My reading and math struggles
From ADHD: A Path to Success
continued.
What was more sinister than Poe was that the reading blade did not kill you. You would have to face the reading blade the same way tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day for what seemed the rest of your life.
Several times a week a remedial reading teacher would take me and some of the other "dummies" out of the classroom for an hour or so, to practice our reading.
I was always aware of being in the "sparrow" reading group because everyone knew that it was for the dumb kids. (In spite of adult efforts, kids quickly pick up on the real facts.) And yet, I cannot remember any different procedures being used by this teacher than had been used by my regular classroom teacher.
Though her efforts were valiant and well intended, they were just another dose of the same old toxic solution that I eventually learned was the source of my problems. I made little progress.
How could I? To me, reading was associated with school, reading groups, reading out loud, peer ridicule, and poor self-image.
The harder the teacher tried, the more upset I became, the worse I did, the dumber I got. I saw this as just another opportunity to face the terror of the reading blade. I began to fight passively the very process of what felt like stuffing things down my throat. I did not learn to read until I was in the seventh grade.
Eventually, I did learn to read, not because of more sophisticated efforts by my teachers, but because I developed a driving need to know, literally. I was interested in hot rods.
I wanted to know about the most technical aspects of cam timing, fuel injection, and suspension systems.
My reading and math struggles,,, continued.
What was more sinister than Poe was that the reading blade did not kill you. You would have to face the reading blade the same way tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day for what seemed the rest of your life.
Several times a week a remedial reading teacher would take me and some of the other "dummies" out of the classroom for an hour or so, to practice our reading.
I was always aware of being in the "sparrow" reading group because everyone knew that it was for the dumb kids. (In spite of adult efforts, kids quickly pick up on the real facts.) And yet, I cannot remember any different procedures being used by this teacher than had been used by my regular classroom teacher.
Though her efforts were valiant and well intended, they were just another dose of the same old toxic solution that I eventually learned was the source of my problems. I made little progress.
How could I? To me, reading was associated with school, reading groups, reading out loud, peer ridicule, and poor self-image.
The harder the teacher tried, the more upset I became, the worse I did, the dumber I got. I saw this as just another opportunity to face the terror of the reading blade. I began to fight passively the very process of what felt like stuffing things down my throat. I did not learn to read until I was in the seventh gr
