Like most nerds, I didn’t know I was one until I started school. There I quickly found out that my enthusiasm for answering the teacher’s questions made others feel I was deliberately trying to make them look bad. My classmates were not shy about expressing their feelings on the playground. Fortunately, I was tall and stood my ground, a bluff that helped repel bullies. But mostly I survived by learning to keep quiet in the classroom.

I became a high-school teacher because I realized there were lots of young nerds growing up who needed to know that being a nerd was not just OK but something wonderful. Unfortunately, they weren’t likely to hear this even from teachers, although virtually every modern blessing from democracy to electric motors originated with a nerd. Some, like Thomas Paine, were idealistic; others, like Tesla, eccentric. Newton was arrogant and Einstein absent-minded. All of them are now considered geniuses. But make no mistake: 17-year-old versions of these men, placed in modern American high schools, would instantly be labeled as nerds.

I raised two nerd sons and a daughter, who describes herself as a nerd sympathizer, partly because I didn’t have the cleverness to raise “cool” kids, but also because, selfishly, I wanted nerds to talk to. Every year I invite my Advanced Placement physics students to my house for study sessions before the AP test. Last year one student nerd’s mother told me that her son had returned home and talked for hours about how awesome it was to have found a nerd family. Unfortunately, the world’s response to our family has not always been so enthusiastic.

When my sons were still in school, they were often picked on by classmates. My older boy, a pale and unathletic kid, was an easy target. When his middle-school science teacher asked if anyone could name some elements, my son recited the periodic table from memory. Thanks to events like that, he endured nerd hell at the hands of bullies when waiting for the school bus every afternoon. We tried karate classes and pep talks to bolster his defenses, but he was never able to win his tormentors’ respect. He was just too small.

My boys were often misunderstood by their teachers, too. My younger son’s middle-school social-studies teacher rigidly insisted that he take notes. When he refused, she publicly told him he would never graduate from high school. My son was perfectly capable of taking notes, but in typical nerd fashion, he couldn’t bring himself to comply because it was illogical. He could easily remember what the teacher had said. Writing it down cut into his thinking time.

Clearly, my son would have to give his teacher what she wanted, but it had to be done with style. We discussed options. These included taking notes in one of the foreign languages he studied as a hobby. I discouraged it because he had learned some colorful foreign terms and was capable of describing his teacher in ways that could make a sailor blush. Finally, we agreed he would write his notes backward.

For six months he transcribed his teacher’s lectures backward. When I held my son’s notes up to a mirror, they were perfectly readable. I shouldn’t have been surprised. As a small child he’d entertained us by turning books upside down and reading them backward. I waited for a complaint from his teacher, but she never noticed.

Despite childhood trials, both of my sons remain devoted nerds. My older son became conversational in four foreign languages and has hitchhiked around Europe three times. And these days no one would mistake him for a sissy. On one occasion a group of Russian policemen threw him a party after he accepted their invitation to take a mid-December dip in a spring filled with near-freezing water.

My younger son proved his teacher wrong and graduated from high school. He scored 1600 on the SAT and was asked to give a speech before 500 educators and politicians who had gathered to honor education. It was his one moment of visibility. As I waited for him to talk, my stomach flip-flopped. I had no idea what he was going to say. He rose from his seat and delivered 10 minutes of stand-up comedy on being a nerd. The audience laughed until they cried. I cried. Afterward a young nerd paid him his highest compliment: “Thank you for what you’ve done for our people.” No, our kind doesn’t fit the stereotypes, but yes, there is something wonderful about being a nerd.