Posted by hunny_Beez on Thu 29 Jan 09, 2:17 PM to hunny_Beez's blog.
This is an old blog I wrote some time ago. Some may find it interesting.
I am dyslexic.
“About 10% of the population have some form of dyslexia. About 4% are severely dyslexic” (http://www.dyslexia-inst.org.uk)
So what exactly does dyslexia mean?
“Dyslexia causes difficulties in learning to read, write and spell. Short-term memory, mathematics, concentration, personal organisation and sequencing may be affected. Dyslexia is biological in origin and tends to run in families, but environmental factors may also contribute to it. Dyslexia affects all kinds of people regardless of intelligence, race or social class.”(http://www.dyslexia-inst.org.uk)
There are many sites out there that will tell you the facts and figures. But will they really tell you what it is like to grow up with dyslexia?
Thankfully nowadays it is recognised and there is increasing help. But going back just 15 years when my children were going through school, I had to struggle all the way to get it recognised, never mind getting any additional help for my three children.
So I grew up in a time when, in most areas of education, dyslexia was not recognised. I was a shy child so I am sure that did not help. But I also think that the dyslexia did not help my shyness.
Memories from my school days.
Age about 6 --- sitting next to a Geoffrey, a not very bright lad in my class, he was copying down what the teacher had put on the blackboard.
I could not understand why I was not able to do this. I could form all my letters, I could copy, but I could not see what to copy. I had my glasses on; I was sitting at the front of the class. But I was not able to copy down the work.
I tried to copy from Geoffrey. But he put his arm around the work and did not let me see it. As I gazed at the blackboard the white chalk moved about, lines blended in together, the words some how jumbled themselves up, and the fact that I was copying the words letter for letter as I could not read them, made it all the more difficult.
I remember the frustrations even though at that age I did not understand what frustration was, I felt inadequate, I felt stupid. Why did I not tell teacher? What was I to say? “Please miss I cant copy what's on the blackboard?” To a six year old, that was far to hard, I could see it, I would be able to say all the letters even write them down, but I was not able to copy what was to me a jumble that every time I looked back up changed.
Aged about 8 --- relief teacher going around the class getting each person in turn to read aloud from the book the class were reading. The reason being was that it was our classes turn to put on the school assembly that Friday and as the teacher was only relief she did not know who could read well enough to do the assembly.
My reading was very poor. Even now I read one word at a time then re-read them into a sentence. I was in terror, the humiliation of standing up in front of the class and making a total fool of myself trying to read a paragraph from a book was unbelievable.
But like most dyslexics I was not stupid like I was lead to believe. I was bloody smart thinking back. I worked out how much she was making each child read. I then worked out how many kids there were before me and skipped ahead and read and re-read the paragraph that would I hoped fall for me.
I panicked one of the boys read so well that he was allowed to read two paragraphs, so I had read one paragraph to early. I started reading the next one along. But there were only two people before me. I felt sick, I felt dizzy.
But then there was a knock on the door and a boy said that Mr Jones wanted to see some boy. To my relief the boy in question was the next one to read, we were back to my original well-rehearsed paragraph. My heart was thumping, my turn came, she was a nice teacher she smiled a lot and said “good try” or “well done” to everyone.
I stood up I knew I would have to use my finger to keep my place there was no way around that, even though others would skit at it. I started to read, I made some slips as I had read some words wrong in the first instance so when I came to read them from memory they came out wrong but I did ok. I got a “good effort, well done”. Phew I sat down so relieved. I was on a high; I had never got a well done before, and defiantly not for reading.
So everyone had been given a turn at reading. Even the boy who had escaped for five minutes to see the Mr Jones. The teacher looked at the bit of paper she had been jotting down on every time someone had read. “Ok class pay attention, the class assembly on Friday. Beryl will do the first introduction to a hymn. Nigel will do the prayer, Stephen will do the reading and now we need another girl to introduce the second hymn.” I was never chosen to do anything let alone read out in front of the whole school, so I was not really paying much attention, I was daydreaming. So when she said. “yes you did very well hunny, you can do the second hymn”
I nearly died, it was a mixture of total shock mixed in with being dead chuffed but scared to death. The four of us were taken to the front of the class, the boys were given what they were to say on paper and told to rehearse it so they would be good for Friday. It was now Wednesday. But Beryl and I were given paper with something along the lines of
“Please stand for our final hymn (say hymn title and read first two lines of hymn)”
We would not know what the hymn was until the Friday morning.
I could not do it. But how could I tell them so. I did not sleep a wink that night for nightmares of not being able to read the hymn. By the time I came from school Thursday night I was in so much of a state I made myself physically ill with nerves. It was not getting up in front of the school that was the problem. I was in an amature dramatics group, but there I was able to learn my lines, not read them unseen. It was the reading.
