Parenting Insights
As I entered Lily’s third-grade classroom, her teacher gently placed her hand on my arm, saying, “I need to discuss Lily with you.” That phrase can send a shiver down any parent’s spine, as it often leads to anxieties about what could be wrong. My thoughts spiraled, anticipating the conversation, and, based on our previous experiences, I feared the worst.
From the moment Lily began kindergarten, I sensed something was amiss. Perhaps it was just a mother’s instinct. The trouble started with sight words. Each night, she would cry in frustration when she struggled to differentiate between words like “we” and “me,” or “in” and “it.” I asked her, “Can’t you see the difference?” I encouraged her to sound it out, prompting her with questions about letter sounds. Although she could verbalize the sounds when quizzed, connecting those sounds to the letters on the page proved challenging.
When she brought home her first reading book, I was thrilled. I had always envisioned sharing my love for literature with her. However, excitement quickly turned to disappointment as I watched her stumble over the words. She described how the letters seemed to dance and shift on the page, which only intensified our frustrations. What was intended to be a joyful bonding experience transformed into a daunting task, often resulting in tears for both of us.
Her teacher reassured me that it was a developmental phase, but as first grade progressed, her reading grades began to decline into the Bs, and homework turned into a nightly struggle. The complaints about the words dancing persisted, while her handwriting became increasingly difficult to read, and spelling felt like an uphill battle.
I, feeling like the villain in this narrative, resorted to telling her, “Just write the words five times, and you’ll memorize them.” I would question her efforts, asking, “Are you really trying?” Now, I look back and shudder at my misguided attempts to motivate her. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. I approached her teacher once more and inquired, “Do you think she might have dyslexia?” Her response was to hold off for further observation. I waited, but things only worsened.
At the year’s end, I was finally informed that Lily needed to undergo dyslexia testing at the start of the new school year. Her teacher believed that the issue had progressed beyond mere developmental delays. We agreed that waiting through the summer might be beneficial.
After enduring a challenging second-grade year with an unhelpful teacher, and seeing her grades plummet to Cs, Lily began to lose confidence in her abilities. She started to feel “stupid” and incapable. By the end of March that year, she was finally tested and diagnosed with dyslexia and Irlen syndrome, a condition that causes words to appear as if they are moving on the page.
Her intervention teacher remarked, “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this has been for her. I can’t believe she has maintained her grades as well as she has.” I understood that challenge all too well as her mother.
Fast forward to that day in the third-grade classroom, and my heart raced with anticipation. Her teacher began, “Lily is doing incredibly well. We absolutely love having her in our class, and her progress this year has been remarkable. I just wanted to express how proud we are of her.” At that moment, I experienced a profound sense of pride.
A year and a half post-diagnosis, I entered her room at bedtime, settling into my usual spot on her bed. We tucked the covers around us and leaned back against the pillows. “Read me a story,” I requested with a smile. “Okay, Mom! Now be quiet and listen,” she replied with a giggle. For the next twenty minutes, she read to me from a book of her choice. She stumbled over some challenging words and occasionally misread, such as saying “throw” instead of “though.” Nevertheless, she read to me.
My daughter is finally learning to read.
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