Ultimately, we all wanted David, our six-year-old, to have a good education. So my husband Oliver, my son David, and I moved to a little town, home to Willowridge Academy — a prestigious and expensive private school.

Oliver and I promised each other that we would do everything we could to give our boy the best opportunities when it came to education. Also, David is a brilliant kid — he was reading well at age four, learning different facts about wildlife at five, and now, at six, he was doing weird science experiments in my kitchen.

We didn’t want to stunt his growth by making him go to an ordinary state school. So, when my sister mentioned the Academy, I knew that it was something we should look into.

“It’s like a swanky place, Emma,” she said. “It’s known for smart kids and academics. I think all the teachers have written books and published papers and all of that.”

“And how do you know this?” I asked, hoping for a reliable source.

“Read it in a magazine at the dentist,” she said.

But it was worth the internet search. Oliver and I sat in bed, his laptop between us, reading everything we could about the place. Naturally, we were impressed. It seemed like the type of place David would thrive in.

Oliver gave me the go-ahead to begin applications — it included a three-minute video presentation of David talking about something he loved. He chose giraffes.

We let a few weeks pass, and finally, Mrs. Thompson, the school’s principal, reached out to us. She told me that David had an interview with her. The interview was for her to figure out whether David would be a good fit for the school, and she also wanted to understand his personality.

It all sounded great. Oliver and I made the appointment and looked forward to seeing our son show Mrs. Thompson who he was.

Fast forward to us driving to the little town — I imagined I would fit right in; it looked like a good, slow, and quiet life. I knew that Oliver would struggle. But we would do anything for David, so we were optimistic about the whole thing.

Now, picture this:

David and I are sitting in the principal’s office, surrounded by all her certificates framed on the wall. Mrs. Thompson begins by throwing basic questions at David, and he replies enthusiastically because this feels like child’s play to him.

Then, she drops a bomb on him, asking him to spell his name.

And bam! David’s forehead creases like he’s thinking hard and trying to crack a secret code. He wipes his palms on his pants and wrings his hands together. Then, out of the blue, he stands up.

Mrs. Thompson looks over her glasses to me, and I shrug in return. I was curious to know where David was going with this. All I knew was that Oliver was missing this entire interaction because he had to step out for a work call.

With frustration and confusion in his eyes, David turned to me.

“Mom, why does Mrs. Thompson think I’m stupid? Or is there a different way to spell my name than we know?”

Thompson burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. To my surprise, she explained that she could see that David had a keenly developed mind and an interesting way of thinking.

After that, they talked about random topics for the next twenty minutes, with David impressing the principal — you could see it in her responses.

The result?

David passed his interview with ease and got into the school. It’s been about a month since we moved, with Oliver going back and forth to the city for work.

David loves being here. He is challenged and entertained by everything. And the best part? Mrs. Thompson became his history teacher, and he swears she is his favorite.

I think so, too — she’s constantly slipping a chocolate or lollipop into his backpack.

So, that’s how David managed to get into his prestigious school, and as predicted, he is thriving as well as we had hoped.

What about you? Do you have any fun kid stories?