Mum had no choice but to keep me off school on the Friday, I let my class down and felt terrible about it. I felt terrible because the one time I had been told “well done” was all a big con.
Aged about 12 --- Religious education class. I was sitting quietly half way up the class; I did not want any attention I did not want to be seen. I just sat and listened as the discussion that had been flowing around the class for some time went around and around in circles. It was a discussion on “what is the meaning of respect” (good topic for us bloggers lol)
many talked of respecting their parents, others that respect was earned. But the discussion was starting to dry up. Mr Teacher looked around the class, I tried to look small in my seat, don't look my way, don't ask me. The class went quiet. Teacher's eyes fell on me; I felt the class looking in my direction I had to say something.
I then heard someone saying something like “I think there are different types of respect, a basic respect you give to everyone. Then a higher level of respect that is given only if after time you feel they deserves it. You respect someone position in life, like parent and teacher, but even that respect can be lessoned with their actions.”
I then became aware that it was in fact me speaking. The whole class was silent and looking at me. I dried up and thankfully Mr Teacher broke the silence I left. “Very good hunny, an interesting angle” I could hear the surprise in his voice. I never joined in class discussion and my written work was always very poor. As the bell rang and we all started to get our things together, Mr Teacher announced homework was to write up our thoughts on respect; it should not take more than 20 minutes he continued as the class sighed and grumbled at the thought of homework.
As I left the classroom, desperate to get away, Mr Teacher said “ and I expect a good homework off you hunny, you came up with a really good discussion”. One lad a rather rough boy who never spoke to me, said something like “good one”
I was glowing, I had come up with a really good discussion, no one had laughed, and no one had called me stupid. And that boy had said “good one”. Yes I would do a great homework. I would take my time and do my best handwriting. It was Friday; the homework was to be on his desk Monday so he could mark it in time for the Friday lesson.
Saturday, I wrote all I could remember about what I had said in class, I expanded on it; I was doing it in rough first. It took me about 30 mins to get my thoughts down on paper. Yes I had all the good things and I had expanded on them. This was going to be a wonderful homework.
I decided to do it on paper again checking all my spellings, and then copy it into my book. The problem was as I tried to read what I had written my hand writing was so poor, that I was only able to read back half of what I had written. So my rough work was not worth looking at. I started off from memory again. This time going very slow making sure I could read it back, and trying to get my spelling right.
How do you spell respect? I went and asked my mum. Mum told me like many other parents, look it up in a dictionary. Looking back now and knowing what I know, I realise that mum has mild dyslexia and that is why I would get that she was busy or the look it up in a dictionary. Dad was always out or working. And if he was home it was “don't bother your father he's tired” so it fell to me.
Ok the dreaded dictionary. Its all well and good if you can spell. Respect, I had spelt it differently every time I had written it down. reasekpt, realspect, repeak, raispect. As you can see none of them resemble the word. So to look it up in a dictionary was a nightmare. All the words on a page in the dictionary look the same because they are all spelt so closely, the text is funny; it has things in brackets after them that I did not understand. I struggled for about half an hour trying to find out how to spell respect. I gave up. I decided on one of the versions, it was something like reaspekd.
So my homework had already taken me an hour and I had nothing but the title “Reaspekd what it meens” incorrect spelling of both respect and means. But I had some interesting ideas, I had done well in class, I knew all I wanted to say. I struggled on, wanting to put my thoughts down on paper, but I kept having to stop and re-think a sentence to try to avoid a word I was having trouble with. Or spending time looking through the dreaded dictionary, looking how to spell a word that I could not read.
I printed every word I wanted to be able to read it back. I worked over and over, until I could not think how to spell the most simple of words, and all my thoughts and ideas had become jumbles. I had been working for another hour; I had two paragraphs about half a page of printed writing. I would do some more work on it later that day then copy it out on Sunday.
Later when I went back to my homework, I carefully read what I had written, the first paragraph was ok, but there were so many spelling mistakes. (a dyslexic can spell something wrong then later see the mistake or spell it different every time and not see the difference).the second paragraph was nonsense. None of it made any sense. I soldiered on not worrying about the spelling in the first part, I would sort all that out tomorrow. I got in full flow, after leaving the work my brain was not tired, I kept slowing myself down to keep my handwriting legible. But all my ideas, all the things I had said in class, all came back to me, I knew all that I wanted to say. About an hour later, my hand hurting from writing, I sat back I had done a page and a half; I checked I could read most of it. I would write it out neat tomorrow. I was going to hand in a wonderful homework. I had now been working on it for over three hours.
