A PARENT'S EXPERIENCES 95

A P A R E N T ' S E X P E R I E N C E S . . . *

BETTY WELLS

I've come to this panel to share parental stupidities. If you too have gone through the lonely 4 a.M. sessions of self-kicking, our family's com- pounded errors should be good for your soul. Although these early hours did establish a memory pattern for me, I asked our sixteen-year-old dyslexic for a bit of advice to bring and this I got: "Get off the kid's back and stop calling him dumb!" Shocked? I was! Never, never did we use words like dumb or stupid.

BUT, these non-book readers are past masters at face reading. Every worried or annoyed expression is recorded. I remember one home-work session when I'd thought, "I'11 be patient if it kills me" and sat at the table with my saccharine smile above and white knuckles hidden in my lap, only to have a little guy look me in the eye and say, "Don't you make a fist at me!"

The dyslexic's theme song could be "Have a Little Faith in Me" and parents must, because heaven knows the child has little in himself. Let's follow a dyslexic's trail through school and watch for some danger signals.

Kindergarten can turn sour for a child who is criticized in front of a group for lack of skipping ability or an off-center pumpkin nose. In turn, this first taste of failure can produce a most anxious boy who brings home perfect sticks and circles in the first grade, only to admit at a later date that they were not his! It just isn't true that "they could if they only would t ry . " . . . Young scholars are dying to please and "they would if they could." Be alert to the day dreamers . . . they are not all dyslexics, but this may be the dyslexic's way of turning off the utter confusion he can't handle in class. The teacher may report the crayon-dropping episodes as first steps toward delinquency; but there is usually no malice behind the act . . . only self-preservation under the desk.

If this action is read as being immature, the poor child is in for a repeat of the same failed learning experience. Our son did have a new phonic experience with his first grade repeat. Since it seems typical of the added hot water dyslexics get into, I'll relate the silly bit. A "federal case" was made because our seven-year-old allegedly used a four-letter word during phonic drill. The whole family was brought into the act by the headmaster, with our son insisting that "She was in the s's, so why would I go back to the f's when I don't know that word anyway." When his lawyer dad could not shake the defense, he defined the word and taught his son the additional locker-room words that were not to be used around ladies!

* From a panel discussion, "Primarily for Parents," Twentieth Anniversary Program, The Orton Society, New York, October 25, 1969.

96 B U L L E T I N O F T H E O R T O N S O C I E T Y

Even this new vocabulary would not do duty for the second g r a d e . . . so now started the summer tutoring with the beginning of the broken record that became so familiar. "Such a sweet, bright boy . . . . When he decides to settle down he'll make a fine student." Along with the tutor, the ophthamologist was consulted. As is often the case, 20-20 vision was found. The doctor's parting remark was, "It's all in his head, Mrs. Wells." And so it was; but with no explanation, the connotation of that remark I wouldn't accept, so buried the thought and worried.

By third grade, tension is mounting for everyone. When a happy boy is becoming sullen and withdrawn and cannot read, write, spell or add (and tells his teacher that his father is disappointed in him), in our neck of the woods a psychiatrist is recommended by the school. After getting his report and using the wet noodle on ourselves, we stopped a minute and thought . . . . Even if elderly, pressuring parents of an only adopted child could produce a non-reader, WHY should $20.00-an-hour sessions of "cops and robbers" make the parents younger, produce siblings or help the reading? And by golly, it didn't!

Usually, fathers smarten up first; but by now the child and the prob- lem are apt to be buried under mama ego . . . by the seat of her pants she knows this child is not stupid, stubborn or spoiled; but she's getting frantic and hysterical. (I remember the camp director's remark after she had told of our son's unhappy behavior and caught the look on my face. She said, "We don't for one minute think he learned this from you." Mothers so want these children to "be a credit to them" and their rearing.) A kind father keeps paying the bills for mama's new ventures, deciding "the poor kid just doesn't have it" and hoping mother will see the light. She does not. Cops and robbers having not made a reader by fourth grade, she is ripe for the next will-o'-the-wisp project.

This time she came up with the eye exercises and the walking-board. Now, as much merit as there is in orienting a child spatially, beware of any method that comes without teaching! There is no piece of lumber on earth that will teach a child to read if he balances on it long enough! The added danger here lies in building up hope for the child. As we started this routine (a two-hour round trip from school to town every day) our son remarked, "Maybe I'm not such a mess after a l l . " . . . . When I assured him on this point he looked at me and said, "But you're my mother • . . you have to think well of me." There's no approval like peer approval and that was slipping.

While we were following all instructions to the letter and praying for signs of improvement, Life Magazine published Oswald's letters! The horror of comparing the spelling and penmanship with our son's was not to be shared with a soul. Just before casting our lot with the criminal ele- ment, a friend brought a copy of "The Last Skill" from The New Yorker,*

* "The Last Skill Acquired," by Calvin Tomkins, The New Yorker, Sept. 14, 1963.

