Fish In A Tree

by Lynda Mullaly Hunt

Being funny when you don’t mean to be is terrible. Having to laugh at yourself along with everyone else is humiliating.

I look down at my Mercury dime and its date, wishing people could last as long as coins.

“Did you see how that guy in there took me for a fool? Trying to rip me off. Remember, Ally. When people have low expectations of you, you can sometimes use it to your advantage.” Then he looks me right in the eyes and points at my nose. “As long as you don’t have low expectations of yourself. You hear?”

“Well, I agree from a mathematical standpoint, Albert, but not from a human one. I believe that the things we put numbers on are not necessarily the things that count the most. You can’t measure the stuff that makes us human. Like Keisha’s creativity or how hard she’ll work.” Mr. Daniels shrugs. “Just my opinion.”

I want to give him an answer, but I have both too many words and not enough.

Seeing him shuffle away in those sneakers makes me want to be better. I’m not perfect, but at least I’m not mean. And then my heart sinks, because I realize that I just was. I guess I did it because I was lonely. Now I know that there are worse things than being lonely.

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.

“They can call me anything they want. And believe me, they do. But they can’t say anything about Travis. Never.” “Is Travis your older brother?” “He’s my big brother.” He half smiles. “Is there a difference?” “Yeah. There is. An older brother is older. A big brother looks out for you and smiles when you walk into a room.”

“Well . . . alone is a way to be. It’s being by yourself with no one else around. And it can be good or bad. And it can be a choice. When my mom and brother are both working, I’m alone, but I don’t mind it.” I swallow hard. Shift in my seat. “But being lonely is never a choice. It’s not about who is with you or not. You can feel lonely when you’re alone, but the worst kind of lonely is when you’re in a room full of people, but you’re still alone. Or you feel like you are, anyway.”

Staying quiet and having people think you’re stupid is better than talking and having people know for sure.

Getting an award for not being smart enough to deserve it is the worst feeling I’ve ever felt. Like getting this certificate is going to make me pat myself on the back and, somehow, transform into a different person. I swear that I’ll never accept an award that I don’t deserve. Never.

“Look, you’re my friend. The best friend I have here. If you want to say things like that and make it hard to be your friend, then . . . well, I’ll just wait for you to come to your senses.” Oh. “You’re talking like a fool saying I don’t understand what it’s like to be different. But the thing is . . . I’m only different to the people who see with the wrong eyes. And I don’t care what people like that think.”

“Hunched over and silent is no way to meet the world.”

“Now, don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? You know, a wise person once said, ‘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.’”

It stinks to be the one with the target on your back and be the one who can’t go anywhere.

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 smart my grandpa was.

just because someone says it doesn’t make it true.

And looking around the room, I remember thinking that my reading differences were like dragging a concrete block around every day, and how I felt sorry for myself. Now I realize that everyone has their own blocks to drag around. And they all feel heavy.

I think of that word Mr. Daniels used when he talked about the famous people with dyslexia. Grit. He said it’s being willing to fail but try again—pushing through and sticking with something even if it’s hard. He also told us that a lot of those famous people were not afraid to make mistakes no matter how many they made. I think messing up will bother me less than it used to.