Tangled Tongue

Over the course of my childhood I was very blessed to have had many amazing teachers. They all taught me academic things, or character building things, or even I-want- to-be-a-teacher-myself things. There were two teachers who taught me many of the characteristics-a-teacher-should-have things by doing those things for me when I was a child. These two teachers were my mentors, supporters, cheerleaders, and motivators for five long, struggling years. They taught me caring, empathy, patience, perseverance, hard work, confidence, and laughter were essential to being an inspiring teacher. These two teachers were there through the years of my tangled tongue.
From the first day of Kindergarten I loved school, I loved the meeting new people, the reading, not so much the math, but school was an adventure…except for one thing.
“Hey!—You!—Girl!” yelled the big boy behind me on the bus. His eyes were squished up as his grin sneered across his face, “Say, six slimy snails sailed slowly south!” Trustingly, I replied, “Thikth thimy thnailth thailed thlowly thouth.” carefully pronouncing each word as clearly as my 4 year old self could do. The bus erupted with laughter as everyone jeered at my tangled tongue. “BABY!” the boy, who had started this whole nightmare, yelled as I sunk lower in my seat. “What was wrong with me?” I wondered. Why would, no matter how hard I tried, my tongue betray me!
Kindergarten was fun, I loved my teacher, though for my tangled tongue her name always came out as Mtheth Thathaki instead of Mrs. Sakaki. Being a social butterfly by nature, I had friends who didn’t mind my tangled way of speech. They understood me, even if I had to repeat things one, or two, or a few times. It still hurt, though, when someone would tease my “baby” speech—a wound, a cut, to my heart that I hid quite well behind my talkative, smiling, demeanor.
One day, a few months into school, a new lady teacher came to the class and asked me to come sit on the steps and talk with her. She introduced herself as Mrs. Stewart. She had a soft voice and held herself like what I imagined a princess would. Her welcoming smile and quiet movements were mesmerizing. Mrs. Steward seemed, to my mind, the classic “teacher.” Her neat, elegent dress was accented with gorgeous high heel shoes, perfectly applied make-up and coifed hair. “Wow!” I thought, “She’s gorgeous! I wonder why she wants to talk to me?!”
This teacher and her elegance were almost the exact opposite of the picture I must have presented. My crazy, wild hair curled and collided, creating a riotous halo around my head. My clothes were proudly picked out by myself, a cacophony of chaos, flowered shirt put on backwards with striped pants, rubber slippers with day-glow green slouch socks, and, of course, something pink and glittery was always included. My voice piped, chattering and lisping incessantly, singing random lyrics and humming tunes through out our conversation. In constant motion, swinging my short little legs, tapping out a rhythm only I could hear, flicking my hair out of my eyes, I squirmed and squiggled on the sturdy brown steps—not that I was nervous, in fact it was the opposite. Meeting people was so exhilarating that containing that excitement was always a challenge for me. I felt like a bottle of soda that had been shaken just a little too much and bubbles of energy were just waiting to burst out of me! Having this gorgeous teacher’s attention all to my self was incredibly exciting. Granted, I loved having anyone’s attention all to myself, but being singled out to receive that attention, I could barely contain my enthusiasm as I chattered on answering her questions, and in general talking her ear off—“My name was Jethica, yeth I liked thcool, I wath learning how to read and write. Mtheth Thathaki was the bethteth teacher ever! I didn’t like math but loved retheth, and art, and thienth, and reading, and lunch, and library. Did you know that we can take out our own bookth! I wath the youngetht, I and had three older thithterth.” We chatted, or I should say, I chattered, for a while, while Mrs. Stewart listened patiently to my rambling. I was so happy to be the center of someone’s attention that when she sent me back into the class with a reminder that I would see her tomorrow and meet another teacher, Mrs. Shimaoka, I was greatly disappointed. But, ever the optimist, I tripped back into Mrs. Sasaki’s class and joined back into the flowing conversations at my table. “What did she want?” my table mates asked in whispers. I shrugged, “I donno, but she’s nithe!”
