When I was a child, I didn't really know how to talk about my speech impediment. Honestly, as an adult, I'm really sure how to talk about it.
So, when my peers would ask me about speech therapy or how I talked, I didn't always know what to say.
My speech therapy occurred in my school during the school day. Sometimes it happened during reading or math class. I remember it sometimes bleeding over to recess time, though I didn't mind missing a little recess for this work. Kids would ask me why I was leaving class or coming to recess late, telling them that I had speech therapy. Most kids had no idea what I was talking about, and if they would ask more questions, I would just tell them that my speech teacher helps me with my "s" sounds.
The more challenging moment was when my peers would comment or ask me about my speech impediment.
I remember some kids mocking me for my speech impediment. They would try to imitate the way I talked. It was hurtful and awkward. There were moments in school when I would forget that I had a speech impediment, and I would let the thoughts rolling around in my brain come up, and then someone would mock me, and then I would stop talking and pull back into my shell.
Hurtful and confusing in a different way was when my peers with no negative intention would ask me if I talked the way that I did because I had an accent.
I have never been ashamed of my parents' accent, but I didn't think I had one. Even at a young age, I was fed the idea that people with accents, especially Asian accents, were somehow inferior. On the other hand, people talked about some European accents are attractive or cute.
I never remember hearing someone say that about an Asian accent.
I would respond to that question that I didn't have an accent, but then I wouldn't know what else to say. Would it help to say that I had a speech impediment? Is this someone how better than having an accent? I mean, admitting that I had an accent is something that most people could comprehend more easily. My discomfort probably had a racial aspect. A Caucasian child with a speech impediment probably wouldn't be asked if they had an accent as I did.
Later in life, when I had more confidence in my speech, my mouth caught up with the speed of my brain so dishing out a comeback at a quick pace was no problem. People mocking me in college rarely got away unscathed, but it was different when I was a child.
We rely so much on talking for social interaction, and when peers perceived me as lacking in this way and I was called out for it, I couldn't really reply well with weak speaking skills.
I just had to take it.
At times it was hard, but it didn't beat me down because knew that I could do something they couldn't. I may not have felt comfortable talking in front of them, but my other voice, my music, I had no problem showing the world.
Friday, July 23, 2021
Monday, July 19, 2021
Parenthood: Week 432 – Buffy Teaching Me How To Walk
Walking slowly along with Buffy in the gentle summer afternoon wind, I thought for a moment to pull her along, and then I paused and decided to go at her pace. As we made it around my neighborhood, stopping whenever she wanted to, I watched her carefully. There was something meaningful about slow steps, the way she tugged at me towards a tree and turned around to look at me to make sure I was with her.
I was surprised to learn when we got Buffy that puppies don’t know how to walk on a leash. Diana and I would take her down on the sidewalk or in the park, with this baby-blue harness with a little flower on it, and work on her walking. Sometimes we would bring treats, dehydrated chicken liver, to coax her along, but we found that squeaky toys worked better. Her favorite was this little blue koala bear.
Buffy made progress but sometimes wouldn’t want to walk on a leash anymore or get tired. During those first couple of months, it wouldn’t be uncommon for one of us to carry her home. We lived in a condo near the Metra (elevated commuter train), so there were many city sounds Buffy had to learn. Over time, she learned to manage cars, buses, and trains, holding her head up high and strutting down the sidewalk.
As a teenage puppy, she was fearless. She pointed her nose straight into wind, snowstorms, and rain. Then, when I was ready to go inside and dry off, she was good to go for one more time around the block and one more romp through a snowbank.
Never one to wake us up in the morning, she would always be ready for me to walk her early in the morning before I went to work, sometimes as early as 5:30 am. Then, with energy and purpose, she would dart out in the darkness.
Now it’s different.
Buffy is slower and doesn’t keep pace as well as she used to. She often doesn’t want to go out on a midday walk. Sometimes during her morning walk, she wants to turn around only after a couple of houses. She turns her head at the birds when they sing and the squirrels when they run, but she no longer lunges at them, pulling the leash tight.
