They were tiny, in the beginning, as children are. Tiny and innocent and selfish and sharing all in one. They corrected each other’s grammar, helped each other up the climbing wall in the gym, listened patiently and without judgment as yet another fellow tot rambled on about bugs, or space travel or endangered species.

They were each exceedingly smart in their own way, with IQs well-documented by anxious parents. And most sported emotional radar deeper and more sensitive than the average child. Their eyes spoke volumes, even when their mouths weren’t moving.

All of this combined made them “different.” In neuropsychologists’ terms, it made them “gifted.”

In my eyes, it made them the most beautiful tiny humans on earth. And possibly the ones best suited to save us from ourselves.

My sons had the extreme privilege of going to a small school for gifted children. It sits, nestled on the…