Years of living with a lisp (口齿不清) had taught me it was better not to say anything than to speak and risk embarrassment. As a result of my1, I felt distanced from most of my peers (同龄人). "Kathy? Oh, she'squiet." That's what most people would say when they2 me, as if "Quiet" were part of my3. I was okay with that. I didn't need to be4.
Last September, however, that all5. I started my creative writing class with Ms. Haist. Every day we would be given a different writing taskand, if we wished, we could6 what we had written. I7 listening to others read their work and thinking: "That will never be me. I'll never have the8 to do that."
One day, I was really9 with what I had written and wanted to share. My heart was beating wildly as I raised my hand. Those10 little voices were ringing in my ear, "You have a lisp, remember?11, your writing isn't that good. Be quiet." I was about to12 my hand when I met Ms. Haist's encouraging eyes.
I swallowed the voices down and let my real voice13. I could hear it14as I read, and I could hear every stutter (结巴) and mistake. I finished reading, waiting to be laughed at.15, I heard claps from the class and praise from Ms. Haist.
The next day, I did it16. Soon I was reading outloud nearly every day. Gradually, I realized that17 my lisp, the class and the teacher always appreciated my writing. Now I may still not be the most18, social person, but I've become better at oral presentations. I19 read my poetry out loud at a reading club.
Every time those little voices try to tell me to be quiet, I think of all the encouragement I received in class and I know that I20 to be heard.
