I’ve felt like this was a strike against me ever since the day that I was brought to the part of the school that the “normal” kids never went to. My fourth-grade teacher was instantly my first crush and I would have held her hand regardless of where she was going. She had honey brown skin all year round. Her hazel-green eyes seemed to have all the answers, and I’d steal a glance any time I could.

She held one hand and my mother held the other as they talked and gently guided me to the isolation of a “Special needs” classroom. When Mrs. Turner said pointed me to a desk that had my name on it anger reddened my ears. I still smell the mixture of wooden pencils, chalk, glue, and urine. I can still see the red and green square vinyl tiled floor. I still know the layout of that classroom decades later. I was not just labelled I was packaged and shipped to a foreign world. Given that this school would be one of 20+ the time in this class would not last long, but the label stuck.

Mrs. Turner was truly an educator, but also a coach. I remember reading from the moment I walked into the moment we went to lunch, then writing from lunch to the end of the day. She knew the skills I needed and wouldn’t shy away from making me work hard. I liked that.  I still laugh at how she had me stand in the back of the room at the pencil sharpener the day I came back as a sophomore in high school who graduated out of special needs into mainstream.

Mainstream meant not special needs and special in special needs didn’t mean special. I didn’t tell her that there was a paperwork mix up somewhere along the lines in my many school transfers since leaving. I didn’t tell her because I wouldn’t know that until I almost graduated high school. The operative word being almost. I left Mrs. Turner’s class never wanting to ever be labelled again. I would assume that’s the reason I still rebel against the label given to my learning difficulty.

I call it a difficulty because it’s always been with me. I was never able to learn or read or communicate like the other kids that were labelled as normal. If one of them fell and damaged their brains they would have a disability because they were able-brained at one point in their lives; I’ve always been broken to normal standards, so how can I be a disabled learner? No, I have difficulties learning. It takes me longer and I don’t get there the way the others do.

I communicate well in writing because I have the opportunity to take the words back, or take more time to get them right before they come out. I look normal, walk normal, and in everyday conversation talk normal. Or, I talk normal enough that the person to whom I am speaking thinks I am normal. Stay around me long enough and I’m confident you too will say “I don’t speak Khalil.” Sit with my wife and speak with us and I will almost always hear “how do you understand him?” NEWS FLASH!!! She understands me because she’s never tried to define me.

Because I have such a fear of labels, I’ve never learned what all the names of all the things are that I am not normal in! I like that ignorance, but it’s that ignorance that may actually be holding my whole family back. I know that I’m dyslexic. I know that impacts how I read, but I didn’t know that it would impact how I speak. I don’t have a stutter, and I don’t speak slow. I have spoken at major cybersecurity events and private rooms where I’ve taught the skills of speaking, but in building those I’ve lost a lot of understanding from leaders and peers.

I am a martial artist, a BJJ Black Belt as well as a lifelong athlete. I know that the gym, the mats, the field is where we practice. By practice I also mean fail safely to understand the outer and inner limits of our capabilities, talents, and skills, the order has a hidden meaning by the way. I know that in these areas we are safe to try new things, and I foolishly took that mindset with me into corporate America. There is no place for people like me, people like us in that world. In the world of corporate life everyone is working their asses off to master mimicry.

When you mimic the one who was successful that holds the keys to your promotion or success you will succeed. Why else would imitation be called the greatest form of flattery if it were not true?

This is where the corporate world patronizes and patronizes.

Confused?

Welcome to the realm of me.

Let me explain what I did there. The word patronize has two meanings: it’s a contranym. On one hand to patronize means to be someone who supports a merchant through purchasing their goods, they are a patron and patronize. On the other it means to look down on, or pity someone. The corporate world does both, and it’s camouflaged so well that no one catches on.

It’s what labels you before you interview for the job, hidden in the optional section where you have two yes’s and one no. The Yes | No | I refuse to disclose options. Refusing to disclose just means “yeah, but I don’t want your pity.” NOPE! Give me the pity. Give me the pre-protection that I need from you. I need to have it understood from before hello that I will challenge your thinking. You’re going to get whatever government subsidy or exemption for hiring disabled individuals are so I should at least have protections, if there are any, that will allow me to use analogies as descriptions.

If someone could take me away from the opportunity of true education because they didn’t want me asking questions as a child, why would I give them that power over me as an adult? I do not wear my difficulty as a “Hello my name is:” sticker, but that sticker is placed on me everywhere I go. From BJJ to malware research I do and find what normal overlooks. I find success in details others couldn’t care less about. I want to know how many straws were on the camel before the last one and was it truly the last one, or did you force it to stand long enough that its own weight became too heavy.

We quote Thought Leaders from Confucius to John Locke and Jordan Peterson. We idolize them postmortem and bastardize them in life. Or to put it more efficiently, we patronize them. Corporations tout themselves as thought leaders but all say the same thing. Others and I don’t intend to be thought leaders; we just ask questions that instigate thought.

When you are like this you are labelled divergent and pleasantly deconstructed until you can mimic. If by some miracle you avoid trying to fit in and break out, you can change the world. No one like us gets the honor of being started in the special needs class. We get the shame of being removed from the classroom and the embarrassment of being brought back to the lunchroom.

I would hold Mrs. Turner’s hand no matter where she took me because she knew I didn’t belong and taught me how to play the game well enough to blend in. My time with her showed me that my difficulty is a blessing. I may have a hard time with some things, but it just means that I see the world differently. Neurodivergent is a more offensive way of calling me retarded. I’d rather be retarded than completely off course.

See what I did there. It’s called a contranym.