We had such a good time playing the game. Which is why we played it regularly on our visits to the big city of New York. That was many years ago when, as carefully groomed adolescent girls, we knew that we looked like what we were - the product of good homes and a good school. Pleased with ourselves, we had come to realize we had power. And it was a power game that we played.

     The game required a subway ride. We would seat ourselves in a row looking for a well-dressed man with the appearance of a successful executive. There was no need for us to signal to each other who the intended victim was. We were looking for someone who exuded power. And of course we knew what such a man looked like. Having found our prey, our small group would begin taking the victim apart with our eyes, indicating obvious disapproval. Practice taught us that the effect did not take long and that it was devastating; for the power of our disapproval was greater than the confidence of even an obviously successful executive.

     We were relentless, not taking our eyes off our quarry, watching with satisfaction as the hapless victim began to squirm. Within minutes what had been a self-assured executive was turning into an insecure specimen of manhood. It never took us more than ten minutes to achieve victory. We knew we had succeeded when our prey staggered out at the next subway stop, one that may well have been before his intended destination. There was no discussion about what we had achieved: no smiles or smirks, just a feeling of satisfaction at our power.

     Years later I realized that the effectiveness of the game we played as adolescents taps into an attribute inherent in all social animals; which is sensitivity to the opinion of others of ones kind.

     As social creatures we are painfully sensitive to the nuances, to the various signals, that tell us how other people perceive us. By kindergarten age we're already aware of the non-verbal signals that indicate approval or disapproval. We recognize who likes or dislikes us, and there's a growing sensitivity as to what is expected of us. With experience we become more perceptive, although frequently barely conscious of what we know implicitly. The often unspoken judgment of other people colors how we see ourselves. It rates us, telling us who we are, and what we are expected to be able or unable to achieve.

     Countering the power of these expectations takes immense personal grit and enterprise, a feat difficult to accomplish. The subway victims of our adolescent power game are prime examples of how even the successful executive capitulates to these non-verbal messages, to their power. Note that we achieved our goal in ten minutes or less. In comparison, the daily expectation signals sent by parents, teachers and peers take place over a period of years. The result is that they are usually overwhelming in their conviction.

     We become, and then we usually are, how others see us.

     What the classroom teacher is saying with her eyes, with her movements as she looks and speaks to each child can be unforgettable. Many of us recall the look of a particular teacher for years - even for a lifetime. And the verbal and non-verbal reaction of teachers and administrators to test results, the demands for special sessions, the diagnoses of dyslexia, learning disabilities, ADHD or other alphabet soup designations, can haunt a lifetime. With or without medication these labels and the verbal and nonverbal expectations that accompany them have the power to cripple.

     But just as expectations can have the power to cripple, they also can have the reverse effect: they can empower. My sixth grade teacher was responsible for such an empowering effect on me. She was convinced that since I was a clever girl I would be able to "do something" about barely reading on the second grade level. Her unquestioning conviction in my resourcefulness was a major reason for my figuring out how my brain could be taught to read. After that success I was confident that my brain could master any subject required of it. Had I not taught myself to read?! What might have been a disabling diagnosis of learning disability or dyslexia became instead a life enhancing experience.

     Years later while working as a psychologist with some inner city "bad" youngsters I witnessed a similar demonstration of how expectations can have a turn-around effect. In this case the effect was not only on academic performance, but also on acting-out behavior. The youngsters in question were the sixth grade failures from a major city's public school. All of the youngsters had been suspended on numerous occasions for being disruptive and destructive. Reading levels ranged from first to second grade: some of the students failing to recognize even parts of the alphabet.

     My job was to demonstrate to their teachers how to use the Ball-Stick-Bird reading system with a group of 15 to 20 of these failures. What the teachers had not expected was that the sessions, instead of being disruptive and sullen, were lively and downright hilarious. With a great deal of excited laughter and genuine intellectual eagerness the "bad" kids demanded turns in unraveling the story of Vad of Mars who has rockets for feet. Astonished, several of the teachers observed, "They're acting like model students, not like they're the "bad" kids." After just a few more sessions, what had been the illiterate inner city failures were not only beginning to read on their own, but so important, they were enjoying it. One of the teachers wondered, "How many of our bad kids could we turn into model students?"

     Is it possible to raise expectations so high that they create excessive, even cruel demands? Of course it is. But then there are those unexpected examples of people achieving extraodinary feats, if we believe they are possible and therefore extend skillful help. The rising accomplishments of Down's syndrome children over the past 50 years illustrates the potent feedback loop which rising expectations and the accompanying support can produce.

     At the start of my professional life in the 1960s a Down's syndrome diagnosis meant severe retardation. The usual recommendation to parents was that such a child is severely defective; therefore institutionalization is appropriate, even necessary. Gradually over the years as parents demanded more education for their Down's syndrome children, as they questioned the necessity of institutionalization, an astonishing change took place. The IQ levels rose from severely retarded to moderately retarded until nowadays we even see some Down's syndrome youngsters in the dull normal range. Rising expectations had encouraged more attempts at education. These were unexpectedly effective, which in turn raised more expectations on the part of dedicated and delighted parents.