Buffy still likes us to stay together. She stops when one of us gets too far behind. When we go out the front door, Buffy often wants to come along, especially if she sees our children walk out the front door. In a novel setting, in a forest preserve, or a park, the spring comes back into her step, and with her face in the wind, she pulls and urges me along. There are still moments walking beside Diana when she trots along and looks up at Diana with a look of love that is nothing short of beautiful.
More than a decade ago, we taught Buffy how to go on a walk, and now she’s teaching me how to walk. In her quiet way, she shows me how to slow down, experience the world with all of my senses, and share in the simple, the common, and the ordinary with gratitude and wonder.
I was surprised to learn when we got Buffy that puppies don’t know how to walk on a leash. Diana and I would take her down on the sidewalk or in the park, with this baby-blue harness with a little flower on it, and work on her walking. Sometimes we would bring treats, dehydrated chicken liver, to coax her along, but we found that squeaky toys worked better. Her favorite was this little blue koala bear.
Buffy made progress but sometimes wouldn’t want to walk on a leash anymore or get tired. During those first couple of months, it wouldn’t be uncommon for one of us to carry her home. We lived in a condo near the Metra (elevated commuter train), so there were many city sounds Buffy had to learn. Over time, she learned to manage cars, buses, and trains, holding her head up high and strutting down the sidewalk.
As a teenage puppy, she was fearless. She pointed her nose straight into wind, snowstorms, and rain. Then, when I was ready to go inside and dry off, she was good to go for one more time around the block and one more romp through a snowbank.
Never one to wake us up in the morning, she would always be ready for me to walk her early in the morning before I went to work, sometimes as early as 5:30 am. Then, with energy and purpose, she would dart out in the darkness.
Now it’s different.
Buffy is slower and doesn’t keep pace as well as she used to. She often doesn’t want to go out on a midday walk. Sometimes during her morning walk, she wants to turn around only after a couple of houses. She turns her head at the birds when they sing and the squirrels when they run, but she no longer lunges at them, pulling the leash tight.
Buffy still likes us to stay together. She stops when one of us gets too far behind. When we go out the front door, Buffy often wants to come along, especially if she sees our children walk out the front door. In a novel setting, in a forest preserve, or a park, the spring comes back into her step, and with her face in the wind, she pulls and urges me along. There are still moments walking beside Diana when she trots along and looks up at Diana with a look of love that is nothing short of beautiful.
More than a decade ago, we taught Buffy how to go on a walk, and now she’s teaching me how to walk. In her quiet way, she shows me how to slow down, experience the world with all of my senses, and share in the simple, the common, and the ordinary with gratitude and wonder.
Friday, July 16, 2021
This King’s Speech - Part 3
I have trouble saying my name.
I remember one session with my speech teacher when I was in elementary school, where we tried to make a list of challenging words for me to say. I was having a hard time coming up with a list of words. I was still new to speech therapy, and quickly my teacher sensed the flaw in this activity. To tell her words that I couldn't say correctly, I would have to say them incorrectly, which I didn't want to, so she changed approaches quickly.
She started saying words and asking me to say "yes" or "no" if I had issues saying them. Each time I would admit to saying that I couldn't say a word right, she explained what that word was difficult to say with a lot of empathy. I remember being surprised that someone else understood that talking was hard and that there were specific reasons why certain words were more complex. Then, as our list grew longer, she asked, "How about your name? 'Kingsley.' Your name has different sounds in it. That's a pretty hard to say, isn't it?" I looked away, not wanting to make eye contact, and nodded.
The main sounds I struggled with were "s," "l," and "r," and having two of three right together, along with "g," was something I couldn't really handle saying clearly as a young child.
I was a shy child, and I probably would have been shy if I didn't have a speech impediment. However, having this condition probably made my shyness worse. When my parents encouraged me to greet people most of the time, the first question I would get was, "what is your name?" I would struggle to say my name. Most people wouldn't understand what I said. Partially because I had an unusual name, it was more difficult. If my name was "Michael," and I couldn't pronounce it clearly, there's a pretty good chance people could figure it out. With "Kingsley," not so much. Even on the third try, most people wouldn't understand me, so my parents or brother would jump in and help out.
