The meeting with the school psychologist didn’t begin with tension or alarm. There were no stern expressions, no urgent whispers in the hallway. My mother sat calmly across from a modest wooden desk while sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds. On the desk, the psychologist arranged a few simple picture cards: potatoes, carrots, and beets. Ordinary vegetables. The kind you might find in a basket at the market or simmering in a pot on the stove.
Then came the question.
“What would you call these things together?”
My mother didn’t hesitate. “Vegetables,” she replied confidently. It was precise, logical, and technically perfect. The psychologist nodded, as if expecting that answer. For a moment, it seemed like the conversation could end right there.
But it didn’t.
The psychologist gently explained that earlier that day, I had been shown the same pictures and asked the very same question. My response had surprised them. Instead of naming the category, I had started talking about soup. About my grandmother’s kitchen. About how the smell of boiling vegetables meant winter evenings and family dinners. I described how they all ended up together in one pot, how my mother chopped them on a wooden board, how steam fogged up the windows.
To me, they weren’t simply “vegetables.”
They were ingredients in a story.
The psychologist wasn’t correcting me. There was no concern in her tone—only curiosity. She explained that some children instinctively think in classifications. They sort the world into neat boxes: fruits, animals, tools, colors. Others, however, connect ideas through lived experience. They see relationships instead of labels. They build narratives instead of categories.
Neither way is wrong.
In fact, she said, the second way often reflects imagination, emotional awareness, and associative thinking. It can signal creativity—the ability to see links others might miss. While one mind organizes, another weaves. One defines, the other describes.
My mother listened carefully. I imagine something shifted for her in that moment. Perhaps she had worried that I’d answered incorrectly. That I hadn’t understood the task. But now she saw that understanding doesn’t always look the same. Intelligence doesn’t arrive in a single shape. Some children recite definitions. Others paint pictures with words.
The conversation moved from vegetables to perspective—how schools often reward structured thinking, yet the world also needs storytellers, artists, designers, and problem-solvers who approach questions from unexpected angles. The psychologist emphasized that nurturing different ways of thinking matters more than correcting them.
By the time the meeting ended, there was no heaviness in the room. What began as a simple classification exercise became something far more meaningful. It became a reminder that answers aren’t valuable only when they fit neatly into categories.
Sometimes the richest response isn’t the most obvious one.
Sometimes, instead of naming the vegetables, you remember the soup.
FAQ
Is creative thinking a sign of intelligence?
Yes. Research in educational psychology shows creative thinking reflects cognitive flexibility and emotional depth.
Why do some children answer differently in school tests?
Because children process information differently — some categorize, others associate through experiences.
Disclaimer:
This article is for informational and educational purposes only. It does not replace professional psychological or educational advice. If you have concerns about your child’s development, consult a qualified professional.
