Kurt Klaus is an English Teaching 
Assistant. This June, he is wrapping up his 10-month Fulbright grant at Sportovní gymnázium Pardubice, a general college-preparatory high school for athletes located in a regional hub and university town of 90,000. With a B.A. in American Literature and Culture and a B.S. in Cognitive Science, a college-preparatory high school was an obvious placement. As an athlete with experience playing basketball and volleyball in high school, Kurt was excited to meet his colleagues and students in September. While he could have simply tried to blend in, he instead decided to take advantage of a fresh start in a foreign country: to him, this meant embracing his authenticity with all that it contains, including his stutter. Throughout his life, Kurt had developed various strategies to mask his impediment and pretend it didn’t exist. This year, however, in his new role as a teaching assistant, he approached the situation differently. Fast forward to June, and today he shares: "Fears and all, I can safely say the past 10 months have been some of the most impactful of my entire life. Not only do I feel more connected to myself than I have in years, but I’ve made lifelong friends, experienced more adventures than I can count, and have developed a new perspective."
Like many times in my life, I was scared to speak. Like many times in my life, I justified relegating myself to the sidelines. And, like many times in my life, I felt the moment slipping away. This time, however, my hand went up. How could I push my students all year to speak up, I thought, when I can’t do the same? Yes—this time, I spoke.
*
As a person who stutters, I knew my time as an English Teaching Assistant in the Czech Republic wouldn’t be easy. By stuttering, I mean the physical inability to utter certain words, even when I know what I want to say next. Sure, I’d used the impediment to my advantage in my application—touting, as all savvy applicants do, my ability to persevere through hardship and yada yada yada—but I was paralyzed by fear when it came time to actually teach. Three days before my tenure at Sportovní gymnázium Pardubice began, I sat counting down the waning moments of my Fulbright orientation, staring at a blank page that was supposed to become a letter to my future self.
Accordingly, as my fears washed over me, I came to a realization: in order to succeed, I would need to fully accept stuttering as part of my identity. Although I had undergone much growth in the years prior, I was still uncomfortable stuttering in front of others. I took a deep breath, picked up my pen, and began writing to my future self—someone who, I decided, had not only accepted stuttering as part of his identity, but had also spent the year reflecting on and exploring all parts of himself. I couldn’t imagine this person, but I knew that June had to come at some point—time can only move forward.
And move forward time did.
Fears and all, I can safely say the past 10 months have been some of the most impactful of my entire life. Not only do I feel more connected to myself than I have in years, but I’ve made lifelong friends, experienced more adventures than I can count, and have developed a new perspective. Cliché, I know, but what am I supposed to do, lie? In regards to my stuttering, I ultimately settled on a plan of self-disclosure. With this technique, the stutterer shares their impediment upfront, alleviating anxiety for themselves while informing listeners about any disfluency that might ensue. It’s simple in theory, but in reality it meant telling a dozen classes of students a “secret” that I had, for the majority of my life, only shared with a handful of people, over text message, under the comfort of my bedsheets. Although nerve-wracking, my initial discomfort bore massive results. I no longer felt immense pressure to remain flawless, leading to increased confidence and an overall high rate of fluency. When I did stutter, too, my students were patient and understanding—all in all, I hope my occasional bouts of disfluency added to the environment of acceptance and courage I worked to cultivate in the classroom.
Photo: Me and a class of 4th years after they ran a farewell activity for me at the end of the first semester, December 2023, Pardubice.
Meanwhile, my year abroad was ripe with time alone and shared experiences alike, the two working in tandem to help me reflect and contemplate aspects of life I hadn’t really considered before. I won’t forget the long walks around the lake by my apartment, especially in the biting cold, my California-raised body finally experiencing what it’s like to live in the snow. I won’t forget sitting on a park bench in the heat, eating an ice cream with nowhere to be. And I won’t forget going to a café for the third time in a day, just because, or swimming laps at the Aquacentrum by my apartment in an attempt to think of the perfect intro to a grad school application essay. Truly, I’ll miss this time alone—time where I, like many of my fellow ETAs, felt secluded in a bubble of our own thoughts, the foreign Czech phrases of passerby deflecting off of us and into the unknown. Time alone where I, just like my past-self hoped, took a moment here and there to discover more about who I am.
