“Are you listening?” my teacher said. “Pay attention!” “Why don’t you like to read?” they would question. Seems like I heard this over and over when I was growing up. Looking at words and not grasping what they meant. Spending hours standing up in front of my mother and brother, just to repeat over and over the 20 words I had to spell on the test the next day. This part of me felt so lacking and behind the other kids at school. Kids were expected to be proficient enough by the third grade to read something more than Dr. Seuss. Not me. No, not me. I was the exception. By the third grade my reading was terrible, my spelling was worse, and my vocabulary suffered to say the least. Needless to say, I was placed in summer reading classes.
It’s seems a little funny now but it definitely was not then. It was like teetering on a rock between ignorance and intelligence, only I was unable to find a balance. My reading troubles made me feel stupid, while in other areas I excelled without trying. I didn’t know the cause; I just knew this “problem” was causing me a great deal of stress in school.