Learning Disabled Part1

Oh my life has been marked by the words “Learning Disabled.” My experience of them has been more close to the phrase, “Extreme Pain at School.” I could not sit still. I could not focus on that which was not interesting to me. I had no motivation to listen to that which I already knew from having read a lot. Also, the head knowledge seemed to never quite make it to my fingers the right way. It got lost. Words went missing when I went to write them out I would think them. I would know the spelling, but my fingers went all wrong. Homework was a nightmare. I was bullied.

            ADHD was the starting point. I stood under that banner a long time until, by college, I had mastered its quirks. I HAD to have a sameness about my day a routine that told me what was next and prepared me for the day. I learned that I MUST be in a comfortable place to do homework a desk was painful with parts that made my hand go numb. Music HAD to be playing loudly. But still, my fingers faltered. (Now, while I type, I focus really hard to get every word on the screen.) While this feels counterintuitive to you normals, it was what I needed to do. I graduated on the deans list. Please let your children find the way that they are successful.

            When I got married, I had children. My hormonal-chemical balance shifted and I lost my sense of emotional stability. I have always been touchy, but at this point, I became unreasonable. I saw offense everywhere and then exploded at the smallest of triggers. I would then become extremely depressed. It was when I was having suicidal thoughts, I knew something more had gone wrong. A diagnosis of bipolar came down. I fell back on the need for routine and sameness that had gotten me through college, I prayed. I started taking meds.  I received prayer. I meditated. I took up crochet. I was declared by a Medical Professional to be in remission after 7 years of striving and praying through it.

            I started a writing in a blog called Shepherd’s fish. I was misunderstood. I kept making the same errors of childhood writing. Bad grammar. Bad spelling. Missing words I type things out wrongly. Like saying, “I go store.” My mind thinks, “to the,” but fingers miss it. I was lead by a friend to look up Dyspraxia that is on the Autism spectrum and answered other questions. I hate bright lights, loud and intense parties; and jangling, busy patterns on walls. That is Sensory Processing disorder. These things physically hurt me. I kept reading and I found the definition of dysgraphia. My speech is fine, as you can hear, my writing lacks, as you can see. As I read this page , I started to cry full-on, blubbery tears. I was reading about me. The final piece of the puzzle had clicked into place.

            So now, I have found my voice. I stand with joy and feel like I have a way to be heard and understood in this world. You’ll notice that this blog is entitled part 1. Next blog I will speak how my experiences shaped my ability to parent a boy also on the spectrum. 

Reading a poem.

I found myself with extra time one day (a very RARE occurrence in my life), and as usual, this found me in Barnes and Noble Booksellers reading something utterly random. This day it was a collection of poetry collected by Garrison Keillor. It is simply entitled, "Good Poems." It had been SO LONG since I had sat down and read poetry I thought I would spend my random free time doing that very thing. The book fell open to this poem about community and wisdom in finding our way and our voices. I loved it from the word "GO" and knew I HAD to read it here. I hope you enjoy it. For all you legal eagles, I am not making a single penny on this reading and all the credit can go to William Stafford for writing it. I present to you his poem, "A Ritual to Read to Each Other." (See, the very title tells me I should read it to you.)

If you don't know the kind of person I am

and I don't know the kind of person you are

a pattern that others made may prevail in the world

and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,

a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break

sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood

storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,

but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,

I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty

to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,

a remote important region in all who talk:

though we could fool each other, we should consider--

lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,

 or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep,

the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--

should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

"A Ritual to Read to Each Other." William Stafford. Printed in "Good Poems" selected by Garrison Kiellor. pg 212 Publisher Penguin House. 2002.

Responsibility

            I like to peruse the “trending” stories on Facebook. Most of it isn’t that interesting. It ranges from absolutely ridiculous movements of ridiculous celebrities to important current events. However, there are names that always catch my eye. Rowling is one of those names. (Like all Potter fans, I keep hoping for more Harry from somewhere)

            Ms. Rowling was upset with Rupert Murdoch for saying on twitter, “Maybe most Moslems [are] peaceful, but until they recognize and destroy their growing jihadist cancer they must be held responsible.” She quipped back, “I was born Christian. If that makes Rupert Murdoch my responsibility, I'll auto-excommunicate.” I raise children that say and do the craziest and embarrassingly public, odd things. I feel the need to stand up and say, “That’s not me!!!”

            While I was mulling over these thoughts, a friend posted a link to a story about a Baptist pastor in New Jersey who punched a child for the purpose of leading him to the Lord. Now, I was raised Baptist and that is not ok. I thought of Murdoch’s words. I do not think that I should be punished for that pastor’s wrong doing, but there is responsibility and accountability. A Christian, such as me, should say something, decry this act of violence and make my voice known to this man. I reposted the story and contacted the church. It was the least, and yet, also the most I could do. If he is determined to be crazy, someone will press charges eventually.

            I thought of the Muslims around the world. There are so many really pleasant ones that there must be public outcry of this appalling behavior. Right?? Why is their outcry not in my “trending” link file? A friend sent me several links and I found this one, here They are upset. They are crying out; they are calling for accountability.

            These acts of violence now transcend what religion these perpetrators are. Globally, something must be done. I hope not even more war. We have not had respite from war for decades now. People are facing third, fourth, or fifth deployments. Would that mean a draft? What of my son? But I get ahead of myself. I hope that all people regardless of religion can stop fishing about for someone to fix this mess and start exposing truths that would begin the process.

Hello!

     I type badly. Truly. I have tried for a decade to do this bloggy thing. I am constantly misunderstood. I am sick of this.
     There are two reasons for this. 1) You cannot hear my tone. My tone while typing is apparently awful. I can type the simple words, "I like peas because peas are tasty." People hear me screaming with dripping judgement, "You PEA HATERS MUST DIE!!!" I have no idea why. This truly was, in my head, a pleasant and simple observation on life. 2) Multiple learning problems in childhood leave me grammatically inept. I make really truly, terrible elementary mistakes. I am working on them but the combination of these issues leaves me reading like a really ignorant, angry person. I am not.
     The reverse is true in person. In person, I have been told that I am well-spoken. Recently, a friend heard my voice and said it was "mellifluous." I was stunned. I had told my friend that when I try to weave the words onto the screen, I get lost. Terribly, deeply lost in translation.
     Now, I have cultivated my voice to be pleasant because Mr. J.T. Eiler of Rossville High School told me I could. But "mellifluous" is such a truly terrific word. Imbedded in all my blogs will be a recording of me reading the blog to you. If you would like to hear my tone and my emotions, click the file and it will play. I was inspired by the book and record combo packs of my youth. "Turn the page when you hear the bell." I loved those sets.
     As to the subject matter, I will wander a bit from motherhood, belief systems, current events and so forth. However, as so much of my life is tied up in children, even current events are thought about in terms of where this world is headed for the kids I now raise. There will be recipes and crochet patterns and odd bits from the tangle of me. As I wish to just type out my inner thoughts, I will record my voice to clarify my ideas as needed for the blog. I promise will not read a recipe for Brunswick Stew to you.
     Enjoy. I hope I have started a new era in blogging. I hope that maybe I can be successful at it. Finally.