I'm a Stutterer Who Loves to Talk - 2014 Newbery Honor Award Winner

Description

Two eyes, two arms, two legs. I am ordinary.
But the moment I open my mouth, people look at me differently.
With a stutter that seems lacking in some way.
Even if it’s really slow, even if the pronunciation is funny, even if you stutter
I will say what I want to say until the end.
Because what you say is more important than how you say it.

2014 Newbery Honor Award Winner
Instead of being weighed down by the obstacles that appear on the outside, find your true self!
“I am a stutterer who likes to talk,” which won the 2014 Newbery Honor Award, depicts the process of Victor, who avoided people because of his stuttering, coming to speak confidently without being intimidated by the gaze of others. This book, which contains deep understanding and insight into humanity through the thirteen-year-old protagonist, is also the autobiographical story of author Vince Barter, who lived happily(!) with a stutter for over 60 years.
The main character, Victor, is the only son of a wealthy family and has everything, but he only temporarily delivers newspapers for a month on behalf of a friend. For Victor, who is famous for throwing fastballs on the baseball team, throwing newspapers from door to door is a piece of cake. However, he has trouble sleeping every Friday worrying about having to collect money for newspapers. This is because whenever he opens his mouth, he is often treated as a poor child due to his stuttering speech. However, Victor changes little by little as he interacts with people one by one. In particular, after meeting Uncle Spiro, who has extensive knowledge and a warm personality, Victor wants to have a 'conversation'. Victor communicates with people little by little, and gradually realizes his true self. He is not a stutterer with a speech impediment, but a normal Victor who loves baseball, writes poetry, and dreams of becoming a newspaper reporter.
In this way, “I am a stutterer who loves to talk” is not a book about the success story of curing stuttering after arduous efforts. It is a touching work that conveys that even if a disability cannot be cured, it can be overcome, and that strength begins with facing and loving one's true self.

“Why are you the only one who stutters?
That’s the same reason other kids can’t throw fastballs as well as you!”
A correct perspective on disability as a ‘difference’ changes a child’s life!
Until he delivers the newspaper, the only person Victor truly communicates with is his black housekeeper, ‘Mom’, with whom he has lived since he was six years old. While Victor has been thoroughly protecting himself while receiving emotional comfort from his mom, he begins to open his eyes to his ego after meeting and having an in-depth conversation with the bookworm Mr. Spiro.

Most adults, especially my relatives and my parents' friends, did not listen to me and acted as if they knew everything when I tried to say something. Sometimes, there was an adult who would finish a sentence for me. When I actually heard it, it wasn't what I wanted to say. There was an adult who looked away with a fake smile on his face while waiting for the words to come out of my mouth. Some adults even hurriedly left the place. _From pages 69-70

Victor also knows that adults don't mean it in a bad way. However, pretending not to know that Victor stutters or pretending that Victor does not exist at all is the same as denying Victor's very existence. Unlike these people, the common point between the heart that helped Victor survive all kinds of wounds and Uncle Spiro, who gave him the strength not to get hurt anymore, is that they accepted Victor for who he is. However, Mr. Spiro, who is deeply knowledgeable, goes one step further than Mam and makes us realize that disability does not mean inferiority to others, but is just a sign of being ‘different’. It makes us think once again of the immutable truth that we must look into our true self rather than what we see on the outside.

A thoughtful look at the marginalized and hurting people
Victor, who was only focused on the hurt he received from people, finally begins to pay attention to the people around him while delivering newspapers. What is reflected in Victor's eyes is the image of people who are as alienated and hurt as he is. Mam, who is discriminated against socially and institutionally because she is black, Mrs. Washington, who consoles her loneliness with alcohol due to the lack of communication, and Paul, a hearing impaired person who watches television all day to practice reading people's mouths... … .
Instead of silently enduring social restrictions with deep faith, Victor casts a critical eye on the misguided view of discriminating based only on appearances. He feels pity, not criticism, for Mrs. Washington, who is always drunk, and is willing to be a friend to Paul, who cannot hear.
Victor, who is now overcoming his own wounds and slowly stepping into the lives of others, is no longer the stutterer he used to be who couldn't say what he wanted to say and typed it out on a typewriter. Even though he is extremely slow and his pronunciation is funny, he has been reborn as a confident boy who continues to say what he wants to say without stuttering. In this way, through the process of Victor, a stutterer, acknowledging and overcoming his limitations, it is a work that gives courage to teenagers who are trapped in despair for various reasons and guides them toward a healthy life.

Content introduction

Talk to an unfamiliar adult
During the month of summer vacation, I ended up delivering newspapers on behalf of a friend. He's good at throwing baseballs, so throwing newspapers is no problem. However, I couldn't sleep well at night when I thought about having to go from house to house every Friday to collect money for newspapers. Because I stutter, I avoid meeting people as much as possible.
The first night I went collecting money went better than expected. They put newspaper money in a collection envelope so I didn't have to open my mouth, and in some houses, I even received tips. Mr. Spiro, who was last in line, also prepared exactly 95 cents for the newspaper. I was about to take the money and leave without having to open my mouth, but Mr. Spiro asked me the question I was most afraid of in the world. What is your name? My first and last name both start with V, and as someone who stutters, it was very difficult to pronounce it. I put my upper teeth against my lower lip and tried so hard to say the first letter of my name that I ended up passing out. Uncle Spiro took good care of me until I woke up. Even when I stuttered, he did not laugh at me, but waited with a smile on his face until I finished speaking. No matter how trivial a question I asked Uncle Spiro, I got a great answer. I was able to ask Uncle Spiro everything I was curious about.

