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  Hilarie explained to me that she thought I had an excellent chance to win the award because I had done so many good things for so many kids and faculty members. She reminded me of the special things I did and asked me to reconsider. Once again I said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  But as I was leaving her office, I decided to think about it that evening. The application would still be on her desk in the morning.

  “We get a lot of new teachers,” said Hilarie a few years later, “but before I met Brad, there was never anyone I really considered exceptional—no one I ever considered nominating for this award. Brad had to leap so many hurdles and he went above and beyond with the kids each and every day. He was so confident in himself that his students became more confident in themselves. The nomination was not a difficult thing to do for Brad.”

  I was honored that Hilarie thought of me for this. But I really didn’t think I deserved the nomination. I had won awards before, and each one felt good and well deserved, but this seemed different. I felt I did well, but was I really the best first-year teacher in that county? I didn’t want to be considered if I wasn’t in the playing field with the other nominees. I thought about it all night and finally realized that Hilarie—along with Jim—had given me the opportunity to teach. If she saw something in me back at the beginning of the school year, then she must see something good in this award for me. She would not have suggested that she nominate me if she didn’t believe I could win. I had a great deal of trust in and respect for Hilarie, and if she thought I had a chance, who was I to say no? Okay, I decided, we’d give it a go.

  The next day as soon as I got to school, I stopped by Hilarie’s office. “WOOP! Let’s go for it,” I said.

  To complete the application, there were a few things she needed to do and a few things I needed to do. One of my tasks was to write an essay describing the greatest obstacle I had faced in my first year of teaching, how I had overcome it, and the advice I could give to other beginning teachers. I chose to write about dealing with Tourette’s, not because the obstacle was so great for me, but because it was so great for others. I was used to explaining Tourette’s, so that was not the obstacle. The obstacle was getting people to accept me—and the time it took for that to happen. I also wrote:

  My personal experiences have influenced my personal goal to help ANY child in need. When my administrator asked if she could nominate me for this award, I was very proud at first. But then I questioned whether I was good enough, as I felt I had so much to learn. She stated that every teacher, regardless of experience, could continue to grow, but that my personal triumphs bring something special to the classroom that is rarely seen.

  I have had countless experiences my first year and there are many things I would pass on to beginning teachers. One thing stands out more than anything else: enjoy what you do and reflect upon your teaching style so you can improve. Each teacher has his or her own approach, and that is what makes each of us unique. I truly believe in following your heart. If I had listened to all the “well-meaning” advice given to me over the years, I would not be where I am today. Believe in yourself and remember that you can make a difference.

  After a few days everything was done, and I have to admit that the application was impressive. Hilarie sent it off to the Cobb County office. The county winner would be announced in a few months.

  I decided not to tell anyone about the application or the possibility of the award just yet. I’d rather tell people after I won the award—if I was lucky enough to win. That’s just how I am with things like this. Telling people before I win gets their hopes up for me. I am so fortunate to have so many close friends that I hate to disappoint them if I don’t win. I’ve also found that the excitement level is much higher if I tell them after I win. Keeping this particular secret was not hard for me. Even though I had already been chosen Mountain View Elementary First Class Teacher of the Year, there was a lot more at stake if I won at the county level. So I waited it out.

  In late April, Mary Ellen Hopkins, who was the parent of a child in our school and worked for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, asked if she could do a story on me. The first week in May was National Teacher Appreciation Week, and she thought an article about me would be timely. At first I wasn’t big on the idea because experience had shown me that people in the media can twist things you say, and that causes trouble. But she stopped by my classroom to talk, and I developed a small degree of trust. The angle she wanted to hit was an approach I felt comfortable with. She wanted to focus on the fact that my Tourette’s was teaching the students in my class more than just reading and writing—they were also learning to accept different kinds of people. I felt even better about it when she agreed to let me read the story for accuracy before it was published.

  So we did the interview, and a photographer visited my class. When Mary read the finished story to me over the phone, she told me she was not going to read me the quotes from the kids, parents, or administrators. She said she wanted me to have some level of surprise when I read the article when it came out in the paper. I was curious but said that was fine.

  My class was so excited when the article came out on May 1. I made sure to get up extra early that day so I could go around to the stores and buy as many copies as I could. I wanted to be sure each child in the class got his or her own copy because my students were as much a part of my success as I was.

  The title of the article said it all: “He’s a Walking Role Model.” That got the attention of many people, including me! I especially liked it because the focus was less on Tourette’s than on my doing a good job teaching children. I was particularly happy about the fact that Mountain View got so much credit. Twenty-four other administrators hadn’t wanted me to teach at their school, but I had persevered and found a school that was not only willing to take a chance on me but was willing to make me a success.

