Photo by Larry Reese, 1978
Behind the curls and the big brown eyes was a little girl who rarely raised her hand in class. Not because I didn't have anything to say but because I was sure the answer would be wrong. Forever, my mother was told I was a "late bloomer." She would read me, "Leo The Late Bloomer", in hopes I wouldn't feel so alone.
This is MY story...
In Kindergarten, I thought the teacher didn't like me. I repeated First grade and they tried to hold me back again in Second grade. My father was outraged (not at me, but the school I guess - the situation really.) Thankfully, we lived in Dallas and Scottish Rite Hospital was able to test me for dyslexia. I remember this day perfectly, I remember what I wore and the things my parents and tester said to me. In the room were two chairs, a table, and a "mirror". I remember knowing people were watching me and I felt like I was getting everything wrong.
Many dyslexic people will tell you they had a hero's in their life, a teacher or tutor, someone who never gave up on them. I had three.
• My First grade teacher could see I was struggling and protected my confidence.
• In Third grade, my hero was my tutor. We worked one-on-one everyday and she took me through the Alphabetic Phonics program. The sessions were incredibly miserable. I remember bookmarks and pixie stick pointers that would stay pointed on a word for what felt like forever.
• During my high school Freshman year, I was forced to take a reading class. My teacher was incredibly enthusiastic about reading and genuinely dedicated to getting her class as far ahead in reading as possible. By the end of the course, I was reading at an 11th grade level. Ultimate success! From there, my love for learning finally truly began.
I believe every dyslexic child should have a hero in their life. For the month of October, Dyslexia Awareness month, 20% of my print sales will go to the Shelton Scholarship Fund.
Sharing the process of a painterly approach to art, wallcoverings, and textiles.