ARTICLE-SLOW AND STEADY

For a few brief minutes I was unsure of what my reaction should be. What seemed to pierce my heart that morning was utter helplessness and a sense of failure deep down. I was staring at the card, which had been tucked under my pillow ever so thoughtfully while I was asleep. It had blue and yellow flowers, an orange sky, green grass and a butterfly carrying the message, “Happy Brthdey Deer Mthr”. I could visualise my eight-year-old pouring over this piece of art during her free hours and tiptoeing into my room to surprise me with her boundless love. Her beautiful and loving yet poorly spelt message brought tears to my eyes. I realised that only time would tell how my severely Dyslexic child would find a way to fend for herself in this cruelly competitive world. She was the younger of my two children. Patient, loving and forgiving, she hadn’t inherited my short temper and would bear my pedantic overbearing personality with little aggression. Even if she was tired of the repeated spelling lessons I put her through, she would keep slogging, trying hard not to displease me. The tears in her eyes and pouted lips would express her fatigue but never a word would be uttered. If I was a hard taskmaster, I was left with little choice. Repeated low grades in class had somehow stamped her as an outcast and my little one had found it increasingly difficult to make friends. Her teachers were forever complaining of her slow, daydreaming attitude. She was now big enough to understand how her performance in class was in so many ways linked to her social life. Her inability to spell even the most basic words had become an insurmountable hurdle with every passing day, creating a vicious trap around her. She hesitated to read and let her mind wander when she could not focus on the words. What seemed an innocent prank at first, or just shamming, or a trouble with the eye or the ear, had gradually crystallised into a more tangible unfathomable problem. I could see her gradually withdrawing into a shell, resigned to the fact that she would never be the teacher’s pet, or a monitor. Yet, that is what she longed for everyday. Just the privilege to hold the register after class, or mind the class when the teacher was away. Even with a greater than average share of talent in singing, dancing and painting, she was unhappily struggling to “fit in” into the academic environment. Yet, she was far from a dimwit. She was intelligent, smart, articulate and charming. To break her fear and utter resistance to vowels in her spellings, I had devised numerous attractive spelling tutorials. The night before, we had sat through a marathon-spelling lesson with repeated lectures on the significance of a vowel sound. With sleepy red eyes she pushed herself to understand the art and science of phonetics. English is a fairly illogical language and I did not have answers to all her “But why?’’ questions. “Why do we have to ignore the ‘l’ in ‘palm’ or the ‘k’ in ‘knees’? Don’t they feel bored sitting there, without making a sound?” Probably they are a little shy, I would say. We would have a hearty laugh over those “shy ones”, who made “our life miserable”. Then there were those “spooky ones” like “h” in sugar, which did not like to be seen but “haunted us” nevertheless. “And just what harm is in there if I write ‘Muther’ instead of ‘Mother’ when everyone knows that I mean you.” Her analyses always seemed to make perfect sense. At times even she would give up. “Mummy! Oh why can’t I remember what I learn even though I try so hard?” she would cry out in anguish. Never ever in my life had learning seemed more tedious. And so painfully heartrending. “Maybe you are tired. Let’s call it a day then,” I would suggest. But her little fingers would be busy scribbling. “No Mummy, I have to do well, or I won’t have any friends in school.” Her enduring spirit had given me hope each time. “There! We have solved the problem”’ I would tell myself and even give myself a secret pat for having overcome one of the biggest crises in my life. “In just a week’s time they will all come flocking to you, I promise you. And your teacher will give you a big hug for doing so well,” I would assure her and maybe believe so myself. However, this morning I realised that my struggle was far from being over. I had come across the term “Dyslexia” some years ago but hadn’t bothered to inquire into it. I gave it a hard look today. “Dyslexia is a learning difficulty in children and adults who are intelligent, have no other limiting physical or emotional problems, but who, despite a conventional classroom experience, do not learn to read, write, spell and comprehend as expected. Dyslexia is not a disease, which can be caught, prevented or treated with medication. It is believed to be of constitutional origin arising from defect(s) in the transmitters of the brain.” Is that it then? My heart cringed.Then I read on: “Can Dyslexic persons succeed?”“Indeed! They are not unintelligent and many have succeeded in all fields. They are often good at hands-on activities. Some famous persons with dyslexic characteristics include such as Thomas A. Edison, Albert Einstein, General George Patton, President Woodrow Wilson, Nelson Rockefeller, Bruce Jenner, Tom Cruise and Whoopi Goldberg.” With tears in my eyes and a great deal of love in my heart, I folded the card. My lesson in patience and humility had just begun.— Trans World Features