bullybones

I’m dyslexic. Yeah, go ahead, laugh…I know a lot of people will joke about themselves if they’ve made a typo or spelled something incorrectly, saying they must be dyslexic…but it’s true, I really am. I remember it being really difficult learning to read and write. I struggled so much, and I was embarrassed that I wasn’t as good at reading and writing as my other classmates. First grade was a nightmare! I always tried my best, but I still remember the horror of sitting at my desk, pondering which direction to write each letter and in what order. It didn’t matter how long I sat…I got it wrong. Back then (you know, in the prehistoric Stone Age time) there wasn’t a formal name for the learning disability…people with this “problem” were usually labeled slow and were packed up and shipped to the “slow learners” class. I don’t know what tipped my mother off to this issue I was having, but I vaguely remember a teacher’s conference and papers being brought home.

My mother showed me the papers, red marks all over them. I just shrugged my shoulders and got tears in my eyes. I wasn’t getting teary because I thought I was in trouble, though – I felt helpless. I just wasn’t getting it. She hugged me and told me to brush my teeth and get ready for bed.

The next day after school I was given my usual snack and then my mother told me we were going to sit down and talk. She sat down next to me and said, “I know you might feel like you’re stupid because you don’t know how to write or read very well right now, but you’re not stupid. I used to have the same thing happen to me when I was your age, and we’re going to work on this until you can do it with confidence.” I was pleased. I had no reason to doubt her - - much - - I mean I knew she was smart, but I just wasn’t sure how I was going to pull this off. It did seem impossible. Read the rest of this entry »