The stutter got so bad I was taken out of my grade and put in the special class, held in the boiler room. My only other classmate was named Gilly. He'd fallen though the ice as a child and was technically dead for 57 minutes. They taught us to sweep sawdust so we could find work at a mill. Of course I overcame the stutter in three languages. On to Princeton, Harvard, the top of the business world. I thought I blocked this out, but a thing like this brings back emotions.
I'm so sorry.
I feel like I'm back in that boiler room, making little piles of sawdust while Gilly plays with himself in the corner...