
Courtesy of Jill Spence
Spence offers her granddaughter's artwork as proof of the child's special abilities.
Related Content
More About
"If they seem to have a light in their eyes," Dee says.
"You just know," Spence says.
"I see how the kids turn around and either do what they're told or accept the punishment," Jake's mother says. "I'm around other kids all day long. They're so normal. They follow directions, they will conform, they will do what society expects them to -- they are kids. They do and talk and play. They don't question everything, they don't research everything." She doesn't know how to put it into words, she says, but it's really easy once you know how to recognize it. "You would have to live it to truly understand it."
Jan is still drawing trees and suns on the chalkboard, and erasing them as soon as they're finished. She is asked what she likes to do most in school. "To play," Jan answers.
"Tell them what you said you missed about kindergarten," Jake's mother says, wanting to demonstrate her child's remarkable gifts one last time.
Jake doesn't like first grade, he says, as he plays with a plastic dinosaur. What doesn't he like about it? "Um, um, um," he stutters. "Homework."
"What is it you liked about kindergarten?" his mother asks again.
"I was just a little kid, Mom," he snaps.
He liked all the playtime, she says, because it was unstructured and gave him the ability to learn at his advanced pace. During playtime, she says, he could study the things he wanted to, without being confined to the same rote assignments as the other children. It bores him, she explains, because he's so far beyond that.
"I didn't realize that first grade was going to be like this," Jake says, as he stares remorsefully down at his Tyrannosaurus. "I didn't know nobody gets to be kids."
Ah, the wisdom of children. Adults can always learn something from them. All they have to do is listen.
