On Speaking
The dictionary defines an impediment as something that makes progress or movement difficult or impossible.
An impairment, on the other hand, is the act of spoiling something or making it weaker so that it is less effective.
Disorder has a few definitions, namely, an illness of the mind or body, and a lack of organization.
I used to get angry that there was no specific term for what I had.
My SLP would use all three, sometimes within a single conversation.
Was I ill, or unorganized? Ineffective, or weak?
Would I simply never progress at all?
I spent a lot of time perusing dictionaries, and still, never got an answer.
When I was determined to be “special needs” by my school counselor, it meant i got to skip science class two days a week.
You cannot *imagine* how excited i was to skip science class,
but when,
after weeks of effort, my teacher sent a letter home bemoaning my lack of progress,
my mother was understandably confused when i asked “so it’s impediment then?”
See, no one ever seemed to understand my confusion on the subject,
but maybe that has more to do with the fact that i never expressed it,
and less to do with the way i muddled my words.
My father was always appalled at the idea that, I, his little genius, could ever be classified the same way as my classmates with IQs below what he deemed “acceptable”
There’s nothing wrong with me, he says
She’s not special
Something in his tone made me realize that, maybe special wasn’t always a compliment
I wonder, if he realizes,
that to this day,
I’ve never,
felt,
special,
to him.
So when I moved schools,
I kissed my speech therapy classes goodbye,
Was enrolled in advanced courses to make up for my previous detriments,
And instead overcame this hurdle on my own.
Unlabelled,
Unmonitored,
Unsure of where to begin.
After hours and hours of tongue twisters and knock knock jokes and watching myself talk in the mirror to be sure that my mouth was forming the right shapes, after book after book of self-guidance, after years of practice, I built this.
This voice before you that matches the soul, inside me,
Except,
sometimes it doesn’t, see, sometimes on my s’s, there’s this little whistle and my friends always claim they can’t hear it--- I’m not sure if they’re lying.
and see, sometimes, when I’m tired, or distracted, or forget for just one second that speaking will always require my full attention, I slip up.
My tongue, vies for dominance against the roof of my mouth, and
the sounds come out, all in the right order they’re just--- not connected quite the way they’re supposed to be.
and see, sometimes, i speak at the wrong pitch or the wrong speed for the conversation I’m having, see, i start talking then i just keep goingandgoingandgoingandgoingandgoingand--
I have to stop.
Because I could be having the worst day of my life, but what you’re hearing is excitement.
Sometimes it works the other way,
i can’t seem to get the words out at all;
i don’t always repeat sounds,
sometimes, it’s
pauses.
Strong enough that,
i,
have rewritten this poem
four times
j ust
so that i would be strong enough
to say it.