13-year-old Long Island boy with a 168 IQ gets into NYU master’s program – what parents and teachers can learn
The first time I saw him, Leo was sitting in the back row of my seventh-grade math class, finishing the worksheet before I had even handed it out. He wasn’t showing off; he just seemed mildly annoyed that he had to wait. By October, he had worked through the entire year’s curriculum and was reading a linear algebra textbook during my lessons. The book’s cover was worn, and I once saw him use it as a pillow during a fire drill.
That was two years ago. Last month, the same boy, now thirteen, was accepted into NYU’s master’s program in computer science. His IQ is reportedly 168, which didn’t surprise me. But what surprised me – and what I’ve thought about a lot since – is not how smart he is. It’s how well he’s managed to stay ordinary.
Around the time Leo was finishing seventh grade, his mother and I had a conversation that changed how I approached teaching gifted kids. “We don’t want him to be a prodigy,” she said. “We want him to be a person.” That doesn’t sound revolutionary, but it is. So much of what happens with highly intelligent children is about labels, achievements, and the pressure to perform. She was pushing back against that.
So what did they actually do? A few things caught my attention. His parents requested that I not pile on extra homework just to keep him busy. Instead, they asked for open-ended projects. When the rest of the class was learning basic algebra, Leo built a small program to calculate the odds of winning a card game. He had to learn about probability, write code, and present his results to the class. That took time, and it gave him a challenge without treating him like a machine.
They also set strict boundaries around screen time and sleep. Leo was allowed to study advanced topics, but he had a bedtime. He had chores. His mom once told me that he had to unload the dishwasher before he could spend any time on his college-level physics course. I laughed, but she was serious. That kind of structure matters – not just for kids like Leo, but for any child with a deep interest. It teaches them that being smart doesn’t exempt you from being a functional member of a household.
In the classroom, I learned to give him a different path without making him feel like a special case. Every Monday, I’d give him a list of learning objectives for the week, and he’d show me what he planned to do. Sometimes he’d propose something I hadn’t considered, like making a video to explain a concept to the rest of the class. That was his idea – he said it helped him understand things better. So we let him try. He wasn’t showing off; he was figuring out how to communicate. That’s a skill no IQ test measures, but one that will serve him long after he finishes his degree.
Of course, there were awkward moments. He once told a classmate that their group project was “suboptimal.” That didn’t go over well. His teacher and his parents worked on that. They coached him on how to offer feedback without sounding condescending. They explained that being right is less important than being heard. He started saying things like “I see a different way we could try this” instead of “that’s wrong.” That was huge.
What I also appreciated was their insistence that he stay with kids his age for social activities. He didn’t skip grades in middle school, even though he was ready academically. Instead, he went to regular classes for English and history, spent time with kids his own age, and took college courses on weekends. This meant he had friends who played tag at recess and friends who were PhD students. Both were valuable, but the tag was probably more important for his long-term wellbeing.
Now that he’s at NYU, the challenges are different. He’s taking graduate-level courses with students in their twenties. He’s talking about research projects and thesis advisors. It’s thrilling, but also a little terrifying. I asked his mother how he’s doing, and she said he’s overwhelmed and excited in equal measure. He also still watches cartoons on Saturday mornings. That balance – being both a serious scholar and a regular kid – isn’t automatic. It has to be protected.
For parents and teachers of gifted children, I think the lesson isn’t about IQ scores or acceleration. It’s about asking a simple question: what does this child need right now, not as a future adult, but as a person? Sometimes that means harder math. Sometimes it means a break. Sometimes it means letting them fail at something easy so they learn to ask for help. Leo’s parents let him struggle with a group project in seventh grade. They didn’t step in to save him, and that was harder for them than it was for him.
I’m not saying every gifted child should be pushed into a master’s program at thirteen. In fact, I’d argue the opposite. Leo’s path is specific to his temperament, his family’s support, and his own desires. He wanted this. His parents didn’t push him. They just refused to put a ceiling on his curiosity, and they also reminded him that there’s more to life than solving problems quickly.
He still has trouble with mundane things like remembering his backpack. His locker is a disaster. The other day, he called his mother from the library at NYU because he couldn’t figure out how to print a document. That made me smile. He’s still thirteen. He’s learning how to be a student and how to be a person, and those are two separate jobs. Right now, the master’s program is going well, but nobody knows what will happen next semester. Maybe he’ll love it. Maybe he’ll want to go back to classes with kids his age for a while. The key is that he gets to choose.
I’ve taught a lot of students over the years, and Leo stands out not because of his IQ score – I don’t even remember the exact number – but because of how ordinary he is in all the right ways. He gets annoyed when his parents make him do the dishes. He laughs too loudly at silly videos. He forgets to tie his shoes. That’s what gives me confidence. Because the best outcome for a gifted child isn’t a degree or a title. It’s the ability to hold onto their curiosity and their humanity at the same time. So far, Leo seems to be doing both.
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