Rosemary Flite

I have experienced what that judgment feels like and it’s horrible. Language is identity and when someone tries to change that it makes you feel like you are not good enough. I was in speech therapy all the way from first grade to eighth and I hated it. I went two days a week and each of those days I remember begging my mom to let me stay home even though I knew it was no use and each time I was called out of class to go I would turn and red as a tomato, put my head down as I stood up and hurry out of the classroom as fast as possible, hoping that nobody would notice me.

In seventh grade my friend, Misty, and I were both in the middle of a dull history class and the phone rang. As our teacher walked to the phone my mind was swarmed with thoughts, “Hopefully it’ll be someone going home early! Or maybe it’ll be my mom calling to pick me up early because she knew how badly I hated speech! Or or or maybe it’s a call from the speech teacher saying we don’t have to go today because she has a meeting!” I was torn out of my hopeful thoughts with the history teacher saying “Rosie and Misty! Time to go!” Once I heard that I did my usual routine, turn red, duck, and run out of the classroom. My history class was on the third floor and the therapist’s office was on the second floor. As I walked down to the second floor each step made me feel more embarrassed. When I got into her room my first thoughts were “Yay back to prison.” Her office was the size if a supply closet, instead of a door it had one of those gates you see at malls when it’s time for all the stores to close, a table and cabinet was all that could fit into the room and all that was left in there was a tiny clock that I would never take my eyes off of.

Misty and I sat down at the table with the therapist, Mrs. G. She asked us about our weekend and we answered but that wasn’t good enough for her so she started rolling her eyes and saying, “Tongue behind your teeth when you say something with a S in it, Rosie. And Misty remember why you’re here.” Then made us repeat what we said until it was perfect. Each time I would fight back my tears and the urge to tell her that I wasn’t perfect and just because I have a lisp doesn’t mean I needed to be treated like a baby. I knew I couldn’t cry though because I would be judged and I couldn’t talk back without getting in trouble so I just had to grin and bare it. Every time after speech Misty and I would talk about how we felt like we were monkeys trapped in a cage called school for everyone to watch and laugh at.

I was able to handle being made fun of about the way I talk, but when my little brother came to my school for first grade, he also had a lisp. I was afraid that kids would be as mean to him as they were to me but his friends weren’t mean to him about it at all. They didn’t notice anything about it and to then he was a normal kid, they played games and had fun and didn’t worry about anything, but to my friends he was “retarded. ” One day when I was in seventh grade and he was in first, a boy in my science class told me these words, “Your brother talks so funny, he’s retarded.” My response was “Shut up!” and I ran off to the bathroom balling my eyes out.

That’s what made me realize that language is identity because when you talk differently people will create their own character for yourself even if you look at yourself differently then that. All throughout first to eight grade I didn’t know what confidences was because I was always afraid since I didn’t talk how society wanted nobody would like me. I was really shy and had only a few friends. When I finally graduated and came to SLA I realized that language couldn’t be forced upon somebody. You can’t control a person because when you do try to you might create more problems, at least in my case and also Misty’s that’s what happened. I am happy with myself and I like my lisp, it’s something that makes me different then everyone else and it’s part of whom I am.

What people who make judgments need to remember though is a quote from an essay called I Just Want to be Average by Mike Rose. It says, “The charade was over, and when it came down to it, I don’t think any of the kids really wanted it to end up this way.” I wish I could have had the guts to tell people something like what that quote says when I was bullied and judged for talking funny. It describes what was going on with me because I wasn’t pretending to be someone whom I wasn’t; I wasn’t putting up a charade. People don’t think about how their words affect others and so I was the misfit for nothing that I could control. It really opened my eyes to know people are because they judge off of what’s different to them, your identity.