Fast forward to the fourth grade, at least, I think it was the fourth grade.
What I do know for sure is that it was before I was diagnosed properly.
Because I was so slow on the staircase, it had been decided that
I wouldn't participate in fire drills; I would sit in the office instead.
Looking back, I can see that this was a bad arrangement. Some adult
should have assisted me during fire drills. Assisted kindly, and patiently.
One day the fire drill bell rang, and while everyone else went outside, I went
to the office, as usual.
Suddenly, a woman who worked in the office came in and said,
as if she thought I was just a troublesome brat,
"We don't have time for your nonsense right now."
And she dragged me out of the office and down the stairs.
The speed, the being dragged down the steps, was very upsetting, and I started
And then I was outside, and still crying.
And then my first grade teacher, who was standing there with
her class, scolded me.
"Shame on you, Rochelle! You're acting like a baby! These
little first graders are behaving better than you!"
You don't DO that to a child who is frightened, upset, and crying,
especially one who used to love and trust you.
This was nothing less than a betrayal.