I wanted to talk more with Uncle Spiro. No matter what I asked, I felt better after hearing Uncle Spiro's answer.
“All the other kids talk easily, but why am I the only one like this?”
This childish question is something I've been wanting to ask someone for a very long time. (syncopation)
“Let me become Socrates and ask you this question. “You can throw a fastball, so why can’t other sixth graders do the same?”
“That-that-that…” … .”
I couldn't think of a suitable answer. No, no answer came to mind. Uncle Spiro looked at me intently, as if he would only move on to the next question if I answered something.
“Why-because other kids aren’t me.”
“Messenger, that’s it. In other words, you are not another child. “Am I right?”
I nodded. _From pages 71-72

Mr. Spiro understands the characteristics of stutterers well and helped me speak well. Was that why? Without realizing it, I told him that I had written a poem. Mr. Spiro knew that he could avoid stuttering when reading with a group of people, so he suggested that we read my poem together. So, for the first time in my life, I read a poem I wrote out loud. I was filled with happiness inside me.

Uncle Spiro was smiling with his arms crossed. He looked at me in silence for a while and then stood up.
“I feel like my prejudices about poetry have been properly challenged. Great view. Thank you for sharing your poem. “My stuttering poet.”
If someone had called me a stuttering boy, a stuttering sixth grader, or a stuttering pitcher, I would have been so angry that I would have thrown something at them. But when 'stutterer' was added to 'poet', stuttering for the first time in my life felt like an okay thing to do. _From page 6

birth certificate
Each bundle of newspapers to be delivered is tied with a string. When I tried to cut the string with a penknife, the blade was too dull, so I asked Mr. Arati, a junk dealer, to sharpen the knife. Uncle Arati took 25 cents with him, saying he had to buy gas first, and didn't return his knife even after a few days. Boma Mana must have been doing this because he looked down on me as a stuttering idiot. In the end, she told Mom the truth. She thought she would be scolded because her mother always warned her not to go near Uncle Arati. But she only replied that she knew what she wanted, and then she went on vacation for a few days.
I went out to eat with my parents because my mom was going on vacation. She was at a dinner party with her parents and friends, and she tried to order 'spaghetti', but she couldn't speak, so she changed it to 'splish ghetti'. My friend burst out laughing, and I just ate this and that with my neck red and ended up throwing up all over the table. My mother made the excuse that I was sick, and our family hurried home.

The next day, when I went downstairs for breakfast, my mother told me to tell her whatever I wanted to eat. But I answered that cereal was enough. She asked if her mother was feeling alright.
“It’s okay. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
"are you okay. “There are times when germs spread.”
Stuttering is not a germ. I shouted in my head, ‘I’m not sick.’ Where my cry always stays. _From page 96

Mom has been on vacation for a few days. In an empty house when my parents were away, I went into their closet and secretly searched through boxes of documents. My 'birth certificate' had my mother's name written on it, but in the space where I wrote my father's name, there was an unexpected word written: 'identity unknown'.

My name is
When Mom returned from vacation a few days later, her face was in such a bad state that she couldn't tell who had hit her. Even when I asked her who it was, she didn't tell me.
After finding out about Uncle Arati's secret warehouse, I sneaked in to look for a pocket knife, but as I was coming out in vain, I bumped into Uncle Arati. Fortunately, she escaped without being caught, but a week later, on the last day of collection, Uncle Arati sneaked into my room and stole her wallet.
Mom immediately went out to find Uncle Arati. Instead of returning her wallet, the man Arathi found in a bar tried to strangle Mam to death. I saved Mom by throwing a bottle at Uncle Arati, and while I was being held by Uncle Arati, Mom found my penknife in Uncle Arati's pocket and stabbed it deep into Uncle Arati's arm.
While Mr. Big Sack was taking care of Mr. Arati, Mom and I took my wallet and the things that Arati had stolen and returned home. The penknife was buried deep in the ground.
Vacation ended and I became a middle school student. During the self-introduction session, instead of running out in a cold sweat, shaking, or acting sick, I introduced myself slowly, stuttering.

"I am … … Victor... … Vollmer... … It's three years old. I am … … say... … will do … … stutter when still … … say... … i like you. I am … … Baseball too... … i like you."
I took extremely long pauses between each word and exhaled a lot between words. But I didn't care how my classmates looked at me. I didn't wonder what people would think of me. I just said exactly what I wanted to say. _From page 238

“How was school?”
“Joe, it was good. “Would you like me to tell you what I learned today?”
"What?"
“What’s important is what you say. “It’s not about how you say it.”
“That’s right, little gentleman.”
“B-and my soul stutters.”
Mom smiled and started preparing the meal. As she hummed a hymn. She didn't say anything in response, but she understood why I said that. _From page 239