I Was (Am) a Stutterer

It was much worse when I was a kid in Oklahoma. It was bad enough, in fact, that one of my teachers at Adams Elementary School (1st grade? later?)  referred me to the school district's speech therapist. Years later, my mom told me that my one (and only) session with the therapist went like this:

THERAPIST: So, Danny, why are you here?

DANNY: I d-d-d-d-don't k-k-k-k-now.

And the therapist--seeing that it didn't bother me (hah!)--sent me back to class and told my mom it wasn't all that much of a problem.

Actually, it was. Other kids made fun of me. Which made my stuttering worse. I didn't really strike out, though--fists flailing--because I was a small kid; fisticuffs were not a wise activity for me. And, after some playground whuppings, I had grown ever more wise.

Later, the problem diminished. Though I had to think carefully about what I was going to say before I said it. And there were words I just had to avoid. One of them was statistics. I still avoid that word because I don't get very far into it before my six-year-old self returns and offers "Sta-sta-sta-statistics" instead.

There are a few other words like that--but I won't tell you what they are. I know you: You'll come up to me and ask me questions that will require me to say the very word I can't say.

During my 45-year teaching career, I occasionally encountered stutterers among my students. I always felt a bond with them and would tolerate no joking about it among the other students. Though, I have to say, such situations rarely came up. I think the kids knew I stuttered (a bit) and probably figured--wise ones--that making fun of some stuttering classmate was like making fun of the teacher--not usually a good plan.

Bullying is often about ridiculing someone for something he/she can't help. Height-weight-complexion-hair-accent-stuttering ...

We moved from Oklahoma to northeastern Ohio in August 1956 (I would turn 12 in November), and I hadn't been in town more than a day or so when, at a little pond near our house, I caught a frog. Some local kids saw me with it and told me I had to let it go. "Aw, c-c-c-can't I k-k-k-keep it?" I asked in misery.

"Aw, c-c-c-c-c-c-can't I k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-keep it?" echoed a local kid in what he must have thought was an authentic thick Oklahoma drawl.

I laughed. He was too big to do anything else. And I placed the frog back in the pond. Splash! And off to a lily pad, where he regarded me with disdain.

And did he mock me? "C-c-c-c-c-c-c-roak"?!?!?!?