      Susan, my pen pal of more than 25 years, is a happy proof of the power of positive expectations. Her mother had not understood, or wanted to understand the dictum of the experts that Down's syndrome meant severe retardation. The hopes she had for her child were labeled by these same "experts" as wishful dreams, which was also the reaction of the school system when she requested that they teach her daughter to read. So the mother took up the challenge. She found my Ball-Stick-Bird reading system and successfully taught her child. With Susan reading, the mother found an understanding school psychologist who successfully lobbied to have the child mainstreamed - an astonishing accomplishment since mainstreaming had not yet become an accepted procedure 25 years ago.

     Susan was a school success. Being sunny, with a clever caustic sense of humor she was voted the most popular girl in junior high. She graduated at 18 from high school with a special diploma - algebra had been her nemesis. The quarter of a century of Susan's letters to me are often moving, describing her mother's battle with cancer, the periodic remissions, the pleasures of gardening, Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations. Her literary skills surpass those of many of our "normal" high school graduates. Her penmanship, however, is typical of what one usually sees nowadays.

     In contrast to the literate Susan, the Down's syndrome son of an eminent academic was not so fortunate. The prominent father, being a kind man, resisted the institutionalization of Arthur, his son, which at that time was recommended. But since the "experts" insisted that Arthur would always be severely retarded there was no attempt to educate. The father felt strongly that keeping expectations low was the kind thing to do. Attempts to teach reading or other academic subjects would only lead to frustration. So convincing had the "experts" been that Arthur was, and would always be, severely retarded that even Susan's letters and the scientific study of the success of low IQ students in my IN SEARCH OF THE IQ CORRELATION failed to persuade the father. He continued to believe that it would be cruel to try teaching Arthur to read. Expectations are powerful determinants as to what is taught, and what we can become.

     Many Asiatic immigrant parents share the firm belief that high expectations lead to superior academic performance. Their attitude and belief of "you can do it" can function as encouragement and reassurance that inspire their children's strivings. These positive messages function as an emotional support and as essential components in their children's success. Here we have another example of the enhancing power of positive expectations.

     Even a show dog breeder friend of mine attributed her many blue ribbons and some failures to her own feelings, which were picked up by her dogs. As she described it: "When I've been in an up mood my dogs get blue ribbons. When I'm down, even if it's got nothing to do with the dogs, they lose." How could such non-verbal messages of affect effect even dogs? That's because dogs, like us, are social animals who perceive the feelings, moods and expectations of others. With their beloved breeder feeling up they pranced about showing off their stuff. When she was down, they just couldn't put on a successful show, mirroring her negative mood and losing to the competition.

     Given the powerful effects of positive expectations, how can we avoid going overboard with our hopes thereby creating excessive demands? The Down's syndrome youngsters can give us a clue. What occurred there took place in incremental steps over time with gradually increasing expectations linked to increasing education followed by rising levels of performance. After each new accomplishment a little more help and encouragement was given, which allowed new expectations to come to fruition. Over a period of years this feedback loop created a ladder of success.

     But just as it is possible to create a ladder of success so it is also possible to create the reverse: a ladder to failure. All too frequently that's the effect of labeling when individual differences, rather than being viewed as enriching us all, are diagnosed as defects, sometimes even as signs of brain damage.

Examples are the numerous children whose cognitive organization is mechanical rather than linguistic who are labeled dyslexic or learning disabled. Then there are the born nerds who could eventually become the next CEOs of successful dot.coms who are diagnosed as mildly autistic, as having Asperger's syndrome. Or the potential star athletes whose pleasure and need for physical activity are labeled as cases of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. Instead of being viewed as having important talents, the expectations are that these youngsters have something wrong with them requiring serious intervention. The negative affect associated with expectations created by defect diagnoses can have destructive effects that have an eerie resemblance to the power game we played as adolescents.

     But there is an additional factor at work that produces the ladder to failure. And this is that diagnoses of cognitive deficits and the lowered expectations they engender are interpreted to mean reduced intellectual capacity. As a result intervention methods tend to dumb down and to oversimplify what has to be learned into meaningless segments.

     What follows are interminable boring drill sessions with the meaningless segments. These, not only fail to interest students, but because they are out of context fail to make sense to the human brain. Again and again we see "dyslexic" students being drilled in isolated phonics or repeatedly exposed to whole words without any effective learning taking place. We see the budding nerd diagnosed as mildly autistic and painstakingly practiced in "social awareness" instead of being allowed to explore the latest technology or become entranced by mathematics or physics. Then there is the youngster who can't sit still because he's a born athlete with his brain and muscles crying for exercise who is given Ritalin instead of sports activities. By their very nature, defect diagnoses create expectations that lead to medical or other intervention techniques that frequently are ineffective if not destructive ladders to failure.

     In contrast, those of us who have encountered the powerful affect of positive expectations accompanied by intellectually stimulating instruction will always remember and cherish that life-enhancing experience when a teacher, a parent, or a friend by regarding us as ever so capable helped us achieve a supposedly "impossible" feat. And once you have achieved an "impossible" feat you know there can and will be other "impossible" feats that you can and will achieve.