Did I avoid meeting new people and introductions because I had anxiety around saying my name? Yeah. Do I still? [exhale]
I can say my name clearly now if I slow myself down and focus. About half the time, people ask me to repeat myself or give me that look, letting me know they didn't quite catch my name. It's not a good feeling, but I've gotten used to blowing past that and moving on. Often, people comment that they like my name, so that helps balance out the negative feelings at the moment.
I love my name.
Having a unique name reflects all of the awesomely amazing things about me. I love that my nickname is "Kings" and it sounds like my Mandarin Chinese first name "Chin." It always takes me more effort to make sure people hear my name right from me, but maybe that helps me not take my name for granted. My name is a beautiful gift from my parents. I honor them and myself by treating my name with care. I've never wished for a different name. I wouldn't give up the pronunciation challenges because I can't imagine not being a "Kingsley."
I remember one session with my speech teacher when I was in elementary school, where we tried to make a list of challenging words for me to say. I was having a hard time coming up with a list of words. I was still new to speech therapy, and quickly my teacher sensed the flaw in this activity. To tell her words that I couldn't say correctly, I would have to say them incorrectly, which I didn't want to, so she changed approaches quickly.
She started saying words and asking me to say "yes" or "no" if I had issues saying them. Each time I would admit to saying that I couldn't say a word right, she explained what that word was difficult to say with a lot of empathy. I remember being surprised that someone else understood that talking was hard and that there were specific reasons why certain words were more complex. Then, as our list grew longer, she asked, "How about your name? 'Kingsley.' Your name has different sounds in it. That's a pretty hard to say, isn't it?" I looked away, not wanting to make eye contact, and nodded.
The main sounds I struggled with were "s," "l," and "r," and having two of three right together, along with "g," was something I couldn't really handle saying clearly as a young child.
I was a shy child, and I probably would have been shy if I didn't have a speech impediment. However, having this condition probably made my shyness worse. When my parents encouraged me to greet people most of the time, the first question I would get was, "what is your name?" I would struggle to say my name. Most people wouldn't understand what I said. Partially because I had an unusual name, it was more difficult. If my name was "Michael," and I couldn't pronounce it clearly, there's a pretty good chance people could figure it out. With "Kingsley," not so much. Even on the third try, most people wouldn't understand me, so my parents or brother would jump in and help out.
Did I avoid meeting new people and introductions because I had anxiety around saying my name? Yeah. Do I still? [exhale]
I can say my name clearly now if I slow myself down and focus. About half the time, people ask me to repeat myself or give me that look, letting me know they didn't quite catch my name. It's not a good feeling, but I've gotten used to blowing past that and moving on. Often, people comment that they like my name, so that helps balance out the negative feelings at the moment.
I love my name.
Having a unique name reflects all of the awesomely amazing things about me. I love that my nickname is "Kings" and it sounds like my Mandarin Chinese first name "Chin." It always takes me more effort to make sure people hear my name right from me, but maybe that helps me not take my name for granted. My name is a beautiful gift from my parents. I honor them and myself by treating my name with care. I've never wished for a different name. I wouldn't give up the pronunciation challenges because I can't imagine not being a "Kingsley."
Monday, July 12, 2021
Parenthood: Week 431 - Determintation
Two mornings ago, Ethan, my 3-year-old woke up and refused to eat any breakfast. This was frustrating because I knew that he would not be in a great mood until he got some food in him. It was a control thing for Ethan, and because he doesn’t think ahead that far, and didn’t understand that he really should eat something even if he’s the only kind of hungry. So, I probably offered him food more times than I should have and got more frustrated than productive.
Then the following day, he woke me up early, demanding I make him breakfast.
This is the experience of having a toddler. I remember dealing with my older son’s toddler logic, and it is exhausting. However, it’s different with Ethan because I feel his personality is “complements” toddler-ism. What's been nice is that we are starting to see his stubbornness turn into determination.