Mrs. Shimaoka was very much like Mrs. Stewart. She, too, held herself like a princess. Her curly hair was neatly pulled back and her make up was just as elegant as Mrs. Stewart. Her somber colored dress matched her shoes and her dangling earrings immediately drew my attention. “WOW!” I though, “I’m the luckiest person in the world!” Mrs. Stewart and Mrs Shimaoka explained that they were going to help me work on pronouncing the ‘s’ sound and speaking clearly. I was slightly nervous but highly thrilled that they were going to help me with my tangled speech. They played games with me and made me do things that I thought were funny. I had to make faces in a mirror while saying different sounds, I had to swallow water or juice and keep my tongue in a particular spot in my mouth. Who knew that there was a right way to position your tongue? I had to say different tongue twisters, slowly, rather than quickly. I had to focus or I’d trip and slip and my tangled tongue would end the sentence in fits of giggles. All of these had one thing in common. That small, seemingly insignificant sound, ‘s’.
A year went by, twice a week I met with Mrs. Stewart or Mrs. Shimaoka. This was hard! I had homework to do and reminders to remember about my mouth and tongue positions for sounds. It seemed like this was taking forever! Shouldn’t I be making more progress than this? Shouldn’t I be cured of my tangled tongue by now? Mrs. Stewart and Mrs. Shimaoka never let me feel defeated for long. They pushed and prodded me, gave me encouragement, and slowly but surely I was able to say words that had an ‘s’ at the beginning. I was ecstatic that day, that day my tongue didn’t trip as I slowly said my silly sentence. “Sally swept the slippery sloppy swing,” clearly creating each ‘s’. My teachers clapped and cheered and I took a sweeping bow! I had done it!
More time passed. I worked hard in my regular classes and I looked forward to my time with my speech teachers. Every year they were there to work with me, giving me new things to practice and remember. My tangled tongue was slowly becoming less tangled. I could now say beginning and ending ‘s’ sounds, but when this annoying letter was placed in the middle of a word my tongue betrayed me. How embarrassing is it to have a name that you can’t pronounce properly. No matter how hard I worked or how slowly I said it, it always came out as, “Jethica.” This didn’t stop me from talking, I was too much of a chatter-box by nature, and my friends stuck by me, as my snarled speech slowly became more clear.
A retainer, a contraption of metal and plastic formed to fit my mouth was the next step. Forcing my tangled tongue to work properly, 3 metal prongs protruded from top of the retainer—fangs. A new name was thought up on the field, no longer “Baby” I had become “Vampire.” This device in my mouth was a last ditch effort to force my tongue to behave. We worked hard, Mrs. Stewart, Mrs. Shimaoka and I. Working tirelessly, supporting me when my spirits flagged, they patiently helped me learn to manage my frustrations and anger towards my embarrassing impediment. I felt like I was fighting my tongue. Some days I felt like crying after one of our sessions. Would my tongue ever become untangled?
I still liked school and was still the most talkative student in class. I overcompensated for my embarrassment by flinging my self into conversations, while inside I was frustrated with my inability to say that one specific sound. After long hard months I could do it. I could FINALLY say my name. For something as precious as one’s name being able to pronounce your own after years and years of working for it is an exhilarating feeling. Jessica, Jessica, I could do it!! Mrs. Stewart and Mrs. Shimaoka were there for my triumph. They were there to cheer me on as I rounded out for my final big test. That test came a few weeks after my success with my name. One tongue twister after another, I beat them all like a warrior against a beast. One by one they fell, my tongue finally untangled itself and did what I wanted it to do.
Now, many years later my tongue sometimes still trips and tangles upon itself, usually only when I’m tired and or so excited that I’m zooming through my words. Thanks to Mrs. Stewart and Mrs. Shimaoka my snarled speech, my tangle of frustration was over. More than that, they taught me the importance of compassion, patience, and persistence when working with children. They taught me that laughter and hard work build confidence. They taught me that believing in a child will make them believe in themselves, and THAT will make anything possible!