Please, don't come to the table with an accusation. Surely you can relate and understand that when an old tune gets played some of us aren't going to like it.
Many of those who enter Mensa have a bunch of preconceptions that are by logic and common sense just bullshit. We have to struggle against a certain reputation, and accusations of elitism and whatnot, while the only thing we're trying to do is to carve out and maintain a small corner where we can hang out and socialize.
The reason many stay is that they find common ground, a sense of belonging they've never felt elsewhere. Everyone is equal, and you can feel understood.
Let me tell a story that is an amalgam of many life stories which are surprisingly alike:
There's this kid who is active, happy, inquisitive and insatiable. She's turning four years old this summer. Her parents are very happy with her and how she wants to touch and move everything. That she need less sleep than other kids doesn't trouble them much as she sleeps sound all through the night. A year ago she started reading through the kid's stories on her own, reciting every word almost perfectly. Now she's getting bored of them, and bedtime is getting harder until her parents try regular "grown up" books in hope of boring her to sleep.
She listens intensely, and bedtime stories flare up as something magical. Her parents suspect something is off as her peers are still going through simple sentences, and some are still learning basic words in the vocabulary. They keep on reading for her, and let her read herself when she interrupts a passage demanding to see for herself.
The evenings playing with her friends are increasingly becoming tense. She wants to build a castle out of LEGO, while her playmates doesn't share the same ambition. They disagree, often, and there is some shoving. The parents feel ashamed of her behavior, and she is becoming more and more frustrated with her toys, her bedtime, her meals, her bath, her silence, her noise, her everything!
School starts. She is excited. The second she has said her goodbyes she has pretty much forgot about her parents, her house, her whole life. The only thing that matters is going into that building and start exploring. She ignores the kids crying by the parked cars and their moms and dads while running towards the school building, smelling the fresh cut lawn mixed with the new smells of institution.
Her first week is overwhelming. Her parents are happy for her, and secretly suggest that the school is giving her coffein pills judging from her excitement. She falls asleep early, heavy, and with a smile.
She wakes early, impatient. Can't stop talking about the kids she's sitting next to, that the teacher has nice hair and a nice voice and a nice smell and she farted once but when someone laughed she thought it was stupid. Everyone farts.
When the first introductory week was over they started with the ABC and some basic arithmetic. She was really happy to write down all three letters and reciting them loud, and the teacher said "very good!". She proceeded to recite a few letters more, she already knew the alphabet, but the teacher said that three letters is more than enough for now. The rest of the hour was spent singing A and B and C. She liked singing.
Some time ago, she couldn't remember when, and so can't we, her mother taught her that if you add one to one, you get two. Alright, that makes sense. If you add another one — it doesn't matter what — you'll get three. One two three. If you add another one you'll get four. Now remember when you had two? Which is one plus one? OK, you have two. What happens when you double that? You have two. Times two?
At school she liked the storytelling classes the most. Her teacher was so kind, and she had a very nice voice and pretty hair, and she smelled good. Often she sat on the teachers lap while the teacher was reading. She had made a few friends by then, and now a boy she had played a lot with were sitting on the other lap. Candles lit, the autumn dimmed the light, and she was a part of the adventure told right there.
A few weeks in she protested in math class. "One plus one is two, two plus two is four! I know this. Why can't we do something else?"
Dear, you must do the tasks and then you can move on.
But I've done them already!
The teacher comes over to check the answers. She then tells her to read the English reading book for the rest of the hour.
Spring comes, and after finishing her math and English workbook she complains that "everything is the same. it's either putting two and two and four and four, it's all the same! Why do I have to do this?".
Her mother regret giving her comic books when they ran out of literature. At some point she simply wouldn't accept being read for, instead reading herself in her own pace.
She complains, with a heartily disdain that "no-one in the class can read. They haven't read anything!". Her mother tells her to be patient, patience is a virtue. And everyone has to learn to be bored. They arrange a meeting with the school over their concerns.
The school and the principal put it simply: kids are different, she'll grow into her class. Mother and father accepts this, she doesn't understand what the problem is.
The school year is at an end, and everyone is looking forward to summer vacation. Mother has promised her a very special book when they reach their cabin, she knows that the six hour drive needs a carrot to keep the wailing at bay.
Not this time. She's way to preoccupied with the nature flowing by, and she sleeps solid for an hour. At the cabin she jumps out and demands the key. The parents immediately regret letting her sleep but they are content with the prospect of having no obligations for the next six days.
I have to pause here, continuing a little later.