Stigma

 When I was young my older sister died from Leukemia. She was sixteen. Yes, it was pretty much of a nightmare. Grief. Stone cold grief is something you can’t learn about in school. In public school in the Seventies it wasn’t really even talked about. I remember once I was in the nurses office I overheard the nurse telling the principal that I wasn’t really sick, just emotionally challenged.  Big Stigma number two was that I was overly emotional. I wasn’t able to control my emotions like a normal person. 

 I was a Sped. Big Stigma number one. If you’re unfamiliar with the term a Sped is someone who needed to participate in the Special Education program at school. In sixth grade they discovered I couldn’t read. I was labeled a slow learner and had to stay after school for additional counseling and tutoring. Had to ride the short bus home. It was hard. The expectations for my academic performance came down dramatically, but the Stigma of being stupid was branded on me and would take a lifetime to overcome.  The first time I was actually called a Sped I didn’t know what it meant. But I knew it wasn’t good. My father didn’t know what it meant either, but I’ll never forget him saying that I was just the guy to make being a Sped cool.  I am forever grateful for the Special Education program at Thomas W. Pyle Jr. High Schools as I was properly diagnosed with Dyslexia and ADHD. More importantly I was taught first to understand both of my conditions and secondarily how not to allow...

 Stigma is real. Ask anyone who has been stigmatized.