Fish In A Tree

by Lynda Mullaly Hunt

Teachers are like the machines that take quarters for bouncy balls. You know what you’re going to get. Yet, you don’t know, too.

I write with one hand and shield my paper with the other. I know I better keep the pencil moving, so I write the word “Why?” over and over from the top of the page to the very bottom. One, because I know how to spell it right and two, because I’m hoping someone will finally give me an answer.

You can’t make people unhear something. I should be used to this, but it still takes a piece out of me every time.

No matter how many times I have prayed and worked and hoped, reading for me is still like trying to make sense of a can of alphabet soup that’s been dumped on a plate. I just don’t know how other people do it.

They already think I’m a pain, so why add dumb to their list? It’s not like they can help, anyway. How can you cure dumb?

I think about how me avoiding consequences would be like the rain avoiding the sky.

Alice in Wonderland—a book about living in a world where nothing makes sense made perfect sense to me.

Reading for me is like when I drop something and my fingers scramble to catch it and just when I think I’ve got it, I don’t. If trying to read helped, I’d be a genius.

Grandpa used to say that Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole was just like real life. I didn’t used to understand what he meant, but I do now.

I like Mr. Daniels, but he’s got a thing for reading. Always talking about books and how great they are. Personally, I’d rather have the flu.

People act like the words “slow reader” tell them everything that’s inside. Like I’m a can of soup and they can just read the list of ingredients and know everything about me. There’s lots of stuff about the soup inside that they can’t put on the label, like how it smells and tastes and makes you feel warm when you eat it. There’s got to be more to me than just a kid who can’t read well.

“Imagine if every single time you got on your bike, you had to worry that the wheels would come off. And every time you ride, they do. But you still have to ride. Every day. And then you have to watch everyone watch you as the bike goes to pieces underneath you. With everyone thinking that it’s your fault and you’re the worst bike rider in the world.”

“My brain will never do what I want it to do.”

I’m only different to the people who see with the wrong eyes.

So profound.

I can’t say no to that deal. Homework is only one step above death.

‘Everyone is smart in different ways. But if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life thinking that it’s stupid.’”

THIS!

And I think of words. The power they have. How they can be waved around like a wand—sometimes for good, like how Mr. Daniels uses them. How he makes kids like me and Oliver feel better about ourselves. And how words can also be used for bad. To hurt.

My grandpa used to say to be careful with eggs and words, because neither can ever be

fixed. The older I get, the more I realize how smar...

Now I realize that everyone has their own blocks to drag around. And they all feel heavy.

We all have both our special talents and areas where we need to work a bit harder. Honestly, I’ve learned much more from—and have been ultimately successful because of—my failures. Things will not always be easy; sometimes we do fail. But it isn’t failing that makes you a failure. It’s staying down that does.

Great minds don’t think alike.