I is Dyslexic

We are reliably told it's National Dyslexia Awareness Month.

As it turns out we are dyslexic.

Feel free to make jokes in the comments.

In 1981 our parents took us to a bunch of doctors and had us tested, the result of which was a bunch of doctors and teachers tolling us we were stupid. That's the only way for an 8 year old to interpret what was happening.

There followed years of 'special' classes and 'special' help so that the label 'special' was as bad as 'retard'.**

We were behind our classmates but never really understood why.

Of course we developed a deep set hatred for school.***

For the record, we don't believe any of those special classes or helpers did much good. Two things finally pulled us out of our 'rebo' stage as we called it. First, a teacher who accepted no excuses. Second, reading Dennis L. McKiernan's Iron Tower Trilogy during the summer of 1986.

We think all the rest of it was pointless.

*Yeah, I said 'retard'. Go fuck yourself.
**See Ralph Wiggum.
***We chronicled this before, search 'deep night'.

Learning with Will

I spent a good chunk of last summer chronicling my failed education. Those interested may search 'The Deep Night'. To make a long story short, I'm dyslexic.

Now most think dyslexia means you look at a sign pointing to the left and see it pointing to the right. That's true and not true. You see the sign pointing to the left, but your brain mis-processes the information and thinks right. You get words mixed up. Years ago I saw President Bush saying 'hold us hostile' when he meant 'hold us hostage' and thought, 'There it is. That's the dyslexic marker.'

Dyslexia is almost like that scene in Terminator where Arnold is scrolling down a list of possible phrases to say and instead of 'No thank you' chooses 'Fuck you, asshole'.

Dyslexics learn differently too. Personally if I want to learn something, looking at and reading directions is the worst thing to do. I can read something three or four times and still won't get it. The only way for me to figure out how to put something together is to take out all the pieces and futz with it.

I learned guitar by listening and watching old music videos. I don't even try to read music and use tabs as a last resort.

I say all this becuase we've been listening to French CDs. These go lesson by lesson and they're designed for one lesson a day. I'm lucky if I get through a couple a week. I listen to French constantly. In the car when taking the kids to school, or on the way to Home Depot, or when folding laundry. *

Smart people burn right through this. Not us. French reduces us to this:

Fredo, I know exactly how you feel.

*Don't even think about posting in comments, 'Well, have you tried...?'

The Deep Night Part II

Personal Recounting:

Dyslexia Dyslexes.

About 1981 a bunch of doctors and teachers were telling me I was stupid.

This had come after a series of tests in school, and some fancy-pants medical type place (I dunno) on the Hudson in Terrytown. It looked like a college. My parents took me there a bunch of times.

Back then they didn't really talk about Dyslexia, but  they talked about LD: Learning Disabled.

From then on I spent significant portions of everyday at the Resource Room. This is where I got extra help. Come on man, you couldn't think of a word other than 'Resource'? Did you not realize what this would be warped into? It took five fucking minutes. We later shortened it to Rebo Room. I'm not sure how we got Rebo from Retard. I might as well have walked around with a giant 'R' tattooed on my head.

This was a hard, unhappy time, 1981 through about 1986.

One of the reasons why I don't talk about it [until now-Ed] or write about it [also until now-Ed] is its really difficult for me to do so. That is, there are people suffering in the world in unhappy in unimaginable ways then and now and to put my own little troubles up against that, well, let's just say I've always had some perspective on the thing.

But don't tell me something wasn't wrong. School was a struggle. Homework was a struggle. To this day I hate the end credits of M.A.S.H., because that always meant it was homework time. Just as I love the sound of an air conditioner because it means summer.

You know those meme's you see about the worst part of Sunday being you know in 12 hours you'll be back at work? Preach it, brother.

Friday nights were glorious, just glorious. Sunday nights miserable.

Second grade was tough. Fourth grade I got into a lot of fights with that bastard John E., who seems un-findable even in this day and age. I once hit him in the head with a chair, motherfucker. Lots of time in the principal's office. Fifth grade wasn't bad so much as...accepting for me. Like NYC in the 80's simply accepting the fact that it was rundown and crime-ridden and that's just all there was to it. The year 1984 (4th-5th grade) just gives me the willies and it has nothing to do with George Orwell.

