What fool said that the unexamined life isn’t worth living? I think I prefer not thinking about some things. I spoke to my  beloved first grade teacher today on the phone today and she basically affirmed what I already knew: Everyone thought I was the ‘R’ word, and I don’t mean republican. My teacher didn’t believe I was retarded. I think she might think I have autism, though. I’d rather be in Club Autism than Club’ R.’

What she said was that they doubted I could learn to read at that school.  It wasn’t  true. I began to learn under the tutelage of Ms. S, who hated me, but perfected phonics under Ms. H, who loved me. First off, Ms. S used to verbally abuse me, lie, threaten, and one time paddled me. Second,  the principal really, really, really  shouldn’t be talking about ‘slow. ‘ Her own son seemed dumb as a brick to me and still pissed himself at age 7. I looked him up and he still looks like trailer trash.What is worse is the principal there also beat me with a paddle a few times for not getting math in 3rd grade before before my mother took me out of that godforsaken Christian school. Thirty years ago and I’m still angry. 

Ms. H. wanted to know if I was OK and if I wanted to come live with her. I was extremely touched that even after 30 years she still loves me that much. I let her know that I was fine and that I was content in my life as a cat lady. I also  let her know that while I have psych issues, I’m not intellectually disabled.

A neurologist my mom took me to when I was 11 believed I suffered from  mild cerebral palsy, which explains my unusual gait. I may broach this subject with a doctor sometime because my back, legs and ankles are sore when I begin to walk these days. Ms. H commented that I would come into class walking like an octopus, my hair and backpack in disarray.  I later in life forced myself to stop walking tiptoe, but my person will always be disordered.

If I do have autism, I’m either at the very edge of the spectrum or I’ve learned to adapt. My emotions are normal…I think. I get jokes. I get social cues. I have empathy. But I’m missing something, or people wouldn’t  all the  time be thinking I’m “special.”

Maybe if my mom hadn’t gone fishing for a husband in the drunk tank and I was sired by someone else, or she had not waited until she was 35, maybe me genes would fit me better. There were enough undiagnosed anxiety disorders running amuck in my mom’s genes as well as hoarding cousins on Grandpa’s side that I really could’ve done just as well with another pop.  If I do have autism I wish it was confirmed, so I could get a reduced price bus pass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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