To the Teachers of the Next

 

To the teachers of the next- a spoken word written for the teachers of the next generation of young people with Dwarfism.

To the Teachers of the next,

You need to hear me out. Now, my anger is not with you so I’ll try not to shout. 

But hear me when I say, I’ve longed for this day- the day someone listens to what I have to say. Because I’ve been there and I know, more than most do- but I’m not the one with the power- that lies with you. 

I get that it’s scary- and you have targets to meet. But imagine how scary it is when you can’t reach your seat. Your peg. Your bag. The dinner hall chair- believe me it sucks because I’ve been there. 

I was too young back then, I couldn’t speak my mind. But I see it now because I’ve served my time: 

I learned the hard way. I hurt and I bled. 

But there can be purpose to the tears that I shed.

 

Learn from the past. Take what I say. Give them a path that shows them the way. 

The way to a world where they can be who they are.

Where the only limit they see is the sky and the stars.

It’s in what you do. Not just what you say. Because if you’re not committed to learn- trust that I’m not leading your way. 

This isn’t a tick box. The responsibility won’t stop. After an Ofsted inspection or when your marks meet the top. 

Don’t do it because it’s a ‘given’. Do it with care- because without that- believe that we won’t get anywhere. 

This journey ahead- is one I’ve walked for miles, it’ll continue for us but only be yours for a while. Make the impact you have, make you the one they remember. 

Do it with love. Not as a favour. To your representation- or the marks on a sheet. Because at the end of the day- you can still reach your seat. 

So with the kindest regards I’ll leave the rest up to you- if you call for my service trust that I’ll follow through. 

But understand that I’ve already picked up my own heart- so don’t let history repeat. See harm has been done but you can set the next standards to meet. 

Be the adult that I needed.  Because we won’t have to fix what ain’t broke. Be the light that I needed. Lead the next- onto hope. 

It’s not me.

They say you’re only dealt what you can handle, but what happens when what you’re trying to handle is you. 

Trying to understand a body that doesn’t know what to do. 

In a body of 5. A soul two decades older. 

A tiny rock, in a world full of boulders. 

To you I’m the problem. The one that doesn’t fit in. But let it be known I’ve lived my whole life in this skin. I knew my body before I knew yours. If this isn’t normal- than what is I can’t be sure. 

Is it measured in numbers, if so then 60 made me lose. Because that’s the only thing that separates me from you. 60 c m that’s all it took. If it was roles reverse would you let me off the hook? 

See I know I was given the wrong body. Because my soul speaks fire- wanting things beyond even the 6ft desires. I wasn’t meant to be given a body so despaired- not when the soul it houses wouldn’t harm so much as a hair. 

If you met me blindfolded I think we’d be friends- but your sight is what blinds you, and causes harm in the end. You see it before me. I hear laughs before my own name- yet in this world we live in, discrimination is just a game. 

Now it’s my responsibility, to grow thick skin, hang on- I couldn’t even grow full stop. Now let that sink in. 

Think how it feels to at the age of 7 just stop. And watch all of your friends come out on top. 17 years I’ve had to learn to be small. In a body that wishes it could do it all. 

That’s how I know I was dealt the wrong card. Because when you give this much. It shouldn’t be this hard.  It’s not me that was meant to put up this guard. I was the one that was supposed to go far. 

I was supposed to climb to the top. And by that I don’t mean the shelves in the shop. The hurdles weren’t supposed to be in the form of the simple. Some days I can’t understand it- not even a little. 

Why it was me out of the 7 billion that ended up being a fluke. For decades this world believed I belonged in a zoo.

Those that came before me, fought through the circus and shows: but some days the streets still tell me that’s where to go. Understand I’m more qualified now before age 25- than some may see all the days their alive. 

No this body was not meant to be mine. But being different here isn’t the crime. So I’ll cry, scream and curse till no voice is left to hear- but no anger or frustration will make this disappear. 

So we’ll go about it. You do you. I’ll do me. 

Probably not meeting again in any of the places we see. And I’ll fight each day to overcome this trouble whilst the world around me still lives in a bubble. 

A bubble where normal means we look the same. Where the person is known more by their hair colour than even their name. 

See it’s not me, that’s adding gas to the flames, because discrimination to me, ain’t no game. 

It wasn’t meant to be mine but this body you see- is not the problem, and the problem is not me.