A couple of weeks ago, Ethan got really into stickers. He would take a page of stickers and arrange them on a piece of paper. He spent almost an hour taking over one hundred circular stickers and arranging them on a piece of paper. Ethan insisted on staying up late to finish this project.
I found some other sticker puzzle activity books. You are supposed to peel up a sticker place it on an outline of a puzzle piece with a coordinating letter or number. Ethan just did them based on shape, and he got through three of four of these books. Now the toddler-ism peaked out at times. When he accidentally ripped a sticker, he would scream and refuse help. It was hard to get him to stop and he threw a tantrum when he wanted to do more, but we had to transition to something else.
Now Ethan is into coloring.
I got him these special pens sets that only work on pieces of special paper. It’s kind of like invisible ink with colors. He’s been on a mission to make the walls less “blah.” Ethan is working so hard. He gets into a zone and will sit there quietly, coloring for sometimes as long as forty-five minutes.
I’ve also seen this determination with bike riding. Ollie got a new bike, so I set Ethan up with Ollie’s old bike. I put on the training wheels and adjusted the seat down. This bike is too big for Ethan, but that hasn’t deterred him. The other day it was raining, and while it was warm enough to stay outside, it wasn’t pleasant. At a slow, methodical pace, Ethan was determined to make his way around our neighborhood on his bike. Sometimes I would give him a push but mostly did it himself.
I would have given up due to the rain and the clear amount of effort it took for Ethan to move a bike that big, but he didn’t give up.
I got some things to learn from this little guy.
Friday, July 9, 2021
This King’s Speech - Part 2
People who speak with an accent, or what some people call “broken English,” have a superpower that many other Americans do not.
They can speak another language.
I understand the xenophobia and racism behind those who mock people who speak with an accent that reveals that they speak another language, but there is no logic to this. People who speak more than one language have a dramatic advantage in the pursuit of making meaningful human connections. With fewer language barriers, more of the world is open to multilingual people. This gives them the potential to have a more profound understanding of the human experience.
My parents have that superpower. They speak Mandarin Chinese and English. They can think in more than one language too and can effortlessly switch between languages mid-sentence. Also, they can move around in different Chinese dialects and even speak a little Japanese. Even after living in America using English as a language for over forty years, there are words they mispronounce. This isn’t a flaw but a feature of what it means to be bilingual. There is nothing to be ashamed about.
I am not bilingual; I don’t speak Mandarin Chinese. I can understand quite a bit. My parents had me do some work in weekend Chinese school, but they didn’t prioritize this part of my education. They didn’t want me to have an accent. While I know now that more often someone raised in America who learns another language as a child doesn’t develop an accent, I understand my parents’ concerns when I was a child. My parents came to America to be American, and language was one way they felt they could be American. So this was a priority they had for my brother and me. Having an accent as an immigrant didn't benefit them, so they didn't want this in hinder me.
When I think about the stumbling around as I speak, and memories and trying to talk and being misunderstood, I know that this is something that my parents have dealt with for most of their adult life. I’ve never heard my parents complain about this, but I’m sure, like racial microaggressions, this is something they have learned to absorb and work through. It may be a minor annoyance one day, but it can take a lot out of a person over forty years. It can take a lot out of life. This is part of their immigrant story, and this is part of my story too.
My parents’ model is probably why I’ve never complained about having a speech impediment. I don’t remember giving my therapist any resistance when I’d pulled from classes to do sessions. This was part of my life. I was aware of other students not needing to go to therapy and sounding “normal.” While peers mocked me for my speech impediment, I felt more left out because I wasn’t as athletic as other boys when I was in elementary school.
In the book “Far From The Tree” Andrew Solomon talks the tension between identity and disability. If someone has a hearing issues that they want to address through a cochlear implant, they see this as a disability. A person who has hearing issues that they do not want to “fix” because they feel included and fluent in the American Sign Language community sees this as part of their identity. What some people view as a disability, other see as an identity.
