I have some pretty exacting standards for the books I read in my spare time. No ordinary suspense paperbacks for me. I prefer non-fiction books or dense novels with lengthy words - something that makes me feel like I've learned a thing or two by the time I'm finished.

Sadly, my method for acquiring new books to read leaves much to be desired. I'll typically scan the "new arrivals" section at my local library or bookstore and just grab the ones with the most interesting-looking covers.

Foolish, I know.

But this is how I came face-to-face with the adorable violin-playing prodigy on the cover of "Hothouse Kids: The Dilemma of the Gifted Child" by Alissa Quart. Only a dozen pages into the book and I'm already beginning to identify with these talented young geniuses.

To be sure, I'm not claiming to have ever been a genius, a prodigy, or a hothouse. Though perhaps my childhood ability to turn the knees of my pants green with grass stains could be considered prodigious. But after childhoods spent excelling in their pursuits and anticipating greater things to come, many of these gifted kids were met with disappointment when adulthood failed to deliver on such fantastic promises. I can't begin to compare myself to the 4-year-old painter whose earnings approach half a million dollars or the 8-year-old skateboarder blowing away the competition and raking in corporate sponsors, but I do remember being pretty darn promising at a few pursuits in my youth. And today, where are the glory and riches?

At one time as a child I was a fairly good pianist. I was a solid soccer player and a valuable (okay, semi-valuable) member of my high school tennis team. For many years I was a very good timpanist for my age; I was also a whiz kid at multiplication tables and a knockout vocalist in my church youth choir.

Surely, I thought, greater things were yet to come. With each accomplishment I continued my efforts to climb to even greater heights. The sky, as they say, was the limit.

Looking back, I'm kind of amazed that I could be halfway decent at so many avocations. But what happened to them all? What became of the exciting anticipation of youth, the hope and promise of ever increasing skill, talent, and intellect? I am no longer gifted at playing the timpani or hitting a winning backhand down the line. I haven't collected a trophy in ages, and these days I'm forgetting where I put my keys. My current gifts seem to exist elsewhere. My greatest skills now may be the ability to navigate rush hour traffic and loyally contribute to my 401(k). Not exactly the stuff that childhood dreams are made of.

So I feel for those hothouse kids. That's one reason why childhood is such a wonderful part of life; it's full of so much promise and expectation. The challenge as an adult is to understand that although not all childhood dreams will come true, it doesn't mean that none of them can. Now is that my old tennis racket I see in the back of my closet?

BILL ZUCK, a Foxboro native now living in San Diego, once considered himself to be the next great paper airplane-throwing mastermind. You can reach him at wcz78@yahoo.com.