“His nickname was “seizure boy” — not a nickname he welcomed or ever wanted. Once, while waiting for the school bus, he collapsed in a seizure and while on the ground, in the dust, the bullies kicked him until a younger neighbor intervened. His teachers weren’t much better. Most of them were intolerant, indifferent, or uninterested. He dropped out of high school in the first week of his senior year.
This was my little brother who had epilepsy from the age of four until he was twelve years old. During his school years, he was frequently absent, got in trouble, and was set to the principal’s office regularly. He was incessantly bullied, and, as you might imagine, developed a strong dislike for school. When he was 12, a brain surgery stopped the seizures. However, it took many years for him to catch up socially, emotionally, and academically.
In the last few years I’ve become aware of the impact that my brother’s schooling had on me as an educator. I understand why my heart races and my palms perspire and my throat constricts when I see children — particularly boys — who are excluded and misunderstood. When I was a kid, there wasn’t much I could do to protect my little brother from the cruelty of others. I’ve been working in schools for two decades, and when I reflect on these years, I see the connection between my brother’s experience and my mission to create classrooms and schools where all children feel safe, valued, and understood.” Read the entire piece here.