Who is a genius? This question has greatly interested humankind for centuries.

Let's state clearly: Einstein was a genius. His face is almost the international symbol for genius. But we want to go beyond one man and explore the nature of genius itself. Why is it that some people are so much more intelligent or creative than the rest of us? And who are they?

In the sciences and arts, those praised as geniuses were most often white men, of European origin. Perhaps this is not a surprise. It's said that history is written by the victors, and those victors set the standards for admission to the genius club. When contributions were made by geniuses outside the club—women, or people of a different color or belief—they were unacknowledged and rejected by others.

A study recently published by Science found that as young as age six, girls are less likely than boys to say that members of their gender（性别）are "really, really smart." Even worse, the study found that girls act on that belief Around age six they start to avoid activities said to be for children who are "really, really smart." Can our planet afford to have any great thinkers become discouraged and give up? It doesn't take a genius to know the answer: absolutely not.

Here's the good news. In a wired world with constant global communication, we're all positioned to see flashes of genius wherever they appear. And the more we look, the more we will see that social factors（因素）like gender, race, and class do not determine the appearance of genius. As a writer says, future geniuses come from those with "intelligence, creativity, perseverance（毅力）, and simple good fortune, who are able to change the world."

    It was one of those terribly hot days in Baltimore. Needless to say, it was too hot to do anything outside. But it was also scorching in our apartment. This was 1962, and I would not live in a place with an air conditioner for another ten years. So my brother and I decided to leave the apartment to find someplace indoors. He suggested we could see a movie. It was a brilliant plan.

    Movie theaters were one of the few places you could sit all day and—most important —sit in air conditioning. In those days, you could buy one ticket and sit through two movies. Then, the theater would show the same two movies again. If you wanted to, you could sit through them twice. Most people did not do that, but the manager at our theater. Mr. Bellow did not mind if you did.

    That particular day, my brother and I sat through both movies twice, trying to escape the heat. We bought three bags of popcorn and three sodas each. Then, we sat and watched The Music Man followed by The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. We'd already seen the second movie once before. It had been at the theater since January, because Mr. Bellow loved anything with John Wayne in it.

    We left the theater around 8, just before the evening shows began. But we returned the next day and saw the same two movies again, twice more. And we did it the next day too. Finally, on the fourth day, the heat wave broke.

    Still, to this day I can sing half the songs in The Music Man and recite half of John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart's dialogue from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance! Those memories are some of the few I have of the heat wave of 1962. They're really memories of the screen, not memories of my life.

When I was 9, we packed up our home in Los Angeles and arrived at Heathrow, London on a gray January morning. Everyone in the family settled quickly into the city except me. Without my beloved beaches and endless blue—sky days, I felt at a loss and out of place. Until I made a discovery.

Southbank, at an eastern bend in the Thames, is the center of British skateboarding, where the continuous crashing of skateboards left your head ringing .I loved it. I soon made friends with the local skaters. We spoke our own language. And my favorite: Safe. Safe meant cool. It meant hello. It meant don't worry about it. Once, when trying a certain trick on the beam（横杆）, I fell onto the stones, damaging a nerve in my hand, and Toby came over, helping me up: Safe, man. Safe. A few minutes later, when I landed the trick, my friends beat their boards loud, shouting: " Safe! Safe! Safe!" And that's what mattered—landing tricks, being a good skater.

When I was 15, my family moved to Washington. I tried skateboarding there, but the locals were far less welcoming. Within a couple of years, I'd given it up.

When I returned to London in 2004, I found myself wandering down to Southbank, spending hours there. I've traveled back several times since, most recently this past spring. The day was cold but clear: tourists and Londoners stopped to watch the skaters. Weaving（穿梭）among the kids who rushed by on their boards, I found my way to the beam. Then a rail—thin teenager, in a baggy white T—shirt, skidded（滑）up to the beam. He sat next to me. He seemed not to notice the man next to him. But soon I caught a few of his glances. "I was a local here 20 years ago," I told him. Then, slowly, he began to nod his head. "Safe, man. Safe."

"Yeah," I said. "Safe."