I'm deaf and my brother is retarded

So I was having dinner with my family tonight. It was a nice dinner, nothing too far from ordinary I guess. But tonight I was reminded of my childhood, which made me laugh.

First off, I was never officially diagnosed with ADD. My family has never really believed in therapy. "They'll brand you as a retard and it will stick with you forever!" they would say. That being said...

I went to a Catholic school from kindergarten through 7th grade. It was an OK time...and by that I mean I hated it. My kindergarten teacher, Ms. Troll, was really a nice lady. She was very sweet and genuine, though now, knowing what I know about children and their whiny, sadistic behavioral ways, I don't doubt that she went home every night and beat her dog. I know I would have. Anyhow, I was never a kid who teachers ranted and raved about. I was never told that I was gifted or talented more so than my classmates - like my brother was, but more on that in a minute. I was just your average, overweight little kid who hated going to school. Because of this resentment I often daydreamed; a trait I remain loyal to this very day. I would sit in class, with my stupid navy blue pants and tucked in polo thinking of sword fighting with bad guys, and me always the victor. I also thought a lot of ninjas, sneaking through the woods to assassinate evil-doers without ever being seen. While this brought me great, unrequited joy, my teachers felt otherwise. My grades were okay, usually a B average. But I rarely participated in class. When called upon, I never really new the answer, not because I didn't know the answer, but because I hadn't been listening to the question. Ninjas are way cooler than state capitols.

In the 2nd grade I remember my teacher calling a parent-teacher conference, I wasn't sure why. I had to wait outside the classroom while my parents went in for the talk, so I amused myself by judo kicking the teatherball and sharpening knives out of sticks I found on the ground. On the way home, my parents turned down the radio to ask me a question. I wasn't paying much attention so my mother screamed, "Joshua! Can you hear me!"

Of course I can hear you. You just yelled at me.

"Well," she said, "all of your teachers think you are deaf. Are you deaf?"

Though I heard the question, I didn't answer. By that time I was already back to thinking of being on a ship defending the princess from swashbuckling pirates. Turns out, the school had scheduled the annual hearing test much earlier than usual, just to see how bad my hearing loss was. I surprised them when I could hear just fine. "Well if you can hear perfectly well," my teacher said, "why don't you ever answer when you are called on?" I looked at her to give the typical childish response of, "I don't know," but in the process became distracted because I envisioned her face turning into a dragon.

Perhaps the scariest moment of my life. As time went on, the teachers recognized I wasn't deaf, or stupid, but simply disinterested.

My brother had a similar story. His teachers (the same ones I had, and it wasn't a big school, so they knew my family already) thought that he was mentally disabled. At lunch, the yard duty lady would always hound him and his friends, because they would start digging up the soccer field. "What are you doing?" she would yell. They would sit there, stupidly, "we are digging for fossils." He was even busted when he would ask to go to the bathroom, and after not returning for 15 minutes come back to class with dirt-stained knees. "Where were you?"

He was digging for fossils.

Much to their surprise, when he went to a public school, where his and mine reputations weren't already tainted, he was placed in advanced classes and a SMART program for gifted children. He is now going to Cal Poly for a degree in physics. And me, well, I still don't really pay attention.