When I was a teenager, my cousins joked that I had discovered the cure for AIDS. It was their way of saying I was smart because I read a lot.
I even overheard my mother telling my aunt I was special. I got offended because I thought she meant special as in slow.
That’s because when I was a kid, I thought I was stupid.
In grammar school, I was a terrible student. I got straight Fs in the early years. And when we had to take the IOWA Test, I started to get held back. I can remember going to summer school as early as third grade, and I failed sixth grade twice. I failed seventh grade too, but someone had mercy on me enough to add my name to the eighth-grade roster, and that is how I entered the eighth grade.
I honestly cannot tell you what happened. I never learned the details. As far as I was concerned, it was a miracle.
Once in the eighth grade, they routinely removed me from class to go with the Special Ed teacher. My specific area of difficulty was math.
Whenever that teacher came to the door, all five of us would get up and walk out, and everyone knew what for. It was embarrassing, and I felt ashamed.
If I was so terrible at school, how did I graduate with honors with an armful of Creative Writing awards? And how did I end up in ILCA?
ILCA is short for International Language Career Academy. It was a program at my high school where students had to take four years of language instead of two, and all their courses were advanced except for the electives.
By my junior year of High School, I was not only enrolled in all honors classes, but I was also taking courses at Robert Morris College in downtown Chicago.
I would go to school during the day and then hop on the Green Line and go to college at night.
At the time, I was a member of the UMOJA Spoken Word Poetry club, trying out for track, and the only member of the yearbook team.
My schedule was crazy.
I was also on the drama team, where we wrote and performed plays at school assemblies.
At one of these plays, I recited my poem, “Black Beauty.” It was the first time I had ever shared my poetry with the public.
But let me back up just a bit.
I never explained how I went from Special Ed for math to taking advanced math classes…and passing.
My eighth-grade teacher discovered I knew how to write, so they built my assignments around writing.
I excelled so much that I passed math, graduated with honors, and was placed in an advanced High School Program.
There’s an old saying, usually attributed to Einstein, that goes something like:
I was this fish. I used to think I was stupid.
Something in my brain just did not click. I didn’t even learn to ride a bike until I was nine years old.
At the time, The Robert Taylor Projects were considered the poorest urban community in the United States, second only to Cabrini Green. We did not ride bikes. We made tents out of dirty bedsheets, seesaws out of bed railings, and rollercoasters out of shopping carts.
Ain’t nobody have money for bikes.
And even though I’m a full adult now, I still get anxious about math and count slower than most.
People think I’m book smart, but the truth is it wasn’t until I focused on what I was good at (my purpose) that I started to do well.
It was never about being smart, but I was also not stupid. I just needed to find what worked for me, even if that meant I had to work harder than others.
Passion is connected to purpose. Those things you love to do (with or without payment), has a lot to do with what you are called to do.
Some of you are struggling with something, and it’s not because you are stupid or slow or incapable.
It could just be because you are a fish, trying to climb trees because that’s what everyone else is doing.
Find you some water.