Her pain, her son

"I'm dyslexic, and saying that still shocks me up to this day; it's still not easy for me to say.  I hid it for so long, not wanting people to know so they wouldn't prejudge me or label me as defective.  It's hard to keep that secret after writing a book about being dyslexic. But it has to be done to help others, and today I'm here to talk to you about learning differently and dyslexia." This was my opening statement to the room filled with Listerines, fellow dyslexics, teachers, and parents … but today felt different from most. Yes, each  talk is different, but not like this different.  Something or someone was out of place. I could feel it in the air.  Each group was special, and I always walked away learning. and meeting new people and forming lifelong friends. As I started talking about dyslexia, I noticed one lady sitting in the front row had a different look in her eyes that poured out onto her face.  She had a sad look, and I understood she wanted someone to help her. She moved her head up and down, agreeing with me as I talked, embarrassed over something as the words touched her ears.  She smiled as I talked about  how so many children never get the right testing  for dyslexia in  today's school systems. She also glimmered as I talked about how so many parents are told that their child is smart but reads slowly, and it's the child's problem for not working hard enough in school or, even more degrading, that the child is just lazy. She closed her eyes and sat back in her chair, agreeing that her child also did so many things so well but had trouble in reading and writing. But this did not reduce the look of pain in her eyes, as if something still was missing,  so I talked about how I lost all hope of ever making it in the world after being told I was lazy, slow, dumb, being sent to the principal's office, staying after school and even having a teacher come after me with scissors and why? Because I could not learn from their teaching methods. But this still did not work to help ease her pain. I wanted to reach everyone in the room and help them all, as my mother and I wanted to be helped at that point in our lives.  I then talked about how my mom battled  with the school system but did not get any help... I talked about other dyslexics who had done well, I  listed names, but this still did not change the tortured look on her face. I finished the talk with much more to say, but my hour was up.  As I talked with the individuals leaving the room, she just sat there waiting for everyone to leave. As the last person left the now quiet room, she slowly pulled out a white piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me. She softly said, "This is about my friend's son. I wish we could have heard this earlier this year." She slowly gave me a pat on the arm as she falsely smiled and turned to walk out of the room. Her face still had the same expression she had as she started that day. I thanked her for the note as she walked out, not turning back to show the clouds in her eyes. I knew before I opened the paper and read it that my life would change forever, and this would affect me forever. I slowly opened it, took a deep breath and prepared myself to read the  note..

A letter from a mother's Friend........"Mark hated school. Although extremely bright, he didn't do well there. He had a difficult time conforming to the structured and rigid ways of his teachers. Mark had looked forward to the new school year. A fresh start in a new school, surely his "new" teachers would understand his uniqueness and things would be different! But things weren't different.Mark quickly perceived that this year was more of the same rigid standards that he didn't fit into.Mark lost all hope that things could ever be better. In the early morning of August 28, 1995, less than two weeks into the new school year, Mark hung  himself in the park near his home. The family had done all the "right" things for Mark, they sought counsoling for Mark's depression and felt he had made great strides in overcoming this darkness that frequently accompanies people who are "different". When Mark felt there was no hope that things would ever be better, he gave up.. His mother confided to me that if she could go back she would be more vocal to the school in addressing Mark's unique needs. An educator herself, the mother had tried to work through a system that is frequently slow and reluctant to respond.. Today the mother is a outspoken advocate for the rights of gifted students." - they need hope....giving not taking...

I now know it was too late to help. Her pain would never go away, the pain coming from  someone who had felt the loss of a loved one. It's a look I will  never again forget, nor will I ever stop helping kids, parents, and teachers. I want to help so this never happens again.   To anyone reading this, please know that up to 30% of school kids have dyslexia, but only 1% of them know what it is and have someone helping them to overcome it. If you know someone who needs this help, please help them.