Sunday, because of family things happening I was not able to sit down to do my homework until late in the afternoon. But all I had to do was copy it out neat. I sat my homework book open on a nice clean page, my best pen ready. I started off putting the date and then the title. I had decided that the correct spelling was now something like “Rispekt wat it means” I underlined them in red pen. It looked good so far neat and tidy handwriting.
I continued the first paragraph was a bit jumbled up but I was able to sort of what it was saying and slowly half copied and half re-wrote it out. The I went on to the next paragraph, this was starting to get more difficult to read, but it was ok, but as always I kept having to stop for spellings. I decided I would write some of the words I was not sure about and go downstairs and ask mum for help. I did, she helped with the first few then I think she must have got to a word she did not know and did the look in the dictionary. And she got annoyed, she was trying to get the ironing done. I went back upstairs, I had been working for about an hour, I had two paragraphs neatly written out, I had checked and re checked the spelling over and over as I worked. My hand was starting to ache. But I kept going.
By the time I got to half way through my rough work, I could no longer read my handwriting. Why hadn't I taken more care over it, why had I rushed it? But I had taken care over it I had not rushed it. But as a 12 year old I did not understand, I just thought as always I must have been daydreaming or not trying hard enough, I had been told it so many times.
I kept going. Now working more from memory than from copying down from my rough work. But I had some great arguments, I had some wonderful ideas. By the time mum shouted for me to have a bath I was finished. It was two pages long, more than I had ever written for one homework in my life. I read it back it was good, it had all the things I had said in class, it talked about different levels of respect, it talked of gaining it and loosing it. This was a wonderful piece of homework. I bathed and went to bed happy. Monday morning I placed my homework book on Mr Teachers desk. I waited all week for the RE lesson with my head held high my shoulder back I had done a really good piece of work.
This week Mr Teacher was going to give the book out at the end of class instead of the beginning for some reason I cant remember, all I knew was that when we went in he said. “I'm really pleased with your homework this week. Some really good pieces of work”
I sat all through the first half of the lesson waiting for the homework books to be given out. He left us doing work and stared calling out each persons name they went up to his desk to get their book. Mr Teacher giving out a comment to each one. “good work well done” or “ I can see you have tried hard” this week everyone seemed to be getting well done, or tried hard, there were even some excellent and a few some interesting ideas.
What was I going to get, interesting ideas, that would be good, but excellent would be to much to ask. No I knew my spelling was not perfect and my handwriting was a bit scruffy near the end. But it was a wonderful piece of homework it had taken me five hours to do. I would surely get a good effort.
I was one of the last, I heard my name being called. By now most had finished the work and were just staring into space or watching what Mr Teacher was saying. I walked up to his desk; I waited for the good effort. But my heart dropped. I got a lecture on how my work was so scruffy not what he would expect from a young lady. How my spelling was appalling and did I not have a dictionary, He finished off with I would have to try harder and that it looked like I had thrown it together in five minutes over breakfast.
My shoulders dropped, my head went down. I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. But I was not going to cry, I had heard this all before, it was the same every week in every lesson. I opened my book, and looked at my work all covered in red pen, scribbling out whole sentences and crossing out every other word with the letter sp next to them for spelling.
But on Sunday it was all neat it all made sense. How come the words had jumbled themselves up? How come the handwriting had become illegible? Why did it not make any sense when I read it back now when it had made perfect sense on Sunday?
As I sat down I heard some mean comment from one of the girls from “the in crowd” something like “not such a know it all this week”. My beloved bell rang I was able to escape to the anonymity of the corridors once more to blend in and not be seen. As I left the classroom my head bowed my shoulder hunched, that rough boy pushed passed me and said “nice one” again.
Aged about 32 – I was desperate to get someone to take some notice about how I believed my son was dyslexic. The school had made one excuse after another for the past five years; I was getting fed up and desperate. I did not want him to go through school as I had.
I was told that if I requested in writing that my son be assessed by an education psychologist then they had to comply.
So I needed to write a letter to the school. I wanted it to go the next day it was important I did not want it to take any longer than needed.
I wrote the letter, I used the dreaded dictionary for most of the words I got stuck on. But when it came to psychologist, I could not find it in the dictionary. You see I was looking under s not under p. in the end I decided to send the letter in spelt wrong and not to give it a second thought They could read it and get the meaning of it. If they laughed at me it did not matter I was doing this for my son, and I had been laughed at and ridiculed over my spelling all my life.
Thankfully dyslexia is now widely recognised, but when I read an adult insulting another's written word because of poor spelling I see red. It was not my work, because I am not confidant enough to post with out Master proof-reading my work first. I had enough insults and people laughing at me and calling me stupid and lazy (adults, children and professionals).
One of the saddest parts of my dyslexia is that I have lost so many words over the years. As my English was so poor in school I was in a class that did little work and what work they did do was very basic. I don't remember being taught what a vowel was or how to build a sentence or a story.
