I don't think I've ever told any of you that I was born with a speech impediment. In short, I stuttered. It seems to be genetic and affects the males in our family much more than the females. Stress and anxiety can make it worse which was the case for me as we had a violent alcoholic mother who kept the stress levels sky high.
So much as trying to get through a paragraph was tough for me, and made it really hard to communicate. In a calm environment, I stuttered less, but that was never the case at home. My mother was ignorant of the condition, and thought I had much more control over it than I actually did. She hated it when I stammered in front of her friends and would threaten me with beatings if I didn't stop.
This made me terrified to speak when we visited her friends homes, as I could only say my name and age without tripping over my words. Mom carried an extension cord in her purse, and would use it on me if I embarrassed her in front of her friends by stuttering during a conversation. My older sister would usually come to my rescue and speak for me if the guest was throwing too many questions.
One day, mom was visiting her best friend and took us along. I was admonished that I'd better not shame her, and best keep my mouth shut. The woman of course noticed I wasn't talking and came over to chat with me.
She asked my name, and I gave it to her, then my age, and I said "nine" but she didn't stop there. She wanted to know what I wanted to be when I grew up, and like many little boys, I wanted to go into space. Knowing I couldn't say that, I looked at my sister who came over, put an arm around me and said: "He wants to be an astronaut" the lady seemed taken aback at my lack of a response and told me "Why doesn't he talk? I want to hear from YOU!"
You can imagine how this ends. My mother ordered me to speak, and being put on the spot, I stuttered badly. right there, she freaked out reaching for the extension cord in her purse and started using it. Horrified, her friend reached out to stop her, and explained that I had no control over my stammer, and that if she hit me again, she'd report her to children's services. They argued, and mom stormed out with us to punish me at home. She never spoke to her friend again.
Worried about being reported, I was finally taken to a speech pathologist who explained everything to her, and warned her not to beat me again, or he'd report her himself. But this amazing man was the person who gave me the tools to work through my disability.
What I shared with the class Saturday, was the vocal training program he taught me. Every day, He had me find a quiet place with a mirror, which was usually the bathroom, and close the door. I had to perform breathing exercises, and then pick a "word of the day" at random from the encyclopedia, and pronounce it alone, then use it in a short sentence.
He said that some words are mouth words, tongue words, and throat words, and I should break them down until I was able to pronounce them. Most valuable to me was learning to enunciate each syllable. I likely sounded like a robot at first, then my speech became more natural over time. This ritual was done 7 days a week, and 365 days per year, excluding holidays. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life.
You see, I was excluded from life in that poor neighborhood, as I was the only person that had trouble speaking. No one quite knew what to make of me, and thought I was either a deaf mute, or developmentally disabled. Therefore I would always be challenged to speak properly when trying to join games with the other kids, and ejected with violence from their company when I couldn't.
It took ten long years, from the age of 10 to 20, before I could enjoy the polished speech that so many people take for granted. Some people wish for fame and fortune, but as a little boy, I wished only to talk like everyone else.
Raised by a single mom, I missed out on the normal childhood that the other kids had, which is why I could relate to Michael Jackson not having one as well. While the others were out playing sports, I was cloistered away indoors to avoid being beaten by those same kids, and facing that mirror day after day.
So sharing all of that with my class was something that I think could really help someone dealing with the same issues in life. Several people in class said that they knew others with a similar problem, and would pass my story on to them. It was a beautiful day to share.
The other thing I like doing is lighter and may just make you smile. I love to leave gifts of food in vending machines. Yes, you read right. I'll go to a public place and pay for some snacks, then leave them at the bottom of the machines. We have people who check the vending machines hoping that someone left something behind, and it's a joy to see them squeal with delight when they discover those free items.
We have an awesome kid on campus with Aspergers, who loves to run through the cafeteria checking the machines for change and goodies. I love leaving things for him and seeing how happy it makes him just warms my heart to make his day as well.
I also leave the change in the coin slots as well for them to take. If they catch me in the act, I just pretend I have to make a bus and head off letting them know that they can have them. Doing something kind for someone else makes for a day not wasted, and that's how I spent my weekend. What about yours?
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Image credit: All images by @EverNoticeThat