For some reason 3rd grade was the happiest of my childhood, we'll have to delve into that in another post.

The Deep Night Part I

Personal Recounting:

Military Heritage, a magazine it will be noted we both write for and advertise with, runs a deeply personal to me piece on Patton and his dyslexia:

Historians will inevitably examine the past through the lens of their own time; likewise, historical figures present themselves to their contemporaries according to the knowledge and prejudices of their epoch. Patton, who was always concerned about shaping his public image according to his own lights, did not care to call attention to his dyslexia; nor did those who wrote about his swashbuckling exploits as a tank commander in the aftermath of World War II care to investigate the subject, despite such red flags as the frequent symptomatic idiosyncrasies in his spelling and punctuation. Given the state of medical science in the 1940s and the postwar era, Patton could not have been aware that he may have also suffered from an affliction known today as attention deficit disorder (ADD), which afflicts many dyslexics; nor could historians have identified the condition until recently. Even the importance of Patton’s early family life, which led him to valorize war and model himself as the heir of his heroic Confederate ancestors, was neglected until recently.

 SNIP

Other ADD symptoms include poor impulse control, extreme mood swings in response to events, and short excessive tempers, all of which Patton displayed as a commanding officer, sometimes notoriously, as with his infamous slapping incidents during World War II in which he was accused of abusing enlisted men. The frustrations experienced by a person dealing with either dyslexia or ADD can be overwhelming and can often lead to serious self-doubt, feelings of inadequacy, bouts of uncontrollable anger, and emotional hypersensitivity. 

Dyslexia, which is often characterized by difficulty reading and by the transposition of letters or numbers, is considered to be a learning disorder. Having dyslexia, however, does not mean that a person lacks intelligence. Quite the contrary, many dyslexics are extremely intelligent and struggle mightily with the symptoms of the disorder. The dyslexic often has a different or unique mind-set, is often gifted and productive, but learns and perceives in a way different from others. 

Both dyslexia and ADD have a genetic component. They are hereditary and run in families. In this light, perhaps George Patton’s genealogy is more important that even he imagined.

SNIP

Dyslexia is not simply a matter of reversing letters or numbers but is a complicated disorder whose symptoms include hyperactivity, obsessiveness, mood swings, difficulty in concentrating, impulsiveness, and compulsiveness. Because of their effort to overcome difficulty in reading and writing, dyslexics can be driven by a compulsion to succeed. Yet, they often harbor feelings of inferiority. Virtually every common symptom of dyslexia can be found in the adult Patton. “I am either very lazy or very stupid or both for it is beastly hard for me to learn,” he told his future wife, Beatrice Banning Ayer, while still a cadet at West Point. This was despite his prodigious intellectual powers and ability to recall enormous bodies of text and information.

See that last excerpt there. Yes, oh god, yes. Every last word of it. It's kind of like that Agent K line from Men in Black, 'Think of a cockroach with unlimited strength, a massive inferiority complex and a real short temper.'

I was dyslexic. I was ADD. Or am, really. Family lore has it I didn't sit still until I was four years old and my parents took me to see Star Wars.

Let me vouch for a couple of things. The mood swings, the bluster, [this blog is mostly bluster-Ed]. My father had it, he thinks after seeing me diagnosed, about 1981, and it's pretty obvious my grandfather had it too.

This article goes on to talk about Patton's somewhat unusual upbringing with a doting, suffocating, ever present aunt. Let's just say I grew up with doting, suffocating relatives and it does weird things to the family dynamic. When I was 14 and Blue Mountain Middle School packed me off to a shrink [I knew it?!-Ed] half the time he wanted to interview my dad about his childhood.

The dyslexia put me behind the class till about 13 or 14. I've always credited a trio of novels I read, 10 pages at a time, during the summer of 1986.

But the dyslexia wasn't gone. Not even close...