I need someone to edit this

Steps Never Forgotten

Looking back at my first grade, I only visualize unpleasant memory of reading and writing. One would be convinced to believe some of these encounters brought much more trauma rather than experience. This was the first time in my life that I can vividly remember to have felt absolutely bad about myself.

I still remember clearly trying to spell my name for the first time, a task in class prompted by Miss Raquel. Rachle. There. I was done. I had got this all right and I didn’t need any assistance. I thought to myself this was the easiest exercise and I was very delighted to be the first one to raise my hands sure to have spelt my name correctly, genius. I mean, this was my name and I had all it takes to get it right and before me was a chance to prove myself as the best brain in the class. I looked around and wondered how the rest of the class would be so dumb. I was ready. When Miss Raquel turned my way I was sure to show her what kind of mettle I am made of. So she told me e comes before l. It was that simple. I was a common mistake. She did just that, correcting me without a reason or any sort of explanation. I really do not believe at this tender age the teachers and specifically Miss Raquel noticed my real problem, because I did not misplace the letters but I was just wrong and there was need for an explanation. The teachers at this school did not even think there was a good chance I was having difficulty in reading and writing, dyslexia.

I can still remember the cruelty I experienced from the rest of the class and one such incident is still very clear as if it was just yesterday. I felt hated, disregarded and scorned. Even worse, I did not fully understand why they looked down upon me, or perhaps I failed to accept that my situation would stir in other kids such negative feelings. All I knew was that I was slowest in reading if I read anything correctly at all and I could hardly cope with the teachers speed at the white board. I was also very poor in group activities. In totality, I only knew that no one would ever wish to work with a slow kid. It happened that the class was to be divided in a group of five for a group activity session and after all the selected group leaders had chosen all their desired members, I was seated alone regardless of the fact that one group only had four members. Thus far, I knew better than to attempt going to any group uninvited. When the teacher saw me alone he asked to which group I would wish to join. It was a hard question to answer considering that all the other kids were invited to their respective groups by the chosen leaders. It was a matter of protocol and at least I had the courtesy to follow the rule, to wait till a group leader invites me. Before I could answer, one kid from the group of four pupils shouted, “we would rather do without someone who is dumb, what’s more she cannot even spell her own name, no we don’t need a stupid and a slow pupil in our group!” And at that very juncture, I knew everything would never get better. I rushed out of the classroom and while there, I cried my eyes out. All I wanted to do thereafter was to knock his head on a wall or something equally painful. This was to me, then and till now, the meanest and disheartening thing I ever heard from anyone. All I felt was the depth of disregard and hatred some members of the class had for me, if not all.

After getting some air, I had gathered too numerous mixed emotions and all I wanted to do was either quit or make the pupils who were mean to me feel the suffering I had endured. Out of nowhere, things turned to the best for me and this feeling of rejection went away with moving to another school. My family and I moved. I did not know what befell the pupil who was mean to me and quite frankly I did not care anymore as being a first grade kid, I was focused on my new environment away from the former mean counterparts. What did not leave me was the fear and lack of confidence in anything, thanks to my former classmates and teachers. I was constantly afraid that I might have been mentally retarded or I might have been having a brain damage or even something worse. All these on top of being depressed. Even after I had transferred to the new school, I neither knew my wrong doing nor how to fix it all. I always thought to myself that I was never going to know how to read and write like the rest of the pupils ever since that day I misspell my name. I grew not only wild but I was also anti-social. I was wild in the sense that I was ever angry at anything that reminds me of my weaknesses, I was not sure how best to confront this challenge and come out a winner. Not until the time I was at my second grade year.

It happened that I started to act like the kid from my first grade who had hurt my feelings worse than I could ever forget. This is for a simple reason that I was exceptionally good in Mathematics. More importantly, I suppose that Miss Fatou, my second grade teacher had discovered a way to help me overcome my anger problems. Miss Fatou taught us Mathematics. “At least for once there is one thing the slow kid can be the first in,” I used to say to myself. Miss Fatou made it very clear then that she was never going to tolerate my kind of behavior in her class; she did not say it directly to me but rather during her lesson. I thought for a while that this was going to mark my leaving the new school before completion of my second grade but at least there was time to start a new. Moreover, she did not tell me directly that my attitude was intolerable but I was quite certain all that warning was meant for me.”This attitude does not favor a productive environment”, Miss Fatou concluded with such a stern voice that would never be ignored by anyone. I surely did not have much confidence in reading but to fail to read between the lines of Miss Fatou’s warning would have meant my leaving this school too. Just this once I promised myself to be a good reader, not of some written text but my favorite teacher’s pieces of advice. I became even more scared that I was going to be kicked out of school when she informed me that I would be referred to a Creative Release schedule.

After some time had elapsed I got approval to be in the CR class and I would only need a permission to see my supervisor and perhaps continue my academic work in an even more closely monitored environment. Most of the time we had math tests or assignments, I would finish faster than the rest of the class and Miss Fatou would allow me to see my CR counselor. The ease with which I used to complete my math tests perhaps brought back the memories of the first time my dyslexic condition was evident. I remembered also that as much as this was a very noticeable condition, no one-not even the teacher, in my former school ever thought it was the case. It assured me that there was little or no special attention given to individual pupils in that school, unlike this new school, all thanks to Miss Fatou for aiding me through the management of my stigma. Time with my CR counselors was the most amazing and what seemed to me like art work and simple reading turned out to be second grade books as well as stories. While I was deep into these readings, at the time I could read everything moderately well, I was in the school reader reward program. Thenceforth, I carried on with my good work and improved my reading tremendously through the third grade till I was through with my fifth grade. I would say life as a school going kid made sense to me at this point, and I was never looked down upon. I also made real friends in addition to my mentors and the first friend as well as confidant, the one person who raised my self esteem and confidence, Miss Fatou.

I was happy I did well through the fourth and fifth grades after all that hurdle, or at least I finished them. Latter on, things became really bad at junior high and at high school, I dropped out again because reading became really difficult and the materials at the two levels were too complex to read for someone like me. Worse of all, I could not understand what I was doing. Latter on, I had gone back to study and only graduated after my twenty third birthday! Presently, I am still struggling with my studies mostly finding it difficult to make sense of what I am reading coupled with difficulty in writing. I guess I lost confidence in myself once more somewhere between junior high and now. However much jumbled up things might appear now, I really wish taking this class now may help me regain confidence in myself and this time excel as much as possible. All I aspire to achieve is confidence in me as a person so that I can overcome these issues.