Sana Khan

Eng 098

Sec 10

Alice Biggers

3/16/04

How my Stuttering Problem got Solved

           The first time I realized I had a stuttering problem was in second grade when I stood up and proudly answered the teacher’s question with the correct answer of "Missi sis sip ppi." A fellow second-grade student then made this haughty remark, "What's wrong with you?” As I stared at the student with a blank expression on my face, I could not even comprehend what my classmate meant. My head was spinning with the letters MISSISSIPPI, and I was thinking how can I say this except, “Miss-ssiis—sippi?” The only response I could muster was "What d-d-do you mean?" The student teased, "You talk funny." The teacher then called for my classmate to leave the room. Why, I did not know, but the words of my classmate stuck to me like Crazy Glue. I could not understand why he had said the words he had.

           When I arrived home that disconcerting day, my words of "Hello, Mom," were intermingled in my mind with words from my sorrowful question, "Mom, do I t-t-talk weird?" "Well, Sana," my mama replied in a concerned voice, "you d-d-do stutter a little bit." "Stutter?" I questioned, "Wh-wh-what's that?" "Well, stuttering is go-go-going over sounds in words, like when I pronounced the word, 'going,'" said mother. "It just makes you unique and very special. Okay?" I could not believe what I just heard. I didn't want to be special. I wanted to be normal. My eyes flooded with tears. I felt cold running down through my body. My mom saw the devastation in my eyes and said, "I am so sorry, sweetheart, you inherited this stuttering from me; I stutter too.” “But I don't want to stutter. My classmates will make fun of me," I screamed in a high-pitched voice. "I want to be normal like other kids. Why can't I be normal? Why can't...," I yelled as my words got blocked in my throat. My mom put her arms around me and gave me a long hug.

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               "It will be all right," my mom said. “There are people who can help you be more fluent.” The people my mom talked about were the school's speech therapists. I hated going to therapy. For one thing, I hardly saw any progress in my speech; I still stuttered. Another reason I did not like going to therapy was because my "speech time" always occurred in the middle of class. This meant the class attention always transferred from the teacher to me. And once again, the kids would snicker and mimic my stuttering. I ...

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