For years the butt of jokes
Called stupid, clumsy, thick
Just an accident prone, inept
Uncoordinated country hick.
The only man in step
Messing up the parade
Struggling to coordinate
The jerky movements made.
Military career terminated
Because of a load of tripe
But, as it turned out, fortunate
As I could never learn to type.
And that, in the situation of
My being involved in action
Could have endangered lives
By my slow sense of reaction.
In civilian life it continued
Constantly bruised and battered
Because I lacked agility
When it really mattered.
Then came my early seventies
And a feeling of relief
A diagnosis of dyspraxia
Restoring self belief.
What I'd achieved I'd achieved
Against all those practical odds
After so many years feeling
My fate in the hands of the Gods.
I am unlike the general public
My brain is wired differently
Hand and eye coordination
Not developed sufficiently.
So I stumble on through life
Enjoying every single day
I'm not just a clumsy oaf but
Different in so many little ways.
So if I stand and perform
And fall off the edge of the stage
It's caused by my dyspraxia mate
Not by dementia and old age.
