From Disability to Blessing

“Eva, I believe this is your morning to report on an article.” With a meek reply I answered, “Yes, Madam.” As I made my way to the front of the room, doubts began to fill my thoughts. At that moment, it occurred to me that I chose a science article instead of a history article and I knew I was doomed. My thoughts interrupted by her loud voice, brought me back to reality. My mind made a mental note about what she had just said. Yes, I need to read LOUDLY, because she did not like kids who whisper. Standing there my throat became thick and my hands began to shake. I began to read the key points I had put on my index card. It was horrible. Everything began to go wrong. I was so frightened I forgot how to read every other word and began to sound them out. As my confidence drained, so did my ability to present this article as I had practiced with my mom. My presentation was brought to an abrupt halt by the bellowing voice of Miss Graystone: “Eva, never in the history of my career as a teacher, have I ever been so insulted by a student’s inability to read and prepare a report, as I have been today. Sit down and do not say another word. Your article was inappropriate for history, and you have wasted the time of this class as well!” With a quivering chin and tears streaming down my face, I sat in my chair and completely tuned out the class. My best friend whispered to me, “You need to go to the office and report her to the principal. She has no right to talk to you like that!” The pain was so unbearable, I did not have the strength to go to the office and plead my case. They would probably take her side, and then I would make the situation even worse. Lost in my thoughts, again I realized what a waste of time it had been for me to get up so early and try to make a go of it. The results would have been the same if I had decided to sleep in another hour and a half. I hated school and teachers like her, who ate kids for lunch and spat them out without any thought as to how she just embarrassed me so badly in front of my peers. Did she not realize that now the days to come would be a living hell with students poking fun at me, and making sly remarks? There were a few friends, who would try to make me feel better about myself, but it was to no avail! At the end of the day, I sauntered to the flagpole at the front of the school and stood there waiting for my mother to arrive. I tried to put on a happy countenance on my face to all the students passing by. I really didn’t want to talk to anyone right then or have to answer any questions. I had learned to pretend I was happy when on the inside I was miserable. To my great relief my mom drove up and I walked to the car and got in quickly. As soon as the door shut, I burst into tears. “Oh! Mom, it was awful! She said so many mean things to me. I was sobbing to the point of gasping; nose was running and shoulder shaking as I let my emotions overcome me. She said, I couldn’t read, I wasted the class time, and humiliated me in front of everyone. Oh, I just want to kill myself! I can’t stand going through this all the time. I hate school so much when I try so hard. That was one day, out of so many, that were just like that one. School had become a combat zone for me. My teachers were the enemy. I seem to be the thorn in their side. How was I ever going to get through five more years of these painful experiences? I wondered if I had the strength to get through all those years. I wondered if when all was said, and done, what could possibly do in life to make a living. Then I wondered, what it must be like to be one of those students who made A’s and B’s and enjoyed school and laughed with friends? It’s hard to feel that you were part of a school community when the school constantly reminded you of your failures and deficits. Unfortunately, our society places value on high achievement in academics and places high value on grades, which in turn gives value to the student. If you are a failure in school, you are unable to play the game of academics because its price tag is way out of reach. You become part of the percentage of students who believe they are born losers. The ones called dumb, stupid, idiots and the one in my father’s favorite saying, “If you had one more head, you would be a half-wit.” For the first time in my young life, I had decided life was just not worth living and I began thinking about suicide. That was the only way to end this bad dream, since I apparently did not have much to contribute to this world and I was sure, no one would miss me. “Oh God,” I exclaimed, “Stop the world, I want to get off!”