Getting Vulnerable... Part 2

Prior to “formal education” my mom and her 2nd husband Freddie stayed in a single-wide on a dairy farm a few years. There was much to explore for a feral child. Acres of land with giant trees with low hanging limbs, large old barns filled with stray cats, chickens with their biddies and a tussle of farm-yard dogs. Bits of rope, more cows than you could poke a stick at and the occasional cattle prod that earned me a scolding from the farmer when found chasing the chickens with it.

I was in Kindergarten at Central Elementary for less than 2 weeks. I was an insatiable learner and ridiculously social. In fact, in my NEW first grade classroom, they had our chairs in a square, and when I completed my work, I went around the room to each student to see what they were learning (just in case it was different and better than what I just completed.) It was the same, and I felt compelled to show the ones who were not yet done HOW to solve the rest of their worksheet. The teacher vibes run strong and deep in this one. 

What do you do with a student who walks around the classroom to check on his classmates because he finishes earlier than everyone else? His talking is about the assignment. His work is exceptional. In my case, the teacher got out some jute baling string and she tied me to my chair. 

In third grade I went to live with my dad full time (that was when my mom left and I did not see her again until I was 13.) I had a challenging teacher, Mrs. T. Moore. An older black woman who wore simple dresses, plain black shoes, and curly grey hair pulled tightly into a bun. Where I had the run of my prior school (literally I directed play at my prior elementary school - with even 4th and 5th graders coming to me for what we were going to play when merely in 2nd grade), third grade at the new Grady A. Brown I was attending was all new. I knew no one and seemed unable to find my place. Everything was different. For one, Mrs. Moore called me “Brown” - not because she was giving me a nickname, that’s just how she said my name. I did not intentionally ignore her, but when she called and I failed to hear, she would chunk erasers (pencil and chalkboard) at me. She had a pretty good arm for her age too! We also discovered I was almost completely deaf (2 rounds of tubes to resolve the problem). I developed a habit of bouncing my legs - rhythmically and fast - in order to focus. Quite confident I have ADHD, but learning to harness my attention helped me to focus. When forced to stop the motions and tapping - to be still… that is where I struggled to pay attention, and got myself in trouble. 

We all start somewhere… our experiences shape our perspectives and provide a framework for moving through life. Each portion of all your life has led you to HERE - to this moment. It is not only a part of your story, but each part is what is unique about you… Embrace your story.