Memories eluded me at first, a blank canvas of experience. Yet, as I delved deeper into the recesses of my mind, a handful of extraordinary moments emerged, standing against the backdrop of my past.
Nonetheless, they all had one big failure. While I was never diagnosed as dyslexic, I definitely have many of the symptoms. By the fifth grade, certainly by the sixth grade, I should have been tested. I went all the way through high school, and apparently not one teacher suspected anything.
Before I go further, I should probably say that the influence does go both ways. My seventh-grade world history teacher did so much to discourage me that I virtually threw my hands up in frustration and gave up. It did have a bleed-over effect into other subjects, but, well, I did get my high school diploma. This post would have to be too long to explain it all. However, he essentially made it impossible for me to succeed. Try or not, I failed. So, why try?
During my eighth-grade year, my US history teacher stood out as an exceptional educator who possessed a remarkable ability to engage students and inspire learning. Her teaching style was so compelling that I developed a solid understanding of US history, with a particular depth of knowledge about the Constitution. Despite her instructional prowess, she, like the others, did not recognize the underlying signs of my lifelong struggle with dyslexia.
Dyslexia often manifests through slow reading speeds. Despite my best efforts, I can only manage around 150 words per minute, which is significantly below average. Auditory learning is my strength; I can effortlessly retain information from hour-long lectures with remarkable clarity. In contrast, reading the same material proves challenging, with comprehension and retention markedly reduced. This learning difference created significant obstacles, particularly in my seventh-grade history class, where the teacher predominantly relied on reading assignments rather than engaging lectures.
Actually, I deviated from my original destination. The meandering nature of my journey speaks volumes about my perspective on the experience.