I've lived with this my entire life. It was a source of much stress when I was growing up because we were always moving so I was always the new kid. Combine glasses, braces and an educational aptitude that was usually far above most of my classmates with that and I was the target for either a) bullying or b) kids trying to get me to do their work for them.
A lot of a), often caused by refusing b). I could have written this, minus the braces. In elementary school, my classmates thought I was weird because I knew how to read before I started school, and by the end of kindergarten was reading fluently and well above grade level. Kindergarten then was ABCs, colors, shapes, all the sort of thing they teach now in nursery school. They only started to teach actual reading in first grade, and then it was sight-reading, not phonics. Teach a child that this shape means "cat" but not that C says "k" and A says "aa" and T says "t", and he's lost when you ask him what C A R or C A T T L E means. Even as late as junior high my classmates were. Reading. One. Word. At. A. Time. It HURT to hear them read aloud. I wouldn't be surprised if most of them read their last book in high school. We left that town when I was in 8th grade, and I'd read through all of the children's books that interested me, most of the YA, and was making inroads on the adult fiction. It upset the old lady librarian greatly that I wasn't reading "suitable" books, by which she meant girls' books about wanting to be ballerinas or nurses or some other suitable female profession. The children's section was segregated into "girls' books" or "boys' books," with only a few books deemed suitable for everyone. All the good stuff like SF was in the boys' section!
As an adult, no one has ever criticized what I read and how much I read, with the exception of the librarian at a small US military base in Italy where I found myself stuck for 2 1/2 interminable years. He thought I ought to be content to read the generous selection of Harlequin Romances that had been ordered specifically for dependent wives, and not be bothering him for ILLs from other base libraries.
And raiding the books meant for the guys wasn't in the cards either, because most of them were secret agent series with names like "The Terminator" or "The Executioner" or "The Exterminator." I survived on care packages from my mother and sister.
What's fun is watching someone come into the house who isn't familiar with our personal library. "Did you guys read all of those books?" And DH laughs and says "That's only about half of them. The rest are upstairs." There are 1988 books in the inventory, and I know that we've probably missed a few. Every time we moved, the moving company was told to bring 40 (or 50, 60, 70...) book boxes, and someone looked at that and obviously thought "They can't possibly mean 40 (50, 60, 70...) book boxes! Sam must have misheard them. They meant 14 (15, 16, 17...)" And when they got to the house and looked at the library, someone went back to the warehouse and brought the rest of the book boxes that they were TOLD to bring.