Thank you for sharing your communications with Linnea. This is my response:
I must have been only three-years old, but I remember my mother’s panic as she rushed to the five and dime to buy me a new outfit for a visit to the ophthalmologist. She wanted me to look pretty and normal. She was proud of me and convinced that despite my visual deficits, I had a normal brain.
I recall my first day at Kindergarten in public school even before Public Law 94-142. I felt the worry and pain in my mother’s heart. To take her pain away, I somehow figured out that if I told her I was going to college, she would be happy. When she picked me up from my first day at school on that early afternoon in September 1968, I said to her “I’m going to college some day.” She will confirm this story and repeats it over and over again.
But my need to protect my mother from her despair, soon turned into my own pain and isolation from others. During recess at Kindergarten, I did not see that the child at the bottom of the slide had not moved herself to a safer position. As I took my turn on the slide, I bumped into her, knocking her from the bottom of the slide. Although she was not hurt, I was abruptly reprimanded by my peers and banished from participation in all future group activities.
So I proceeded to move to another room and play with the colored chalk on a board with yet another banished classmate. His mother was from Korea so I guess he felt different and was banished too. The comfort and peace we found in each other was soon terminated by the teacher who harshly reminded us “Do not touch the colored chalk.”
From that moment on, I learned it was safer to sit on side lines, to lean against the step rails, or stay close to the walls out of everyone’s way. It was not just my classmates who rejected me. I soon discovered I was an “untouchable” creature.
As with all schools, there was an emergency drill exit from the back of the school bus. I waited my turn to jump from the back doors into the arms of the high school kids who stood on the pavement. When it came my turn to jump, the high school kids pulled their arms back as if I had a disease they would catch. My hands and knees hit the pavement. The impact onto the blacktop stained my white leotards.
To save my pride, I stood up as if nothing odd just happened, hoping that nobody knew I was hurt and embarrassed. I wasn’t angry or bitter. At some level, even though I was only 5, I knew I was different and that others viewed as dirty because of my disability. This was not the first time I would ever shake off the pain. First grade was next.
To be continued …