Right now, I don’t see having a speech impediment as part of my identity. Instead, it is something I want to “fix." However, having this issue has undeniably shaped my identity in a far more positive than negative way. It has brought me closer to understanding my parents, and...well. I can't think about another way it has helped me, but it feels like it has. Clearly, unpacking all of this is a journey, so thanks for riding along on this one.
More to come...
They can speak another language.
I understand the xenophobia and racism behind those who mock people who speak with an accent that reveals that they speak another language, but there is no logic to this. People who speak more than one language have a dramatic advantage in the pursuit of making meaningful human connections. With fewer language barriers, more of the world is open to multilingual people. This gives them the potential to have a more profound understanding of the human experience.
My parents have that superpower. They speak Mandarin Chinese and English. They can think in more than one language too and can effortlessly switch between languages mid-sentence. Also, they can move around in different Chinese dialects and even speak a little Japanese. Even after living in America using English as a language for over forty years, there are words they mispronounce. This isn’t a flaw but a feature of what it means to be bilingual. There is nothing to be ashamed about.
I am not bilingual; I don’t speak Mandarin Chinese. I can understand quite a bit. My parents had me do some work in weekend Chinese school, but they didn’t prioritize this part of my education. They didn’t want me to have an accent. While I know now that more often someone raised in America who learns another language as a child doesn’t develop an accent, I understand my parents’ concerns when I was a child. My parents came to America to be American, and language was one way they felt they could be American. So this was a priority they had for my brother and me. Having an accent as an immigrant didn't benefit them, so they didn't want this in hinder me.
When I think about the stumbling around as I speak, and memories and trying to talk and being misunderstood, I know that this is something that my parents have dealt with for most of their adult life. I’ve never heard my parents complain about this, but I’m sure, like racial microaggressions, this is something they have learned to absorb and work through. It may be a minor annoyance one day, but it can take a lot out of a person over forty years. It can take a lot out of life. This is part of their immigrant story, and this is part of my story too.
My parents’ model is probably why I’ve never complained about having a speech impediment. I don’t remember giving my therapist any resistance when I’d pulled from classes to do sessions. This was part of my life. I was aware of other students not needing to go to therapy and sounding “normal.” While peers mocked me for my speech impediment, I felt more left out because I wasn’t as athletic as other boys when I was in elementary school.
In the book “Far From The Tree” Andrew Solomon talks the tension between identity and disability. If someone has a hearing issues that they want to address through a cochlear implant, they see this as a disability. A person who has hearing issues that they do not want to “fix” because they feel included and fluent in the American Sign Language community sees this as part of their identity. What some people view as a disability, other see as an identity.
Right now, I don’t see having a speech impediment as part of my identity. Instead, it is something I want to “fix." However, having this issue has undeniably shaped my identity in a far more positive than negative way. It has brought me closer to understanding my parents, and...well. I can't think about another way it has helped me, but it feels like it has. Clearly, unpacking all of this is a journey, so thanks for riding along on this one.
More to come...
Monday, July 5, 2021
Parenthood: Week 430 – Lucas' Smile
Before the pandemic, we would travel to visit my parents three to four times a year: summer, Thanksgiving, New Year, and often a visit in the spring. So combined with my parents coming to visit, we saw them quite often.
We traveled to see my parents in the summer of 2019. Lucas wasn’t born yet, and it was a nice trip. Lucas was born in early December, and my parents came and visited. That was the last time I saw them until three weeks ago.
It was a beautiful visit. The fact that we were there during the hottest recorded heatwave really didn’t feel like it hindered our trip that much. We were fortunate to have air conditioning and had places we could that were air-conditioned.
A year and a half is a long time. It was interesting how Ollie was thinking about his cousin. He told me that he had to prepare to see her. Ollie had talked to her over Zoom a couple of times, and he told me that it was awkward. I assured him that Zoom meetings are also uncomfortable for me. I think Ollie just wasn’t sure what it would be like to see her and even how to greet her after all of this time. I found out that she had the same concerns. She wondered if Ollie was taller than her or what kind of things they could play now that they were older. I assured Ollie that what his anxiety was not unique. When he saw his cousin, they barely acknowledge each other, but before I knew it, they were talking and playing as if no time had passed at all.