Also, of course, I’ll miss the relationships I formed and the experiences we shared. I’ll miss the friendship I formed with my mentor Káťa, without whom I wouldn’t have lasted three days into this journey. I’ll miss the weekly pivo with Martin, a doctor I met at a salsa dancing class run by Jef, a Colombian expat who runs a bomb coffee shop down Štrossova with his cousin Andrés. I’ll miss hanging out in the kitchen of Rébus Pizza with Thomas, Daniela, and the rest of the staff, incredible people who were kind enough to befriend me and provide a place where I felt welcome. I’ll miss playing pool with Daniela’s brother Robin, always losing but always having some of the deepest conversations I’ve had in years. And I’ll miss my weekly meetings with Martina who, in limited English at the start, was the sole member of my community short story club—with persistent joy and hard work, she improved substantially and I couldn’t be more proud.
Meanwhile, my year abroad was ripe with time alone and shared experiences alike, the two working in tandem to help me reflect and contemplate aspects of life I hadn’t really considered before. I won’t forget the long walks around the lake by my apartment, especially in the biting cold, my California-raised body finally experiencing what it’s like to live in the snow. I won’t forget sitting on a park bench in the heat, eating an ice cream with nowhere to be. And I won’t forget going to a café for the third time in a day, just because, or swimming laps at the Aquacentrum by my apartment in an attempt to think of the perfect intro to a grad school application essay. Truly, I’ll miss this time alone—time where I, like many of my fellow ETAs, felt secluded in a bubble of our own thoughts, the foreign Czech phrases of passerby deflecting off of us and into the unknown. Time alone where I, just like my past-self hoped, took a moment here and there to discover more about who I am.
Also, of course, I’ll miss the relationships I formed and the experiences we shared. I’ll miss the friendship I formed with my mentor Káťa, without whom I wouldn’t have lasted three days into this journey. I’ll miss the weekly pivo with Martin, a doctor I met at a salsa dancing class run by Jef, a Colombian expat who runs a bomb coffee shop down Štrossova with his cousin Andrés. I’ll miss hanging out in the kitchen of Rébus Pizza with Thomas, Daniela, and the rest of the staff, incredible people who were kind enough to befriend me and provide a place where I felt welcome. I’ll miss playing pool with Daniela’s brother Robin, always losing but always having some of the deepest conversations I’ve had in years. And I’ll miss my weekly meetings with Martina who, in limited English at the start, was the sole member of my community short story club—with persistent joy and hard work, she improved substantially and I couldn’t be more proud.
As for my fellow Fulbright ETAs: man, it’s been real. Whether it was spending weekends in each other’s small towns or trekking out to Budapest, I can’t say I’ve ever had more fun. Each weekend was a new adventure, one I knew would be full of jokes, mishaps, and chats about anything from the theory of deep ecology to the ethicality of tipping. You all have impacted me in more ways than I know, and I hope you can say the same. Truthfully, however, I’m not surprised one bit. With ingredients including: motivated young people from all across America, a previously unexplored place and culture, and, of course, time, a changed perspective seems like the inevitable outcome. More than anything, what I’ve taken away from my experience as a Fulbright ETA is that nothing is “normal.” Whether you were raised in California, Alabama, the Czech Republic, or Slovenia, you are a product of where you are from. This means a lot of “different”—different clothes, different favorite candies, different door knobs, and different attitudes and views. “Normal,” accordingly, is short-sighted. “Normal” is from your personal perspective and, wow, are there a lot of perspectives. Thank you Fulbright, now and forever, for helping me realize that.
Photo: The winners of the pub trivia activity that Jim, far left, and I prepared for the Fulbright Mid-year Conference, February 2024, Třešť.
Photo: Me and some of my fellow ETAs in Budapest, October 2023.
Photo: Me and Fulbright student Fizah petting kittens in the Czech town of Telč, October 2023.
*
So, when it was my turn to speak, that’s exactly what I did. I stepped outside of my comfort zone, shared the obstacles I’d overcome, and fully embraced my identity as a stutterer. That, I figured, was a fitting way to end my journey. Then, to wrap it all up, I referenced a line from my letter:
“While things might seem easy here now,” I said. “Try to remember how you felt in the beginning. Because me? I was scared. I knew I would get here, but man I was scared.” I paused. “So please, don’t normalize your accomplishments.”
A smirk.
“Because guys, we fricking did this.”
“While things might seem easy here now,” I said. “Try to remember how you felt in the beginning. Because me? I was scared. I knew I would get here, but man I was scared.” I paused. “So please, don’t normalize your accomplishments.”
A smirk.
“Because guys, we fricking did this.”