  “I had a friend who was a principal at a school in another county, and she lived across the street from me,” recalled Hilarie.“One evening just after we hired Brad, we were out walking and she said she’d heard there was a young guy who wanted to be a teacher who was going around asking for a job … and he was barking. She said she thought a guy like that must be nuts to think he could be a teacher. I told my friend that I’d just hired that guy and that she was nuts not to. I was disappointed that she never took time to meet Brad before she dismissed him as some nut. Now he was our school’s first-year Teacher of the Year and was featured in this article. I was really hoping that my friend was reading the paper that day.”

  Hilarie also recalled a computer course all the teachers had taken.

  “We were outside the room signing in, and Brad was in the hallway, barking like he does,” she said. “One of the teachers from another school remarked snidely that someone must have brought their dog. ‘How dare you,’ I snapped back. ‘That’s one of my teachers.’ And I went on to explain Tourette’s to that individual. I think it shows that even though we who are around Brad every day forget about the Tourette’s, we sometimes forget that he has to put up with this kind of thing every day, yet he still retains a very positive attitude. That, to me, is impressive.”

  In early June we had a staff meeting after school. This was a normal event; the administrators would go over information about the end of the school year, as we had only one week left. All the teachers gathered in the media center. I was sitting to one side of the room with the other second grade teachers, as usual. But I could tell there was something different about this staff meeting. Hilarie started it by introducing a visitor from the Cobb County education office.

  I had no idea who the woman was or why she was there. Even when she said one of the Mountain View staff members had been selected for a special award, I still didn’t have a clue—at least not until she asked me to come to the front of the room. Then I stood up and squeezed my way through all the people, chairs, and bookshelves. Some of the teachers knew what this was all about, but others were in the dark.
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  The county representative explained about the Sallie Mae award and talked about the process, adding that because the Cobb County school district was so large, it nominated a teacher from the elementary, middle, and high school levels. At last she said what I had been waiting to hear: “Brad Cohen has been selected as Cobb County’s nomination for the Sallie Mae First Class Teacher of the Year at the elementary level.”

  Everyone began clapping and screaming my name. I couldn’t believe that I had been selected. I was truly honored to be the county’s choice and will forever be indebted to Hilarie Straka for insisting that she nominate me. I was absolutely floored, overwhelmed with love and appreciation for Mountain View Elementary, for Jim and Hilarie, for the teachers, and for my students and their parents.

  I soon learned that my name would go on to the state level, and in a few weeks the state committee would choose one person as the winner for the entire state of Georgia. Knowing that I was actually in the running was mind-boggling. All I could do was enjoy the moment and celebrate with my fellow teachers. They were so excited for me that it got me even more wound up. All I could think about was how far I had traveled and all the obstacles I had had to overcome in order to be here on this day. I remembered people thinking I was possessed by the devil; and I thought of the many teachers who had sent me to the principal’s office, the kids who had mocked me and beaten me up, and the restaurants and theaters I’d been kicked out of. Mountain View Elementary had had the guts to take a chance on me, and it was reaping the benefits. I couldn’t have been happier—for the school or for me.

  Winning the Cobb County award was awesome, too, on behalf of everyone with Tourette’s, because so many of us are still not able to find any measure of success. Just after I had begun teaching, I attended a national Tourette syndrome conference and had met some wonderful people who, like me, had Tourette’s. Other than forming the support group in Peoria when I was in college, this was my first experience as an adult meeting others with Tourette’s—and, as in Peoria, this was a far cry from the negative and depressing support group meeting I had attended as a youngster with my mom and Jeff. At that unhappy meeting, there was not one successful person with Tourette’s. At this national conference, the room was filled with hundreds of successful people who also had TS.

  I loved every minute of the conference. I loved learning new things about this disorder that had impacted so much of my life. As an unexpected bonus, I found it very therapeutic to talk with positive-thinking people with Tourette’s. They understood me on a level no one else really could. They, too, lived with Tourette syndrome. I could share both my positive and my negative experiences with them and they understood completely because they, too, had experienced similar things.

  I soon began speaking at various TS conferences, and this sharing of my experiences opened up a whole new world for me. Through my speaking and networking, I have made many good friends. Some I keep up with on a regular basis, and others I look forward to bumping into at the next conference or event. I love catching up with them, supporting them in their ups and downs, and having that support returned, unconditionally, to me. My growing network of friends with Tourette syndrome has proven to me over and over again that you can have Tourette’s and be successful in virtually any area you desire. Is it easy? Not at all—you have to continually persevere. But the rewards are great if you only dare to try.

  In April of my first year of teaching, before I knew I was getting the county award, I decided to go back to school to earn my master’s degree. To qualify for graduate school I had to pass the GRE—the Graduate Record Examination—a general test designed to provide graduate schools with standard measures for comparing applicants. Many programs, especially those at large state schools, establish cutoff points for GRE scores to limit the application pool, while others use GRE scores to determine how much financial support students will receive. So it was important not only that I take the test, but also that I do well.

