As a recent immigrant back in 1980, I was placed in an English as a Second Language (ESL) group in my first grade classroom at Wilton Place Elementary School, one of a handful of schools nationwide with a dual Korean language immersion program. While most of the children worked on typical classroom assignments, a small group of kids who spoke little or no English were segregated into a long table where we wore headphones and learned vocabulary words and the correct pronunciations for them. All except one child were immigrant children with limited English. Michael Kroenke, whose name I never forgot, was the only caucasian student in our group and I am not sure why he was with us as he spoke fluent English. I remember him being a very scrawny, skinny and a soft spoken little boy who always had a runny nose. His clothes were not always the cleanest and his straight limp hair was usually oily . He had a funny way of speaking due to his two buck teeth and he was usually seated next to me. I considered him a buddy who I used to tease and he would do the same to me and we both laughed at our own shortcomings. I am assuming he had a learning disability and this was the only setting the administration could place him. Maybe there were no appropriate programs for a child like him and he was just stuck with all the kids who didn't speak much English. I think he was the first child with a disability I came across but didn't realize at the time. In junior high school, I found out he had an older sister named Valerie who was intellectually disabled. When she walked across campus, the cruel boys would jeer, laugh and make fun of her and although delayed in many ways, I think Valerie knew she was being ridiculed and often times she would loudly sob like a baby which made the boys laugh even harder. I felt so bad for her but did nothing to reach out to her and neither did any of my classmates. We only saw her in passing between recess time as she was segregated into special classrooms where we had no interactions.
Once, I ran into Michael, Valerie and their parents at Sears and I remember feeling so much pity for them even as my own childhood was pretty crappy and pitiful. The family looked poor and the parents seemed a bit "off" themselves and I wonder now if whether they had mental health issues. I remember feeling pity for them but also feeling glad and relieved that they had each other to lean on. I wondered what it must be like to be them: to be made fun of, ridiculed, not respected, poor and vulnerable. And, I wondered if there were people who saw me, a marginalized, minority immigrant kid who spoke little English, just as I saw the Kroenke family. On occasion, I wonder what ever happened to Michael and his family and I pray they are safe.
In junior high, I had a classmate whose sister had cognitive delays and she would have frequent tantrums, headaches and maybe even seizures. She went to a special school but once I visited my friend at her house and I saw how awful it was when she had one of her spells. I felt sorry for her mom and felt embarrassed for my friend. I never showed much sympathy for her as I was a self absorbed and ignorant junior high kid - not that I was ever mean or overtly disrespectful but I tried to distance myself from her in fear that associating with the "uncool" people would hurt my chances of ever being "popular" or at least accepted; and being accepted by my peers at that age was a very big deal . I realize it was stupid, childish and even hurtful and I cringe at myself when I think of how shallow I was as a teenager even though I was being influenced by other "friends" whose acceptance I so badly wanted. In my heart though, I knew there was something not right about the world, those jeering kids, my group of friends and the pressure I felt to fit in. I don't remember anyone from my first grade but I've thought about Michael and Valerie on and off for years and even do so to this day.
Through that experience and reflecting back on those days, I have a greater compassion and understanding for people who are oblivious to their own hurtful actions or words shown out of ignorance. We are all at different levels of understanding and no one can make anyone learn anything. Wisdom, insight comes as a result of experience and maybe that is why God brought us into this world; to gain wisdom and insight through our varied experiences; the sublime, the mundane, the grotesque, the tragic and everything in between. What I realize in hindsight is that nobody will every judge my stupid actions or thoughts as harshly as I judge myself, not even God. When I encounter people who abuse or belittle others, I cringe at the thought of what their own judgment of themselves will be like once they achieve a higher level of understanding, either in later years or at the pearly gates, I have compassion for them because I know how uncomfortable that can feel.
"Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn't know until you lived through it. Honor your path. Trust your journey. Learn, grow, evolve, become, heal." -unknown
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