I remember, vividly, the first time it happened. My mother and I had moved back to Bozeman, after a 9 month hiatus in the Black Hills, and I was adjusting to our new apartment and my new preschool well. At the young age of four, I was middle-of-the-road shy with strangers but once we were well acquainted, watch out. Boy, could I talk. The subjects in which I entertained my audiences are more difficult to recall, however. I can only imagine what a 20 year younger version of myself would ramble on about; probably something about my project on arts and crafts day or learning how to spell my name at school. My mind has always one that pays attention, something that hasn't faded with age.
Temperature is a funny thing.
I tend to run on the warmer side, but I remember this day being very cold. So it must have been mid to late January. The apartment complex where my mother and I lived happened to be across the parking lot from my Preschool; the sound of snow pants swishing with every toddler step fills my ears now. My gloved hand was gently placed in the bare one of the only person to have ever provided for me: Mom's. We walked the 30 yards across pavement, opened the bright red door, and I began to shred the layers I dressed myself in just minutes before. A new teacher was there to greet us, introducing herself as Mrs. H. The face of the woman didn't appear unfamiliar; she had been dating my uncle for as long as I was alive and they planned to exchange vows within the next few months. Mrs. H must have felt the need to carry on some kind of charade. As I placed each piece of my winter-wear in my tiny cubby, she knelt down to my level and, with a smile, asked, "What's your name, kiddo?"
Let me pause here and ramble a bit.
The more I think about it, the more I'm realizing now that this particularly frigid day in the middle of winter brought two firsts. Looking this woman in the face, I can tell you I had never felt pure annoyance until this point in my life. Really? Even with the limited knowledge I possessed, I understood who this person was, how she was soon to my aunt, and that I wasn't going to receive any special treatment at school because of her relations to my family. And yet, here she was, right in front of me, asking me my name. (Talking to my mother about this memory shed some light on my appearance in this moment; apparently, irritation became visible on my face instantly.) This feeling must have blinded me momentarily as I cannot recollect finishing the removal of what winter clothes remained.
But this. This I do remember.
Mrs. H asked me again, "What's your name?" And instead of the fluid, cohesive response I had practiced for half my life, out came this choppy, elongated, taxing version of my name. Confusion instantly struck me. Why did I sound like that? The expression on my mother's face, and also on Mrs. H's face, confirmed any emotion I felt. In classic four-year-old fashion, I began to cry.
That's my last bit of clarity.
However, I can tell you what happened in that moment of choppy, elongated, taxing spew of an attempt at my name. I stuttered. As I aged, its development was a gradual thing; first with my name, then other common words, and, as my vocabulary grew, most sentences contained a hang up or two. My Elementary years were filled with Speech Therapy and lots of practice; I spoke constantly. In Junior High, I quit therapy and took up reading. I read anatomy and biology books, books with many theories of origin, books without any real answers. Even now, in our information-at-your-fingertips generation, there aren't any solid answers as to why a person would have trouble with pronunciation, enunciation, articulation, fluency, timing, and delivery. And, not so surprisingly, there isn't a dang thing that said person can do except work it out.
So that's what I do.
Have you ever heard anyone say, "Think before you speak?" Well, let me tell you, I practice that every day. Every day! There are particular words, mostly those that begin with consonants, followed by a vowel sound, that to this day trip me up. See, these words are dangerous simply because of their phonetic makeup. I regularly switch entire phrases to avoid the problem, and sometimes what's actually said sounds slightly odd. But keep in mind, this isn't a constant thing. When I'm in a comfortable situation, with people I know, at a spot I've been to before, doing something that isn't new--I'm just fine. Stick me in a room with 40 people I've never met, in front of a podium, telling a story for three minutes--I'm just not fine. But I work it out.
I don't tell jokes.
Usually the punchline is so funny, I can't spit it out fluently.
Comedy ruined.
I can't hide emotions.
When I'm upset, about anything, anyone can tell.
Its annoying.
I won't be defeated.
Eventually, what I'm trying to say will come out.
Be patient.
For light reading: http://www.asha.org/public/speech/disorders/stuttering.htm
