Working through the five stages of dyslexia
Dealing with my son?s diagnosis of dyslexia was like going through the five stages of grief. It took four years of sleepless nights and buckets of tears for both of us. There were so many days when I thought I?d never stop feeling broken-hearted for him, worrying that he would never learn to read or fail out of school by grade five and that it was all my fault.
Like most moms, I?d been in awe of how clever my baby was: His first little sounds, words and steps were astounding. My son was a bright, funny and sweet kid. He?d make up elaborate fart songs, dance constantly and was always willing to eat any strange kale recipe I put in front of him. When he started French immersion in kindergarten, within weeks he was wowing relatives by throwing in the odd ?merci,? ?bonjour? and ?ooh la la.? But then the part-time science teacher took me aside. ?I don?t know exactly what it is, but something is up with him,? she said. ?I just wanted to let you know.? In hindsight, this kick-started the first stage of grief: denial. I thought I was the most clear-eyed person in the world. My parents were devout word worshippers, and books were my happy place. Education was a core family value. As a result, admitting that my son wasn?t reading felt as bad as using the word ?feminist? in the wrong crowd.
It didn?t make any sense: How could my bright little angel have a learning disorder when he asked insightful questions like ?Are zombies mammals"? ?Does Iron Man pay taxes"? and, my all-t...
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