Can You See The World Through My Eyes?

Can you see the world through my eyes? It’s a question. One that’s asked every day. Some people want to listen, others, to learn. I want you to do a bit of both in this case. I’ve probably got a lot to say.

My story starts out a little different from the rest. But it’s not the beginning I want to talk about. Right now, I’m sitting at the computer, typing while my cat plays with my ear buds as I listen to music. I look like just another person, a face in the crowd that you wouldn’t notice. But that’s the thing, I’m just a little different, and I'm glad.

How many of you have good memories of grade school? How many of you had a favorite teacher? How many of you learned to write, before middle school?

And last, how many of you say yes to the first, can name a teacher for the second, and raise your hand for the third?

I can’t. and I don’t quite know if I wish I could. I guess you could say I was one of those special children. 

Come on, you all know which ones I'm talking about. The ones that range from needing a shove here and there, to the full package of teacher terror. Very special indeed.

I don’t remember a lot, but what I remember isn’t always good. Teachers wrote me off as mentally challenged, counselors tested me for autism and ADD and so, so many other things. I was pulled out of class for special Ed classes dozens of times again and again, I had maybe one friend and I was miserable, without even knowing it. It was so bad that I was having trouble sleeping, and this was before I was even ten or twelve years of age. Mom says I fought going to school, and I remembered I would lag and complain. Being a child is—was—supposed to be the best time of your life. For me? It was probably the worst. And the sad thing is, none of that needed to happen.

I’m not sure how to explain the whole thing, but I’ll try my best. To tell a story that you’ve never told before, well, it’s not always easy. Sincerely yours,

Isabel Dante