I will cover many aspect of this dilemma as the posting progresses. As your questions surface, I will address them.
We have now heard that it, whatever it is, is a gift. I would like to talk about this gift which can cause the heart to break, the mind to exploded, the eyes to tear, and the soul to rejoice. When and where in the forest do I choose to walk. Do I see the forest or the trees? Do I see the roses or the thorns. Does this journey make me bitter or better? Please join me!
I have been thinking. WOUNDED CHILD
As I, a kindergartener, pulled myself up the hill from Sully Elementary School to our company owned house, tears held back in my eyes flooded my heart. The Santa Rita Kennecott open pit mine, large as it was, couldn't contain the feelings of disappointment which filled my soul as I told myself that I never wanted to return to that place where monsters lived. This is the place that mother had prepared me in a lovely new hand sewn dress, white socks and brown leather shoes with a pimento and cheese sandwich in my hand to be excited and to amount to something.
For me, that day changed everything; especially my future. I raised my hand and the teacher called on me. Replying as taught to do, always say the name of the person to whom you are speaking, “Teacher, may I take the paper roll to the office?” The stinging reply pierced the silence of the room, “Don't you ever call me Teacher, my name is Mrs. Travaro!” And the sound was not muffled, but loud, clear and well defined. She meant it! I could not remember the name Travaro but teacher worked just fine in my mind. I could not remember her very difficult name. Other students seem to do fine with the name. For the school year, she was Teacher.
On another occasion when in the fourth grade, “You will never graduate from the eighth grade, let along high school.” I could not read! The words rang through my head as I stood there in front of the whole class trying to read the word A-W-F-U-L on the printed page of the book which had been assigned to me.I understood the word but could not bring it to memory. I could not remember the sounds, place them in sequence or any of those other things which the teachers had been trying to fill my mind. Finally, by the 8th grade, I had learned enough sight vocabulary that I could read, somewhat. I knew that I was smart, but why couldn't I read!
Those were some of the recurring nightmares at the beginning of my tender years in something called school. Back in the 40s when I was five years old, a man by the name of Samuel Torrey Orton (1879-1948,) was working with brain-damaged adults. Samuel Orton attempted to explain the occurrence of language disabilities in children who had not suffered brain injury yet displayed symptoms similar to those exhibited by the adults who had sustained language loss. Orton's hypothesis was that children who do not establish hemispheric dominance in particular areas of the brain display specific developmental language disabilities such as reading disability ((Myers & Hammill, 1976, p. 258.)
This interest came to Orton because of his daughter's difficulties in learning to read (Wingate, 1997, p.150.)
My world did not know of Orton nor did Orton know of me, however he was studying children who were like unto me. Later as a teacher myself, I used the Slingerland screening tests for identifying children with specific language disability. Dyslexia because of the several identified kinds and with a continuum of mild to sever needs specific screening for the strengths and weaknesses to design the proper intervention. I have experienced the need to know the strengths in cognitive processing in order to develop the appropriate intervention.
Ask questions? Tomorrow, I will talk about having a difficult challenge learning to read without being Dyslexic.
We have now heard that it, whatever it is, is a gift. I would like to talk about this gift which can cause the heart to break, the mind to exploded, the eyes to tear, and the soul to rejoice. When and where in the forest do I choose to walk. Do I see the forest or the trees? Do I see the roses or the thorns. Does this journey make me bitter or better? Please join me!
I have been thinking. WOUNDED CHILD
As I, a kindergartener, pulled myself up the hill from Sully Elementary School to our company owned house, tears held back in my eyes flooded my heart. The Santa Rita Kennecott open pit mine, large as it was, couldn't contain the feelings of disappointment which filled my soul as I told myself that I never wanted to return to that place where monsters lived. This is the place that mother had prepared me in a lovely new hand sewn dress, white socks and brown leather shoes with a pimento and cheese sandwich in my hand to be excited and to amount to something.
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| Mother had sewn my lovely little dress and curled my hair to look like a doll. |
For me, that day changed everything; especially my future. I raised my hand and the teacher called on me. Replying as taught to do, always say the name of the person to whom you are speaking, “Teacher, may I take the paper roll to the office?” The stinging reply pierced the silence of the room, “Don't you ever call me Teacher, my name is Mrs. Travaro!” And the sound was not muffled, but loud, clear and well defined. She meant it! I could not remember the name Travaro but teacher worked just fine in my mind. I could not remember her very difficult name. Other students seem to do fine with the name. For the school year, she was Teacher.
On another occasion when in the fourth grade, “You will never graduate from the eighth grade, let along high school.” I could not read! The words rang through my head as I stood there in front of the whole class trying to read the word A-W-F-U-L on the printed page of the book which had been assigned to me.I understood the word but could not bring it to memory. I could not remember the sounds, place them in sequence or any of those other things which the teachers had been trying to fill my mind. Finally, by the 8th grade, I had learned enough sight vocabulary that I could read, somewhat. I knew that I was smart, but why couldn't I read!
Those were some of the recurring nightmares at the beginning of my tender years in something called school. Back in the 40s when I was five years old, a man by the name of Samuel Torrey Orton (1879-1948,) was working with brain-damaged adults. Samuel Orton attempted to explain the occurrence of language disabilities in children who had not suffered brain injury yet displayed symptoms similar to those exhibited by the adults who had sustained language loss. Orton's hypothesis was that children who do not establish hemispheric dominance in particular areas of the brain display specific developmental language disabilities such as reading disability ((Myers & Hammill, 1976, p. 258.)
This interest came to Orton because of his daughter's difficulties in learning to read (Wingate, 1997, p.150.)
My world did not know of Orton nor did Orton know of me, however he was studying children who were like unto me. Later as a teacher myself, I used the Slingerland screening tests for identifying children with specific language disability. Dyslexia because of the several identified kinds and with a continuum of mild to sever needs specific screening for the strengths and weaknesses to design the proper intervention. I have experienced the need to know the strengths in cognitive processing in order to develop the appropriate intervention.
Ask questions? Tomorrow, I will talk about having a difficult challenge learning to read without being Dyslexic.
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