My mother would ask me if there was anything wrong with my brother.
Did he act differently than other children?
How would I know?
I grew up with him. He wasn't different because he was himself.
I knew he was considered different.
This was just the call of battle.
There was no way I could see anyone hit my brother.
I knew he couldn't defend himself.
They kicked him.
I chased them.
He was young then. I was young.
It was playground bullying.
I didn't know what it meant.
I didn't know we'd be fighting for him.
It feels that's all we do.
He thinks differently,
so he's misunderstood.
There's no education system that can help him,
because we're behind.
They blame him, but it's not his fault.
We're not ready and we're not making progress.
For the sake of my brother,
or anyone else,
we need to grow.
We need to engage.
We need to see their gifts.