Would You Believe I am Just Like You?

Would You Believe That I am Just Like You

?



I wasn’t paying attention when we drove away from school and didn’t realize we weren’t going home until we were in the other direction.  Maybe Mom was going to buy me ice cream or a toy to make up for my bad day.  I knew my teacher called her; she usually did when I disrupted the class. 



“Do you want to talk about what happened at school today?”  Mom asked.  “Your teacher said you went to the office.”



“It wasn’t my fault.” See, what did I tell you? 



“I know, Michael. She was just trying to deal with the situation the only way she knew how.”  She looked at me with sad eyes.  “I can talk to the principal again; maybe she can move you to another class.”



“Thanks, but it doesn’t matter.  It will be the same in any class.”  My mom tries hard to make things easy for me.  She talks to principals, teachers and other parents, and gives them pamphlets and videos.  She just doesn’t understand that they still don’t like me.  They all think I’m a freak.



I guess you want to know what happened.  I’ll tell you, but you won’t understand either.  Nobody does.  Here goes:  I was in class sitting at my desk, trying to mind my own business, but I have been so stressed about my math test that I couldn’t help it.  I just had to touch Laura’s desk, over and over and over.



Of course it had to be her desk.  Laura is the most popular girl in my class, maybe in the fifth grade, or in the whole school.  If we had cheerleaders, she would be the top one.  We always end up sitting next to each other because our last names start with B.  Mine is Baker and hers is Benson.  We’ve been in sitting next to each other all year, so you’d think she would be used to me by now but she’s not.



“Stop!  Why do you always have to touch my stuff?” Laura moved her desk away from me.  “Touch your own desk.”



“I’m sorry.  I can’t help it.” I mumbled, trying not to annoy her more, or worse, attracting the attention of anyone else.



“Well don’t touch me, I don’t want to get whatever you have!”  So much for keeping it quiet.  I slumped in my chair and hoped no one would see me.



But Sam saw; he sits behind Laura. He poked his fingers on her back.  “Touch, touch, touch.”



“Stop!” Laura yelled, but she wasn’t really mad at him because they both laughed.



Then our teacher, Ms. Wilson, heard them and it all came out. She made me go sit in the office and told me that it would help me relax.  I know she just did that to get me out of the class because she thinks I’m a pain.



Even though she’s a teacher, Ms. Wilson is stupid.  It’s been explained to her a bunch of times, but she still doesn’t understand. I can’t help making the grunting noises and touching people.  I can’t help blinking my eyes. Does she think I want to be laughed at and teased? 



I try not to be a pain and bother people, but that’s kind of hard for someone like me. Someone stuck with a disease that makes you act weird; and if the teacher doesn’t get it, how are the kids going to?  What would you do if someone said, “I have Tourette Syndrome.  It’s a neurological disorder with vocal and motor tics that I can’t control.”  No wonder they don’t want to play with me.



This is the life of a person with Tourette Syndrome.  Some people get kicked out of moving theaters and restaurants because they annoy other customers.  Kids get kicked out of school and have to be home schooled.  Others take medication, which I have done, but they make you feel crazy or put you to sleep.  I just have to accept the fact that this is my life and I will have no friends.



Mom stopped the car at a mall.  I forgot we weren’t on our way home.  “Where are we?  I thought we were going to get a toy or some ice cream.”  I stuck out my bottom lip and showed her my best puppy dog eyes. 



“We are not getting a toy.”  She said walking across the parking lot and stopping in front of a karate studio.  “We are going to talk to the teacher.”



She wants me to learn karate?  This was a great idea; beat up the kids that tease me!  I’ll show them what happens when they laugh at me!  They will all have black eyes and bloody noses!  I will even punch Laura if she laughs at me again.



