I will never forget a moment from my childhood, more than three-quarters of a century ago, that shaped how I see education. I was at the blackboard, and I mixed up a capital E with a 3. My classmates laughed, and I knew at that moment that I was not able to distinguish what was clear to them. Later, I finally figured out left from right—enabling me to discern between certain letters and numbers more easily—because I had a tiny red birthmark on my left wrist. Now gone, for several years it was my saving grace.

I had long since learned to read by having the same books read to me again and again until I knew them by heart and could recognize the shape of the words and where they were on the page. When I could identify and name the first and last letter of a word, my reading became quicker and more fluent, although words like two and tow and toe and too and tea and tee were more a question of context than anything else. Phonics was gibberish to me.

My friend Billy Smith had the same struggle, and we talked about it one day. We both agreed that we couldn’t tell anyone because we were sure they’d put us with the “dumb kids.” Still, we earned a bad reputation because we weren’t as good at reading as the “good kids.” And we couldn’t spell.

In third grade I discovered history and devoured book after book, while Billy spent hours building things with electricity, motors, and anything else he could get his hands on. Still, we were both labeled “slackers” (our teachers loved their World War I slang), and before long, we felt alienated and defiant. I kept following my love of history; Billy followed his passion for engines. On the day he turned sixteen, he dropped out of school—officially a “failure” in their eyes—but he went on to own a gas station, then another, and eventually a whole chain of them, along with several apartment buildings. I went on to found Royal Fireworks Press to ensure that students like Billy and me could succeed—not despite school but because of it.

I realize now that our educators knew nothing about dyslexia or giftedness, and they were even more lacking in empathy and kindness. They were upholding standards, not dealing with young humans. The lessons I learned are indelible: Begin with kindness. Practice patience and empathy. Never fail to respond to the human. Make life easier for kids who are dyslexic or have other processing issues. And never fail to see the intelligence that is struggling to find expression and recognition through whatever else is going on with the child.

This awareness is at the heart of everything we do at Royal Fireworks. We know that giftedness doesn’t always look the way the system expects it to. It might appear in a child who thinks differently, learns unconventionally, or thrives outside the traditional classroom. Too often those children are misunderstood or overlooked, and it’s not for a lack of ability but because their brilliance doesn’t fit the mold.

Royal Fireworks exists to change that. We design curricula, courses, and resources that embrace the complexity of gifted and 2e learners, helping them thrive both intellectually and emotionally—because these kids matter to us personally. We aim to make learning a place where they are understood, challenged, and inspired.

Dr. T.M. Kemnitz
Founder and President
Royal Fireworks