My parents were worried that Lucas would react to them. They last saw him, he was a couple of days old. Now Lucas is a year and a half old. The development differences between those ages are incredible. When they last saw Lucas, he was barely opening his eyes and focusing. Now Lucas is walking, expressing himself through gestures and sounds, and interacts with people and the world.
If my parents said hello to Lucas in the airport and cried, it wouldn’t be a sign of anything wrong. Babies coming off a plane are often cranky. My parents could have seen him every single day for the past year and a half and approached him at the airport, and he could cry at them. Young children don’t put on fake emotions for social customs. If a baby is in a bad mood, they show it to you. That bad mood isn’t necessarily a reflection of how they feel about you.
Once again Lucas was the baby we all needed in this most challenging time. When my mom and dad leaned over and looked into the stroller to say hello to Lucas, he smiled at them. I like to think that Lucas felt my parents' unconditional love across over two thousand miles over the time they were apart. So, of course, he knew them when he saw them.
There are many great things to process about this trip. I’m so happy that it happened and that my children's time with my parents was filled with love and joy.
We traveled to see my parents in the summer of 2019. Lucas wasn’t born yet, and it was a nice trip. Lucas was born in early December, and my parents came and visited. That was the last time I saw them until three weeks ago.
It was a beautiful visit. The fact that we were there during the hottest recorded heatwave really didn’t feel like it hindered our trip that much. We were fortunate to have air conditioning and had places we could that were air-conditioned.
A year and a half is a long time. It was interesting how Ollie was thinking about his cousin. He told me that he had to prepare to see her. Ollie had talked to her over Zoom a couple of times, and he told me that it was awkward. I assured him that Zoom meetings are also uncomfortable for me. I think Ollie just wasn’t sure what it would be like to see her and even how to greet her after all of this time. I found out that she had the same concerns. She wondered if Ollie was taller than her or what kind of things they could play now that they were older. I assured Ollie that what his anxiety was not unique. When he saw his cousin, they barely acknowledge each other, but before I knew it, they were talking and playing as if no time had passed at all.
My parents were worried that Lucas would react to them. They last saw him, he was a couple of days old. Now Lucas is a year and a half old. The development differences between those ages are incredible. When they last saw Lucas, he was barely opening his eyes and focusing. Now Lucas is walking, expressing himself through gestures and sounds, and interacts with people and the world.
If my parents said hello to Lucas in the airport and cried, it wouldn’t be a sign of anything wrong. Babies coming off a plane are often cranky. My parents could have seen him every single day for the past year and a half and approached him at the airport, and he could cry at them. Young children don’t put on fake emotions for social customs. If a baby is in a bad mood, they show it to you. That bad mood isn’t necessarily a reflection of how they feel about you.
Once again Lucas was the baby we all needed in this most challenging time. When my mom and dad leaned over and looked into the stroller to say hello to Lucas, he smiled at them. I like to think that Lucas felt my parents' unconditional love across over two thousand miles over the time they were apart. So, of course, he knew them when he saw them.
There are many great things to process about this trip. I’m so happy that it happened and that my children's time with my parents was filled with love and joy.
Friday, July 2, 2021
This King's Speech – Part 1
During my wedding, some of my older family members were surprised to learn that I was a teacher. It wasn't because I was a music teacher. They all knew I was a musician from a young age. That part wasn't a surprise. They didn't expect me to be a teacher because of my speech impediment.
How could a young boy who very few people could understand grow up to do a job which required him to talk?
In the past thirteen years, I've shared, unpacked, and processed almost every part of my life, from my feeling about masculinity, diversity, race, and puppies. I've talked about my high school day, college days, and life as a teacher. I laid my insecurities bare about being a parent and an American citizen. However, I've never written about or hinted at a part of my life, a part of my identity that shaped my childhood and impacts my life every day.
