Reading With Dyslexia

I have vivid memories of my parents reading to me when I was little. There was one book, in particular, "Put Me in the Zoo" by Robert Lobshire; my Mom went the extra mile while reading this story to me at bedtime. There is a portion of the book where the main character removes all his spots. My Mom, had painstakingly hand-cut little circles, in a variety of colors, from construction paper and packed them into the middle of the book. I was filled with anticipation, eagerly waiting for the colorful explosion of spots at just the right moment. Sometimes I would find construction paper in my bed days after my favorite nighttime story!

My Dad eventually took over reading books to me. I was certainly old enough to read on my own, but my parents must have recognized I was having a difficult time. Dad seemed to enjoy the longer books that my school was assigning ("The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn," or "The Boxcar Children"). I even recall Dad using his falsetto while relaying Nancy Drew's voice!

As I grew older, despite seemingly reading with ease, I realized I was struggling to retain information unless I read aloud. In school, we were frequently assigned silent reading, followed by a pop quiz. I remember watching as all of my classmates completed reading LONG before we were out of time while I was still trying to get through the first paragraph. I would occasionally pretend that I had completed the chapter, just so the other students didn't know I was reading so slowly. The reality was, the words on the page seemed to jump around. Also, I noticed I could follow along with my eyes but found myself all-consumed by my surroundings, hearing only my thoughts and not reading at all. When it came to the pop quiz, I didn't want to admit I hadn't completed the reading assignment, and I would guess at the answers. Multiple choice was my best friend. Unfortunately, my dishonesty reflected in my grades. I was able to maintain a decent GPA, but I studied twice as hard and took three times as long...with everything. My friends wondered why I couldn't come out to play more often, and bullies thought I was a nerd because I spent so much time studying. Our society has been working to put more emphasis on intellect and kindness. Hopefully, children are less likely to make fun of the (perceived) smart kid these days. At the time, though, it was distressing to work so hard and still fall short of my goals while being harshly judged by my peers.

In my junior year of high school, we learned that I wasn't only dyslexic, but I also suffered from dysgraphia. I had the information I needed, but I had a difficult time getting it onto the paper. I could study for hours, and still, I tested poorly. I finally had a teacher take me into the hall and give me the same test the rest of the class was taking but "verbally." Verbally testing me was the difference between a D and an A. However, I was, of course, made fun of for special treatment.

When I wrote "Fern," I didn't realize how much it would mean to see children reading it!

To this day, I have a difficult time reading. As I type this, I'm reading every word aloud! Children's books are so important. In a scenario where I could have easily lost interest in reading (entirely), I was, instead, introduced to a world of imagination! From the bright images in the picturebooks of my youth, enhanced by my Mom's theatrics, to the desire I had to hear the character's voices as clearly as my Dad would read them - I never gave up.

The idea that "Fern" could lend to a child's inspiration to read or be the story that calms them at bedtime - I love that.