I’ve taken a few days off from the font project. I’ve needed to focus on a few other areas of my life. I will be back at it shortly, but today I want to talk about something else… a few thoughts inside my head, that I feel I must get out onto the page.

Patience, a Virtue?

Weighing the pros and the cons.

Throughout the course of my life, there have been multiple separate occasions where I’ve been told that I possess an abnormal amount of patience.

Maybe there is an illusion of patience in how I outwardly express myself, or maybe the statement is actually true… I don’t honestly know. Personally, I think I possess an amount of patience that has been detrimental to my health, wealth, and happiness.

“...I possess an amount of patience that has been detrimental to my health, wealth, and happiness.”

I’ve always had this insecurity that I somehow process time differently from what is considered normal to other people. I’m not sure if it’s ADHD, or anxiety, or depression… or a combination of all of those. Or maybe I’m just a soul from some other realm, originating from a place where the passing of time is unimportant, or doesn’t even exist… The point is, I am deeply troubled by the passing of time. It haunts me.

I can imagine that if we really do have primary soul paths, and specific life lessons to attain for spiritual growth ordained by God, that my lessons must indeed be centered around the theme of time, and the acceptance of it’s passing.

We all have the same 24 hours in a day, and I’m no different in that respect than anyone else. I can’t account for why I feel as though other people manage to accomplish tasks more quickly than I do, I just know that with me, things have always seemed to take a little more time than for other people. I once thought this was a sign that I’m unintelligent, and inferior. Luckily for me, this is no longer the case, however, feelings of inferiority do creep in quite a bit, even to this day.

And it all started in Elementary School…

**Image Courtesy:** EnvatoElements.com/Wavebreakmedia

Childhood Memories

My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Hoffpauir, who was always kind as far as I can remember, had this to say about me: “Clinton is a good kid… but he TALKS SOOO SLOOWWW.” She was apparently, deeply concerned when she told my mom this in a parent/teacher conference. “I’m worried about his speech development. I worry he may begin to lag behind the other children.”

As a child, my mom did what she could to shield me from such thoughts and worries, and I have no recollection of anything ever happening beyond that conversation.

The rest of Kindergarten came and went, and so did 1st grade. I made good grades, and made lots of friends… I even felt like the class leader from time to time. I never felt different from the rest of my classmates.

When Things Started to Change

However, in the 2nd grade, my teacher, whose name I needn’t mention, seemed to single me out from the rest of the students in her class. She claimed that I had trouble finishing my work as quickly as the rest of my classmates, and it was around this time that I began to have my first thoughts that there was something different about me.

Full disclosure, 2nd grade was a difficult year for both my twin brother, and me. Our parents were in the middle of a divorce, and in addition to that, both he and I seemed to have stumbled upon our first encounters with what are commonly known as, (and this is me being kind,) teachers from Hell.

“...they wanted to give my brother and me a test to... ...see which twin is smarter, and which twin... is dumber.”

One day, my teacher, and his, called a private meeting with my mom. They informed my mom that they wanted to give my brother and me a test to, and I qoute, “…See which twin is smarter, and which one… is DUMBER.” (YES, THEY ACTUALLY SAID THIS.)

My mom was taken aback, but quickly responded, “First of all, I don’t think either of my sons, is DUMBER.” Whatever she must have said after that, let’s just say that any ideas of subjecting us to such a test were immediately squashed, buried, and never mentioned again, at least, not to me.

The Special Reading Program

However, some time after that incident, my teacher informed my mom that she would be placing me in a special reading program — a program not for advanced readers, but for children with learning impairments.

My mom reluctantly accepted her decision, and I began going to a special classroom, where I was evaluated as I read along with the other students, and did my school work.

I don’t remember how many days I was enrolled in the special class, but what I do know, is that the teacher of that class was appalled that my teacher had the audacity to put me in there in the first place. “There is CLEARLY, nothing wrong with his learning abilities, I remember her saying, softly under her breath, but with visibly red cheeks, to a concerned teaching assistant.”

“There is CLEARLY nothing wrong with his learning abilities...”

I’ll never know if she intended for me to hear her words or not, but as a “not so naive,” adult, I realize she probably did. I believe now, that she was an angel of sorts, sent to guard what was left of my self-esteem.

A few days later, I was back in my regular classroom, and this is neither here nor there, but I will mention that though I was back, my teacher separated me from the rest of the class. I had my own desk, at the back of the room, set away from the other students, and I was to do my work with a timer on my desk, I guess, to add insult to injury.

Concerned Teacher? or Bully?

Maybe she was truly concerned with my education, or the lack of speed at which I was able to complete my assignments, or maybe she was in fact, a bully, simply doing whatever her small mind could, to make me feel less than I am.

Bullying is such an odd thing. It’s impossible to know why someone can have it in their heart to pick on a specific person, when they seem to treat everyone else with such good intent — and impossible to know the psychology of personality traits a bullied person exudes, that causes that person to be singled out over another, or even at all in the first place.

I was so small at the time, and my critical social and analytical skills were still yet to be developed, so I will never know what her true intentions were. I just know the effects that they had on me, and that, from the perspective of a child, her intentions didn’t exactly seem altruistic.

I am thankful though, that she put me in that special class, even if it was for only a short time, because from then on, whenever she treated me differently to the other students, I always had one thought to fall back on — one thought that kept me strong, and unbothered. It was a memory, that no matter what happened, a teacher in the room across the hall, once said, “There is CLEARLY nothing wrong with his learning abilities.”

And because of that teacher, I was able to endure anything Second Grade could throw at me.