As a kid, I didn’t have one specific bully or nemesis, like Ralphie Parker and Scut Farkus in the movie A Christmas Story. That’s not to say I didn’t get bullied, though, because I did. You see, I’ve had a stutter all my life. It’s not severe by any means and over the years I’ve learned and developed coping mechanisms to live with and work around it. As an adult, most people have told me they’ve never even noticed it when it’s happens to come up in conversation. But when you’re a kid, everyone notices. Especially bullies. Bullies traffic in shame and embarrassment so making fun of someone who is having problems getting a sentence out without stuttering is right in their wheelhouse. As far as shame goes, one thing I’m not ashamed of is admitting that, in elementary school and junior high, I punched a few jack holes in the mouth when they mocked me for not being able to get a word out without stammering.
As kids get older, that kind of mockery and bullying usually decreases so those types of experiences and interactions become less and less. By the time we reach high school, most of us have closed our friend ranks around us and those kinds of things just aren’t issues with our tribe. However, fast forward to my sophomore year of college. I had started seeing this girl, Jessica, and was going to her dorm one night to hang out with her. At my junior college, guys weren’t allowed to just enter the ladies dorms and go straight to a room. We had to check in at the front desk and the front desk would call whoever we were there to see, and that person would have to come down and get you. This relationship was fairly new and I had never been to Jessica’s dorm before so I didn’t know the girl sitting behind the glass partition of the front desk. She didn’t look friendly and when I stepped to the window she asked, in a monotone voice, “can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m here to see J-j-j-essica in room 224.”
She looked me dead in the eyes and said “J-j-j-essica? Do you st-st-st-stutter?”
The look on my face had to have been pure shock. Mostly because I was nineteen years old (nearly twenty) and it had been so long since someone had mocked my stutter that I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I wish I could say that I’m not proud at all of what happened next. You see, it would have been one thing if she had done this with no one else around. But there were people sitting in the lobby, people behind me, girls who lived in the dorm were coming and going. An odd embarrassment immediately filled me. An embarrassment that quickly turned into anger. So, I stared her right in the eyes and, as loud as I could, yelled…
“Y-Y-YES I F-F-F*CKING ST-ST-STUT-T-T-TER. WH-WH-WHAT W-W-W-WAS YOUR F-F-F-F-F-FIRST CLUE?”
Every syllable exaggerated, enunciated, full of spittle and slobber that landed on the glass divider between us. I squinted and blinked my eyes like I was having a seizure. I balled up my fists and pounded them on the counter as I forced the words out of my mouth.
“PL-PLEASE C-C-CALL J-J-JESSICA IN R-R-R-R-R-ROOM T-T-TWO T-T-T-TWO F-F-F-F-FOUR.”
More spittle on the glass. More rapid eye blinking. Everybody stopped what they were doing and stared. I was unbothered. The girl behind the glass was white as a sheet. She picked up the phone and, with a shaky voice, told Jessica she had a visitor. As I waited for Jessica to come down and get me, I leaned in and calmly whispered through the circular cutout in the glass…
“You shouldn’t make fun of stuttering. It’s contagious.”
Jessica showed up moments later and escorted me up, leaving the girl behind the desk in near tears. Like I said, I shouldn’t be proud of what I did…
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