  Knowing that anxiety increases the symptoms of Tourette’s, namely my tics, I had requested special testing accommodations long in advance of the day of the test. Specifically, I wanted to be tested in a separate room, for two reasons. One, so I wouldn’t disturb others who were taking the test, and two, to reduce the nervousness I would feel in knowing I was disturbing others. By law, I was entitled to this accommodation, but that part of the law isn’t always upheld the way it is supposed to be.

  The morning of the test, I arrived only to find that I would have to take the test in the same room with everyone else. This really upset me because I knew how much I would bother the other people who were also taking the test. Because of the importance of this day, my stress set off one of the worst episodes of tics that I have ever experienced—severe neck jerks, violent facial grimaces, and tons of woops, barks, and ja … ja, JAs! The people administering the test totally refused to give me special accommodations, and I was unable to take the test that morning because I would distract others. This was especially bad because the GRE was given only a few times a year. If I didn’t take and pass the test now, I would not get into graduate school that summer.

  I was as frustrated as I have ever been. I had just spent hours trying to get the test administrators to give me a separate room for the test, and they were completely unwilling to cooperate. Finally I gave up and called my dad around mid-morning to see if he could talk to them right away.

  Over the years, my dad and I had become much closer. My living in Atlanta helped, but he and I had also both worked hard to establish a better relationship than we’d had when I was a kid. I now realized that much of his distant and angry behavior back then stemmed from a huge frustration on his part—frustration with Tourette’s and his inability to help, frustration with the way other people treated me, and, yes, frustration with me. Several different medical professionals also had told him that I had a “behavioral problem” and should be dealt with firmly, so his treatment of me was partly based on that advice.

  But even though we had not always seen eye to eye in the past, I knew he was there for me. I knew my dad had always been there for me when I really needed him, so I asked him to help me straighten out this mess. In the meantime, I went home with tears in my eyes, totally exhausted emotionally and physically, not having taken the test.

  You can imagine what I was feeling. Even though I was doing exceedingly well in my career, I was still regularly getting thrown out of places I went with my friends, and that experience was still as embarrassing as it had been when I was sixteen. And now my hopes and dreams for graduate school that summer were being shattered. It was another one of those times that Tourette syndrome got the better of me.

  Around noon, I was finally told that I could take the test that afternoon in a separate room. My dad had succeeded in convincing the test administrators to follow the law. By this time, I had been wooping and barking and jerking horrendously for hours and was completely wiped out. But this would be my only chance to test for this admissions cycle. So I pulled myself together and returned to the test center, and did the best I could on the test. Sadly, I did not pass; I tested just below the score needed to get into Georgia State University.

  I was angry and frustrated about the entire situation, mainly because it was all so unnecessary. My dad had had to give up part of his day, and I had gone home crying and upset, wondering how I could get into grad school. I was completely stressed out, and for what reason? Because the people administering the test were so obstinate that they refused to give me the special accommodations that I was legally entitled to. I have since taught a number of students who have special needs, and I am always attuned to the frustration their parents sometimes feel in getting the services their children require and are entitled to. It’s an area in which we all must—and can—do better.

  Once again, my dad stepped in to help me get into graduate school. Over the next two months, he hired a lawyer to help straighten out the situation. I was initially denied admission to GSU bas
ed on my test scores, but I appealed the decision. Eventually, the university accepted me as passed, based on my unique situation. All I knew was that I didn’t want to take that test ever again. Too much stress.

  That summer I was thrilled to start earning my master’s degree. Imagine me in grad school—I bet some of my former school teachers would never have imagined it! I was in a great program at Georgia State. I would be with the same thirty students for fifteen months, and I was definitely the youngest person in the group, as I had taught for only a year.

  Through all of this, I had been trying not to think about the state of Georgia’s choice for the Sallie Mae First Class Teacher of the Year Award. If it happened, it happened, I thought. But deep down, I really wanted to win. Not just for myself, but also for everyone who had told me I couldn’t teach, and for those who have had to struggle to achieve a dream.

  In July, after many days and nights of trying to keep busy with other things, I received a call from Hilarie. When I heard her voice I almost didn’t want to talk to her. Somehow, I just knew she had news. I took a couple of deep breaths as she was talking, and it took a minute before I realized that Hilarie was telling me that I had won. I had won! I had been voted the best first-year teacher in the whole state of Georgia and would receive my award—together with all the other First Class Teachers of the Year—in Washington, D.C., in September.

  To say that I was excited is the understatement of my life! I screamed and yelled and jumped around the room, and as soon as I could stop shaking, I called my mom, my dad, and my brother. Then we all screamed and yelled with excitement over the phone. Then I had to call all my friends and some of the teachers I worked with. It certainly was hard to focus on grad school for a few days.

  As soon as I could catch my breath, I thought back to my seventh grade math teacher who had made me sit facing a wall in another teacher’s room. I thought of all the principals who wouldn’t hire me, and of all the times people had told me I would never amount to anything. I always knew I could be a good teacher. Now a lot of other people thought so, too.