Making the
Most of God's Gifts – by Caroline
Updyke, Short Hills, NJ (as appeared in Guideposts)
Her
daughter was brave about her learning disability, braver than her mother.
My phone
buzzed as I got out of the car and walked up to my daughter Lauren’s school. I
didn’t have to look. I knew it was a reminder that I was due in her classroom
in 15 minutes. As if there was any way I could have forgotten what I’d promised
to do for her eighth birthday. I’d stayed up all night worrying about it.
That
morning at breakfast I’d asked Lauren again, “Are you sure that’s the book you
want me to read?” She looked up from her cereal and said, “Yes, Mommy, I’m
sure. Mrs. Small said to have you read my favorite book and Thank You, Mr.
Falker is my favorite.”
I knew
Lauren loved the book. I did too. We’d discovered it a year earlier, not long
after she was diagnosed with a language-based learning disorder—a fancy way of
saying she’s dyslexic.
Thank
You, Mr. Falker is by
the children’s book author and illustrator Patricia Polacco. It’s about her own
struggles in school. She could draw well but could not read.
She was
teased and bullied and felt terrible about herself until fifth grade, when her
teacher, Mr. Falker, realized she had a learning disability and taught her to
read. The book ends with her running into Mr. Falker years later and telling
him she’s now a writer and artist, thanks in large part to how he changed her
life.
Lauren
started this school year—second grade—not being able to read. At all. That
didn’t seem to get in her way. She was full of opinions and not afraid to
express them. She told imaginative stories. And like the young Patricia
Polacco, she was quite the artist.
Her
teachers assured my husband and me that eventually Lauren would learn to read,
and we believed them.
But how
long would that take and what would she lose in the meantime? What would her
classmates say when she couldn’t read aloud the way they could? How could I
give my daughter self-confidence when she was failing at the most emphasized
skill at school?
I kept
asking God to protect Lauren and light her path forward. She’s so smart and
creative, I’d pray. I don’t want dyslexia to be the thing that defines
her.
I signed
in at the office and took my time walking to her classroom, noticing all the
homages to the written word in the hallways. Book reports lined the walls and a
large yellow bulletin board proclaimed, “Reading Is Fun.”
Was it a
good idea to read Lauren’s class a story about a dyslexic girl? Would
describing the ways the author had been bullied as a child give my daughter’s
classmates permission to torment her? Reading wouldn’t be fun for Lauren if
that happened. It would be misery.
Mrs.
Small met me at the door and led me to the front of the classroom, where there
were two chairs set up side by side. The kids sat on the carpet. I waved to the
aide, Mrs. Thompson, who had been such a help to Lauren, and took one of the
chairs.
Lauren sat
beside me, sporting a paper crown with “BIRTHDAY GIRL” written on it in crayon.
The L was pointing in the wrong direction. I opened the book and began to read.
The kids sat in a semicircle, eyes pinned on me. I felt Lauren’s little hand
drape over my leg.
I came
to the part where the girl is bullied by her classmates. Steadying my voice, I
read the insults aloud. Inwardly I cringed. “Toad.” “Stupid.” “Dumbbell.” I
could hardly imagine what it would be like if her classmates said those cruel
things to Lauren. My voice nearly faltered.
Then I
got to the paragraph where, thanks to Mr. Falker, the girl discovers that a
learning disability is the cause of her challenges.
Lauren
raised her hand and said, “Stop.” I glanced at her, puzzled. “Mom, can I say
something?”
Oh,
no. What is she going to say? Hoping she couldn’t hear my heart hammering, I said, “Sure, sweetie,
what do you want to tell the class?”
Lauren
looked at her classmates, cleared her throat and said, “I have what she has. I
have dyslexia. I am just like Patricia Polacco.” Her eyes scanned the room.
“You
know I’m a good artist and that’s probably why my brain is taking longer to
read. But I am very smart and I am going to grow up to be a writer. Like
Patricia Polacco.” No embarrassment or hesitation in her voice. Just
confidence. And pride, even.
Then she
turned to me and commanded, “Okay, Mom, continue.”
I did,
keeping my eyes glued to the page. Finally I reached the part where the adult
Patricia runs into her old teacher and tells him, “Why, Mr. Falker, I make
books for children.” I paused and looked up.
The kids
sat enraptured. The story had reached them like all good stories should—in the
heart. The adults too. Mrs. Small and Mrs. Thompson had tears rolling down
their cheeks. Our eyes met. We knew something beautiful had just happened.
Something amazing.
I’d
asked God to keep dyslexia from defining Lauren. And yet it had. God had used
her reading deficit to embolden her, to fuel her dreams and her confidence. She
saw her disability as motivation—as a strength—not as a liability. And that was
the message for me too.
Lauren
is 10 now, in fourth grade. Her classmates have never given much thought to her
dyslexia other than to help her when she needs it. Thank You, Mr. Falker remains
one of her favorites and these days shares the bookshelf with Harry Potter.
She is
still bursting with opinions and is still quite the artist. And yes, she loves
to write stories. Her spelling is creative, but that doesn’t stop her from
putting all the stories she dreams up down on paper. Her latest is a play about
a penguin named Snowy who likes to drink fish tea.
Someday,
Lauren hopes to thank Patricia Polacco in person, which she predicts will
likely happen at a writers’ conference. That’s because she plans to become a
famous author as well as an actor and a singer.
Once I
might have doubted this outcome, but now? Now I believe that with the gifts
she’s been given, anything is possible.
