An Unforgettable Moment that Charted My Path

The first time I realized that I was different was in first grade. I had never noticed my stuttering before, but as I was entering the real world, it became clear that I would have to find a way to conquer this or avoid situations that required talking. At six years old, I really thought I could go through life without saying a single word.

Reading aloud to the class was torture. The minute I knew I had to read, the anxiety started. Some teachers gave me a short part to read, or chimed in when I was stuck. They somehow believed that if I just took my time, I could muddle through it. I hated school, all of it. Even during lunch and recess, surrounded by other children, I was isolated. I wondered how I would ever be able to live a normal life.

In fourth grade, my teacher was Miss Brown. I still remember her beautiful face that reflected her compassion for children. She recognized my problem immediately and never required me to speak in front of the other children. She saw through the desperation in my eyes, who I really was: an intelligent, creative child who was strangled by this malady.

On her birthday, we had a cake and took turns telling Miss Brown how we felt about her. As it became closer to mu turn, instant panic set in. I felt sick. I wanted so badly to tell her that I loved her. None of the other students were aware of my stuttering, but now, they would know. I ran through the rolodex of acceptable words in my head, trying to put together a manageable sentence and practice it in a whisper. When it was my turn, all eyes were on me, everyone was eager to hear from "mouse" (my nickname). I felt sweaty and cold at the same time. I started shaking and could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I had no idea how to escape this.

I raised my hand and as she motioned me up to her desk she said, "Carol, do you want o tell me something? Come on up." My racing heart paused, and my thoughts silenced. She rescued me. The tears came with such a release of emotion. I whispered (stuttering doesn't happen in whispers) "Happy birthday, I love you." She smiled at me so warmly that I grabbed her in a desperate hug and I held on until she finally said, "Okay, then, back to your seat." I didn't even look up. I didn't want to see my judges and invite them into my moment.

It was at the time that I became an advocate for children. I wanted to be a rescuer.

As life went on I became pretty adept at maneuvering around language and discovered that I rarely stutter when talking to children. All the more reason to become a teacher. I wanted to be a haven for them like Miss Brown was for me. She saw children deeply, beyond the subtle smile and into their hearts. Throughout my teaching career, I looked for these children; the quiet, awkward ones with ill-fitting clothes and upkept hair. The lost children hoping for someone to grab them up before they fall. I wanted them to see me as I saw my rescuer; hand to hold, a peaceful presence and a safe place to land.