I haven't embraced having a speech impediment as part of my journey and my identity. I'm not ashamed of it, but I don't have pride when I think about how I've dealt with this part of my life. I don't think about it most of the day, but there's not a day that I don't. Earlier today, I said a word, and Diana, my wife, said, "what?" hinting at me that she didn't understand what I said. I tried again, it still wasn't clear, so I chose a different word. There was nothing mean in Diana's tone, and I appreciate that she wanted to understand me. I wanted to be understood, but that word, starting with an "r," I couldn't say clearly at that moment.
When I write speeches, I often edit them when I practice them out loud. My written vocabulary is different than my spoken words. For example, if I were to speak the previous two sentences, I would change them to:
When I compose speeches that I have to give, I often edit them when I say them out loud. This is because the vocabulary I use when I type is different from what I use when I speak.
I do this without thinking for the most part when I talk. After years of trial and error, I have figured out which words I stumble over, which words cause people to ask "what?" and which words have led people to imitate me and mock me. These words I unconsciously avoid as an adult. For the most part, people don't notice because I am gifted with a quick mind, and I have a lot of practice making it through the mine field, spoken language.
Some of this is more in my head. My pronunciation of words is not as bad as I believe it to be, but the negative experiences of childhood cast a shadow that will never entirely go away. I will never fully be free of the doubt I have in my ability to speak.
The thing is that I love public speaking. I have spoken at funerals and weddings. I have given presentations in graduate school and at conferences. I've used the power of my spoken word to persuade and inspire. I've given numerous speeches in front of my school community, often with over nine hundred people. I love speaking to my students and taking them on a journey through my words to other worlds and towards a deeper understanding of themselves.
It didn't always feel this way. I hated the idea of talking in school as a young child, but I always felt comfortable talking to my parents...
How could a young boy who very few people could understand grow up to do a job which required him to talk?
In the past thirteen years, I've shared, unpacked, and processed almost every part of my life, from my feeling about masculinity, diversity, race, and puppies. I've talked about my high school day, college days, and life as a teacher. I laid my insecurities bare about being a parent and an American citizen. However, I've never written about or hinted at a part of my life, a part of my identity that shaped my childhood and impacts my life every day.
I haven't embraced having a speech impediment as part of my journey and my identity. I'm not ashamed of it, but I don't have pride when I think about how I've dealt with this part of my life. I don't think about it most of the day, but there's not a day that I don't. Earlier today, I said a word, and Diana, my wife, said, "what?" hinting at me that she didn't understand what I said. I tried again, it still wasn't clear, so I chose a different word. There was nothing mean in Diana's tone, and I appreciate that she wanted to understand me. I wanted to be understood, but that word, starting with an "r," I couldn't say clearly at that moment.
When I write speeches, I often edit them when I practice them out loud. My written vocabulary is different than my spoken words. For example, if I were to speak the previous two sentences, I would change them to:
When I compose speeches that I have to give, I often edit them when I say them out loud. This is because the vocabulary I use when I type is different from what I use when I speak.
I do this without thinking for the most part when I talk. After years of trial and error, I have figured out which words I stumble over, which words cause people to ask "what?" and which words have led people to imitate me and mock me. These words I unconsciously avoid as an adult. For the most part, people don't notice because I am gifted with a quick mind, and I have a lot of practice making it through the mine field, spoken language.
Some of this is more in my head. My pronunciation of words is not as bad as I believe it to be, but the negative experiences of childhood cast a shadow that will never entirely go away. I will never fully be free of the doubt I have in my ability to speak.
The thing is that I love public speaking. I have spoken at funerals and weddings. I have given presentations in graduate school and at conferences. I've used the power of my spoken word to persuade and inspire. I've given numerous speeches in front of my school community, often with over nine hundred people. I love speaking to my students and taking them on a journey through my words to other worlds and towards a deeper understanding of themselves.
It didn't always feel this way. I hated the idea of talking in school as a young child, but I always felt comfortable talking to my parents...
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