A PARENT'S EXPERIENCES 97

(published two years before but we had missed it) . Now, with a word on which to hang our problem, we headed for the State Medical School and got "diagnosed." Letting the patient wait an hour in the hospital cor- ridor while mother's history was taken, didn't add to his enthusiasm. Any- way, that was a one-shot deal, as we were told to learn to live with the problem. What difference did it make whether the child was dyslexic or brain damaged? End result the same. And, there was not much hope since our son was the type they would recommend for a trade school, were his coordination better. There being so few trade schools for reading or non-reading fifth graders, we wondered if their final decision would call for drowning.

On to daily tutoring after school in order to remain one more year at the private prep school with the small classes. At end of sixth grade, read- ing and spelling were 2.5 grade level, with this notation by the reading specialist . . . "inability to attend and concentrate. Emotional resistance to words. Performance has been limited by the presence of anxiety factors." Even with all this, each new semester started with enthusiasm.

But a child of normal intelligence who has to cope with Junior High work without the needed skills is going to "cop out" and wait to be sixteen to "split." As ours said, he was "through having people check to see if my head works." SO, producing one more specialist at this stage can turn a boy into a run-away. In the spring of the seventh grade, we learned of a specialist in the East who was willing to come to the Mid-west to lecture, and test our son along with others. The danger here w a s . . . "Do we dare hope?" We made the mistake of stating "At last we have found someone who really knows something." By now, however, 'twas a scary thing to face what this man knows or might find out. So sure was John of failure, that on the eve of the "man's" arrival, he took $20.00 he'd saved and fled by bus to Chicago on his 14th birthday. He'd confided in one boy at school, so we were able to have the security guards meet the bus in Chicago and friends took him in for the night. Otherwise, he reported that a young man he met on the bus who just traveled around had promised to show him Chicago7 T !

We were fortunate. We got our son back. When told after the testing that he had a darn good thinker, John's only answer was "I bet!" But from this psychologist father learned that running away was a good s i g n . . , that there was some fight left . . . and mother learned that specific dyslexia didn't herald the end of the world, and best to follow through on testing.

Under pressure, John went off to a camp for dyslexics and experi- enced his first success. He admitted that often the directions were con- fusing and 'twas better to look bad than dumb but he made two years progress in reading in eight weeks and after the first five days his writing was so changed that his dad said, "She's earned her summer fee already!"

Two different boarding schools failed to match the improvement made at camp . . . or keep John through a y e a r . . , but when you get low enough, there's no place to go but up. Slowly, after a second summer at camp, self-respect was returning. Instead of being a drop-out before six-

9 8 B U L L E T I N OF T H E O R T O N S O C I E T Y

teen, John discovered he could be successful through a correspondence course. Under supervised study with a tutor, he is finally enjoying the educational process. The advantages of a correspondence school for an older dyslexic we have found to be:

lack of pressure . . . no time limit. graders unknown, but thoughtful comments returned. plenty of time to compose, correct and copy. This has released an

excellent vocabulary that had gone underground. can do as few or as ntany courses at one time as he wishes. all open book exams, focus on learning, not grades. knows he can reach his goal of getting that high school diploma. legitimate learning situation for his age. Studies are on grade level

and compare favorably with regular school.

There are disadvantages, of course. The main one is lack of associa- tion with peers in class. However, this didn't bother him too much, for as John reminded us, one doesn't make friends, anyway, when not doing well in school.

And even this problem is fading after one year of work, with credits for two years of high school completed. We've no Rhodes Scholar coming up; but success has raised his ego and he now relates to his peers. Last year was spent alone. This year he has a group of friends and spent the summer in Santa Cruz, Calif. helping the blind students at the University of California. No longer is he "agin" everything nor fascinated by the delinquent pattern.

Although ]ohn's reading skills are adequate to allow him to use his text books and exams, he cannot sustain long periods of reading. To date, I've been reading his literature to him, but now he qualifies for tapes from Recordings for the Blind and can be more independent. He was tickled to receive this comment on a recent examination. "You're a perceptive reader, Mr. Wells." . . . Even though that should have been "listener," he decided that Macbeth was written to be seen and heard, not read, anyway.

Building up layers of frustration and heartache over the years is more damaging than the lack of education. That can be made up, but the hur t is underneath forever. So, at the risk of being Carrie Nations of the Dyslexic Set, we have needled into existence a pilot program for training therapists in Indianapolis. As programs go, this could hardly be smaller; but we do have six therapists training and working with six boys in three different schools and hopefully the gospel will spread.

Now, as I drive across town each morning to work with a nine-year- old boy, I say "thank you" to "that man" . . . the dedicated Orton-oriented therapist, who answered our desperate call for help and on whom our training program depends.