You Never Forget Your First

Training dyslexic students is tedious, boring, and repetitive … for the student and often for the teacher. The pace of things discourages many students. Imagine spending 10 hours per week learning that digraphs (sh, ch, wh, th, etc.) are two letters that make one new sound. Say the words. Write the words. Break up the words. Review, review, review. Do it all again. Then do it again. Now, do it as fast as you can. In the end, a student may move on or they may get another week of the same thing. It depends on how much of the lesson or rule is retained.

I know that sounds practically abusive, but it’s necessary. It's almost impossible to wrap your brain around not having an internal system for language. I'm guessing that nobody ever had to tell you in specific terms that a vowel between two consonants in a one-syllable word has a short sound. You just got it, noticed the pattern in other words, and went on to read them. Easy, right? Dyslexic kids don’t have that. They see, simply, letters on paper … sometimes they don’t even see the actual letters that are on the paper, they see something else. It is frustrating, can be emotionally devastating and many students want to succumb to feeling inadequate or using behavior as a mask (better to be bad, than dumb).

Teaching dyslexic students in a private school is the best job I ever had. My first year, I made a whopping salary of $18,000 and I would have stayed in that job forever and worked for that same salary until they threw me out. The level of compassion and stamina in that building was overwhelming and I felt lucky to work there then, and now I just feel blessed to have had the opportunity to be a part of it … to be a part of an amazing faculty and to be a part of the lives of amazing students.

I know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites, but every teacher has one … a student that captures your heart and embodies the success you dream of for them … a student who validates your life’s work ... and you can see it in them long before they actually achieve the dream.

Let me tell you about Austin. Sweet. Athletic. Motivated. Trusting. Honest. Wide-eyed. Optimistic. Loving. Smart. Happy. And Dyslexic.

Austin came to my classroom for the first time when he was 8 years old. He had that adorable little bowl-cut hair and the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. From day one, he was willing to work harder and longer than anyone else. He traveled over an hour to and from the school and played on a very successful soccer team. Though it was only my second year teaching and I was still riddled with my own anxiety and inadequacies, he believed in me completely and motivated me, just as I worked to motivate him. I taught him for almost three years, and throughout the summers. He even lived with us one summer during the school session. I fell in love with his family. His mother is probably one of my greatest role models (that’s another story). She is a champion of the learning disabled and a die-hard advocate for student’s rights. (((For God’s sake, she now tutors students in an old VW bus, in the school parking lot, because the school doesn’t want her to work (privately) inside the building. ~ the woman is awesome!!!))) My relationship with them lasted far past the time that I had to leave the school, to relocate with my own family … in fact, it is still alive and well.

Austin was the first kid I ever taught to read. I would like to take all of the credit, but obviously that would be obnoxious and narcissistic, not to mention untrue, but I guess the thing I can take credit for ~ is sticking with him. Long after he learned his spelling rules and achieved grade-level fluency … won state soccer championships (amazing goal keeper) in high school … got accepted to and graduated from a top-notch private college where he continued to excel at his sport … through all of the ups and down, the academic problems and the broken bones … through a devastating lung injury and the dream job offer … I’ve been there as his cheerleader, confidante, and advocate. He is a part of my family, not just part of my identity as an educator.

He called me last week to say he was going to propose to his long-time girlfriend. For the first time in … well, ever … I was speechless. I bumbled around with congratulatory remarks and asked all the appropriate questions about when & how. Maybe, for the first time in over a decade, it occurred to me that he isn’t still ten years old. He’s a grown man and God-forbid, he might not need me anymore. Days later, I still don’t know how I feel about that.
In many ways, Austin was my first child. He was my first professional success. He was my first student to graduate from college. Now he’s the first to leave me … to move on to the next part of his life … the part where he and his wife will solve their own problems and share their own successes.

Now, it’s my turn … a chance to be a first … the first to wish him a long, happy life with a woman he loves … the first to congratulate his family on the addition to their wonderful clan … and maybe, or certainly, the very last to say goodbye to that precious little boy long ago replaced by a very capable, wonderful young man. I love you, kid.


(((Lesson learned: I promise to never, ever, ever roll my eyes at the mother of the groom again … cry it out sister … I feel your pain. Also, maybe this is a message from God or my mother ~ I do have four sons of my own … and I guess someday I will go through this with them … all I can say is, “woe be unto you, “future-daughters-in-law!!!”)))