I have always written poetry. But as I always thought I was stupid, that what I wrote was not worth reading, I would write the poems work on them then thrown them away and forget about them.
I did this as a child, and then as an adult. The ones I most regret loosing are the ones I wrote whilst pregnant and while my children were young. These poems were passionate or full of fun.
Now aged 47 with a first class honours degree I know I am not stupid but I still feel like that 12 year old girl getting her homework back every time someone makes a comment on bad spelling or grammar.
hunnyB
| 29 Jan 09, 2:52 PM Ms_Amaranth UK(WS), 11 yrs   |
That made me cry, I know exactly where you are coming from Well Done for proving them wrong.
| |
| 29 Jan 09, 3:19 PM Sinmara UK(N), 6 yrs |
I might be very good at anything to do with linguistics, but I'm a complete idiot when it comes to maths - and I was always bullied at sports, although, like you, I had my good moments at both!
I guess everybody had a hard time at school one time or another ------ Come to the dark side - we have cookies! | |
| 29 Jan 09, 3:22 PM happy_bunny 4 yrs |
God that was from the heart and i felt your remembered pain. I was at a boarding school, everyone assumed i was thick, i believed them for years, there was one sadistic teacher who used to pull me out in the front of the class, and tell the pupils how i had spelt a word, they all had a laugh, she slapped my legs, and it happened for weeks. In the end, there i was, a 10 year old under the covers in bed punching myself and holding my breath because i couldn't face her class again, i even tried swallowing soap powder. there was no escape, i was trapped there, kids laughing at me, i was the thick one everyone laughed at, or so i thought. ( i still can hear the sniggering as i had to read a sentence out in class) i couldn't express myself (so my dad never knew, till years later), verbally either, everything got muddled, it wasn't till i was 13 i was diagnosed, found to have a high I Q, unfortunately too late to mend my feelings of self worth. Unfortunately for most of my friends, i have found my words and won't shut up. that was a lovely, blog thank you. if you are happy and you know it, stamp your paws xxx Edited 29 Jan 09, 3:29 PM by happy_bunny | |
| 29 Jan 09, 3:29 PM Queen_Victoria UK(E), 4 yrs |
Both my Dad and my sis are dyslexic. My dad was labelled 'educationally subnormal' and kicked out of school at 15, my sister was regularly humiliated at school (I used to do her homework for her to try and save her from it). They are both really smart and sparky people. I hope things are different for kids at school today. I want to be a Pearly Queen! | |
| 29 Jan 09, 3:44 PM Sinmara UK(N), 6 yrs |
I remember knowing a few people in school over the years that were - I suspect - dyslexic too. Always tried to help them, correct their home work and exams, but no one thought they were thick; they just were not good at something, whereas they were good at other subjects. ------ Come to the dark side - we have cookies! | |
| 29 Jan 09, 4:51 PM happy_bunny 4 yrs |
sometimes the extreme contrast on this site makes the words swim. Would be nice to have an option like this http://www.dyslexia.com/customize.htm in here but i don't know how difficult it would be if you are happy and you know it, stamp your paws xxx Edited 29 Jan 09, 4:58 PM by happy_bunny | |
| 29 Jan 09, 5:05 PM Sinmara UK(N), 6 yrs |
That's true, I find the white quite blinding too, white on black is much easier to read. ------ Come to the dark side - we have cookies! | |
| 29 Jan 09, 6:20 PM misstressclare UK(TA), 4 yrs £ |
Dyslexic wish list /Please ask me dont think I am stupid No I am not drunk I can spell better then buy me a drink and get to know me Yes I would love the job, Id be great at it, please dont take into the acount I cant spell Please dont tell me to look it up in a dictionary Please dont respell it for me I wont rember it Yes I love to read, my story version is so much more vivide I hate bills and letters and I put all writting of forms off Yes I speek english and I knwo u have people who transalte none speek dyslexic Get to know my language its very clever and if u sound it out and are patiant I am so worth knowing No your right english lit is not text form nor is it funny pics on a IM I cant get them its bad enough looking at normall words I know there are laods of systems out there to help all come with indtuctions lol Please please consider how lucky you are you have a brian that puts letters in the right order and u can do some thing so speacial be greatfull Never give up trying even as a dyslexic most things can be combated Oh by the way I dont need to spell flogger just use one xxxxx | |
| 29 Jan 09, 8:37 PM hunny_Beez 7 yrs |
Thank you all for your replies. There are a lot of us about.  I now wear specially tinted glasses (Irlen) that help with the problem with words moving on the page. There is so much more to Dyslexia than just spelling, its hard to explain it to others as it is different for each of us. hunnyB BDSM themed Valentine Card to print out for free http://www.dcsulture.com |