We went inside a big room with a lot of people.  Adults, probably parents, were sitting in rows of chairs while their kids were standing in lines, not moving or touching anything.  They were watching a man in a white uniform and a boy a little older than me, punch a big, blue bag.  All of a sudden I didn’t think this was a good idea. There must be twenty or thirty kids there! Does my mom really think I can hang out with them?  Doesn’t she know they will hate me? 



This is making me nervous. How could I stand there with them?  I will touch something or make a noise and they’ll hit me before I even get a chance to explain.  And then I’ll be in trouble with this teacher too!  I can feel the tics getting worse, but I can’t stop them.  The grunting noise in my throat starts and I can’t stop touching my mom’s leg.  My eyes are blinking so fast and tight that I am giving myself a headache.  I keep telling myself to relax and close my eyes so I can’t see the parents.  I know they are looking at me and wondering what was going on.  My mom put her hand on my back, which helps. 



The kids started yelling, so I opened my eyes.  They were still a minute ago but now they are jumping up and down, making noise, and punching the bags.



“I want to hear more noise and I want to see more moving.”  The teacher said.  I like the sound of that; it is something I do all the time.  Closing my eyes again, I can picture myself standing next to the teacher like that other kid.  Me, in front of a class; if only they wouldn’t laugh at me.



When the class is over, we follow the teacher, Mr. York, to his office.  My mom starts telling him that I don’t have many friends and the kids at school are not nice to me. She looks sad again and I’m afraid to look at the teacher because I am sure he will be like Ms. Wilson. Through the window, I watch the new class going on.  The boy that was standing with Mr. York before is teaching it. He isn’t too much older than me, but all the kids are listening to him.  He must be really good.



It’s quiet now and I realize mom isn’t talking anymore.  Mr. York is looking at me.  “I know people can be mean to those that are different, but I do not teach kids karate to punch their classmates.  I will teach you how to defend yourself as well as other ways to deal with them. Is that clear?”



“Yes sir.”  I answer politely, but he doesn’t understand either.  What else is there to try? I’ve already talked to them and they just don’t care!



“I see you are watching Thomas teach the class. He is a leader in our karate school and helps me a lot.  All the kids look up to him, but not because he is a black belt and very talented.  They look up to him because he treats everyone with respect no matter how they treat him.”



Mr. York walked to the door.  “I am going to get Thomas; I would like you to speak with him.  He can talk about his training here and then you can let me know if you think I can help.”



I was starting to get nervous again.  I usually don’t talk to other kids.  The grunting and blinking are starting again.  I know he will think I’m a freak and leave, but Thomas came in smiling and sat down next to me.  He started talking, somehow ignoring the grunting even though it was louder than him.



“Mr. York said you are thinking about taking karate.  When I was nine, my dad brought me here.  I was angry and used to get into fights at school because the other kids teased me.  Believe me,” he added, “I know how you feel.  I’ve had Tourette Syndrome since I was eight.”



“You do?  I didn’t see… How do you… do the kids…” I can’t get it out!  I want to know if the kids see it and how he gets them to be nice. 



“Do you want to know if they are nice to me?  I will be honest it took a little while for them to like me.  You know that Tourette is not the easiest thing to understand, and people think you are strange, but after a little while they got to know the real me.” 



I can’t imagine that happening with me.  How would I get people like Laura and Sam to be nice long enough to get to know me? Sitting back in the chair, I crossed my arms, and looked at him.  Maybe Thomas is different, maybe his tics don’t bother people like mine do.



Turing his body towards me, he continued talking.  “You can relate to this Michael.  One tic I had, made me stop and touch the ground.  It made my dad crazy because he said it took us a long time to get anywhere.  But I always looked at it as getting to spend more with him.  I also used to raise my hand in school, and not because I wanted to give the answer.”  He started laughing. “But I always made sure I knew it, just in case.”



I’ve never heard anyone talk about their tics like that before.  He was laughing so hard, my mom and I started laughing too. I could see her eyes twinkling. I didn’t know it before, but there are other people that can like you for who you are.  You just have to find them.