I am more likable of a debater than you are

MI SS ISS I PPI” sang the girl two spots ahead of me in the line to enter the playground. Trembling, as the boy in front of me began to effortlessly recite it, I listened intently for how to spell it. All of the blurry letters switched places in my mind, but my place in line did not, and the kids looked back at me. “MI SSI SIPY... No,” I stammered, “MIS IIS PY... No. MIS...”

When we started reading in 1st grade I would stay many hours after class finishing my work. My mom got worried when I said I didn’t want to go to school any more and I had always loved school and loved learning. When my teacher started to label me with premature diagnosis, like ADD and ADHD, my parents decided it was time to take me out.

To this day I don’t know what is more true—that I have a unique brain because I was homeschooled, or that I was homeschooled because I have a unique brain. Homeschooling,  I would come inside and sit still with my mom on our couch and by sheer force of will try to learn reading, spelling, punctuation and all of my own language that became foreign to me on paper. At educational therapy, I played word games, traced letters in cursive on a chalk board. Dyslexia—is what they finally called it. Every word was a battle, every sentence a war, and my mom was a freaking five Star General that through years of faith in me taught me not only to read, but to love learning despite how incredibly difficult it still was for me.