When I was in kindergarten, my teacher noticed I had trouble focusing on my work. I'd sit there and not do it. I'd daydream instead. She thought I hadn't understood the directions, and when it kept happening, she recommended I have my IQ screened. Well, it turned out I had the intellectual capacity of a fourth-grader. Kindergarten work bored me, that's why I wasn't focusing.

I remember that day. "The doctor said you're as smart as a nine-year-old," was the way my mother worded it. Interesting that the teacher's first assumption was that I didn't understand. I wonder why she jumped to the conclusion that I must have been stupid.

What stirred up a lot of these feelings was that yesterday our church had a picnic. Among the festivities was a game of croquet, which I hadn't played since my children were little. Well, we all struggled. The grass was overgrown and the soil was clumpy and uneven, which made it difficult to be accurate with our shots. But I had more trouble than most, since I am also physically and visually challenged. I managed, but I was always a wicket behind everyone else. When they started allowing me extra swings, I began to feel as I have felt many times in my life--like the family retarded kid. (Before anybody takes offense here, please let me elaborate later. I'll explain.)

My husband, on the field not as a player but to help me walk on the uneven ground and hold my cane when it was my turn, probably inadvertently triggered those feelings the first time they suggested an extra swing, and without thinking, he commented, "Oh, OK, they're going to give you charity." I say this because in a similar situation, a volleyball game with a previous church, they let me come up far closer to the net when it was my turn to serve, and I didn't feel that way. I think my husband's comment did have something to do with it, although I know he didn't mean it that way.

But then what really ticked me off was when people started coaching me. I don't mean pointing out where the wickets were. They were difficult to see, and I appreciated having somebody stand near it and point while I swung. I mean, telling me strategies, saying things like "Don't hit too hard," or "Hit the yellow ball," or "You want to place your ball here." At one point, when my husband AND another church member AND the pastor *all* began approaching me at the same time to help me, I snapped. "You know, I'm not so stupid that I need this much help." They backed off. Of course I came in last, by far, but that doesn't matter; I had expected to. Later I apologized for biting their heads off, but I was assured I hadn't offended anyone.

I grew up partially raised by my maternal grandmother, and it is significant that my mother had a mentally retarded sister. (This is why I asked people not to take offense at "felt like the family retarded kid." I know how it is. I did have a family member who was special, God rest her recently departed soul.) When I was living in my grandmother's house, it almost seemed to me that Barbie was more like a sister than an aunt, and for some reason I seemed to be compared to her a lot. In fact, there were some more distant relatives who even *confused* me with her, and sometimes called me by her name. I have always wondered why.

To this day, I am hypersensitive about being considered stupid. I'd rather be considered ugly. And I can conclude that I am considered stupid every time someone:
* Assumes, before I even try, that I'm going to mess up.
* Decides I can't do it after one mistake, instead of letting me learn from it.
* Takes something out of my hands to do it themselves.
* Tells me some basic common-sense fact I've known since I was four.
* Gives me extra help they wouldn't give someone else.

And these things happen to me all the time. For instance, my mother used to be really bad about critiquing my personal appearance and home organization, even well into my 30's. She didn't act the same way toward my brothers, and I'm older. I finally had to get angry with her, to get her to stop inspecting me.

Why are people so eager to think I'm stupid?