By Jonathan Mooney
The end of summer is always bittersweet for me. I remember the annual rush of anxiety that always seemed to precede yet another year of sitting alone at my desk in the school hallway.
Now, as teachers better understand what puts kids like me out there – my AD/HD and frustration with dyslexia – and develop more sensitive teaching styles, that feeling increasingly gives way to hope for the students I see around the country.
Yes, I was one of those kids. As hard as I tried, I simply couldn't meet my teachers' expectations, especially when trying to read and sit still. Many punished me for moving about. But it didn't have to be that way. It took years for me to realize I wasn't the problem. I wasn't a bad kid. Or a stupid kid. No, my strengths were just different from what teachers expected and required.
My experience shows how a different environment and institutional culture can change a kid's world: I dwelled at the bottom of the heap in primary school only to soar to the top of my class at Brown University.
The changes we need are really quite simple, but require some serious introspection. First, let's toss out the idea that some kids are normal! We all know that differences make individuals interesting. My differences – dyslexia and AD/HD were labeled a 'disability' in the classroom. I felt like an outsider. However, beyond the classroom, my energy, ingenuity and spell checker have lead to great successes – two published books and national speaking engagements, just to name a few –because of my 'disabilities,' not despite them.
Sure, I was different from many of my classmates, but my 'disabilities' only existed in the context where the skills I lacked were central to the measure of my worth. Most of the time, my teachers and school administrators were trying to 'fix' my 'problems.' Teachers and tutors wasted incalculable hours trying to get me to pass spelling tests. But, rarely did they help me find ways to work around my severe dyslexia. Imagine that! Even early in the computer age, spell checker programs proved my third-grade spelling tests obsolete.
Instead of trying so hard to achieve something so futile, they could have helped me develop my strengths. That would have prepared me for my future and boosted my self-confidence. Ironically, I did best in preschool and in college, when I was allowed to learn by exploring my interests and working with my strengths.
Next, let's treat kids like people. They will notice. In grade school, the few teachers who were able to teach me did so because they saw me as a whole person. I remember vividly the day one of my fondest advocates, Mr. R., asked me "Jon, how are you?" It was a simple question I'll never forget because those four words communicated respect that I had not previously received from a teacher.
Throughout the year, Mr. R., asked me questions like, "Jon, how do you think?" and "Jon, what do you love to do?" Those questions sprouted an understanding of myself that would help me for the rest of my life to work around my weaknesses and exploit my strengths and passions.
Sometimes Mr. R.'s responses were just what I needed to hear. When I told him early in the year that I thought school sucked, he nodded, validating my frustrated efforts to fit into an institution that couldn't accept me as I was. After telling him that I loved to write stories, but I couldn't spell, he told me to say "and I can't spell." Besides, he said, in his class, spelling didn't count. Finally! I could set free my imagination, without choking on silent letters and homonyms!
Also, let's look at kid's strengths, not just their weaknesses. Mr. R. did when taught me to follow was 'right' about me, and didn't worry about what was 'wrong.' He allowed me to build models, because I was good at it. He integrated his lessons into each project, and I learned! Most important, he didn't try to turn me into a student like all the rest.
Finding Mr. R. may have been a stroke of luck, but the lesson he taught me – that my education was about developing my mind, not passing a spelling test or sitting still in class – stuck. For that year, my anxiety about school subsided. In fact, I was excited to get up in the morning!
In the long run, coupled with the confidence I gained from Mr. R.'s attention and respect, his take on education helped me begin advocating for myself and taking an active role in my school decisions. These changes are possible for all kids, if we as parents and teachers reevaluate our ideas about education and our expectations about our children. They deserve it!
Jonathan Mooney is a dyslexic writer and activist who learned to read when he was 12-years-old. He since earned an honors degree in English Literature at Brown University and has written and published two books.
The first, Learning Outside The Lines (now in its 14th printing) hit bookshelves when he was 23. Coupled with his most recent book, The Short Bus, Jonathan has established himself as one of the foremost leaders in LD/ADHD, disabilities, and alternative education.