As an adult who is dyslexic, things like spell check are helpful. The other side though is, reading and comprehending what you read. Recently for school I wrote about it. Just wanted to share, for anyone. If it can better help parents or people in general great. So here hope you enjoy. Please feel free to share with others.
We lived in a split level house and at the top of the stairs along the wall, which also served as the banister for the stairs, sat this love seat that was blue and peach floral print. I spent many nights sitting on this couch sounding out words from a book I had chosen while shopping with my mother at the book store.
The first two thirds of this book I read in phonic form. Nothing more, which I now understand why. I have dyslexia. The connection from what I read on the page to my brain did not exists. I had finally mastered and could read common words like; there, have, black, wasn’t, d-i-ff-er-ent, and because. Only from my parents paying for expensive tutors and than even more expensive learning tests. Like a person who reads in monotone, they were just that words on the page. It had taken many nights of what seemed to me, hours and hours of repeating the same ‘work book’ pages over and over.
I still can recall my mother getting so frustrated to the point of yelling, and me screaming and crying only because what I saw with my eyes my brain did not understand. In latter years I have learned about the emotional point of view of being a parent. I was in second grade about half way through the school year, I could phonically sound out words at a first grade level. My comprehension of what I read was well below kindergarten. My own name was nothing more than letters the paper.
The night that we finished reading this book, I will always remember. My dad sat on the love seat next to me, we took turns reading. Thinking back I remember how when it was my dad’s turn to read all those words would come to life. They were an actual story, that I could picture in my mind and understand. But when it was my turn, they were just words that I still struggled to phonically sound out. Even after reading a paragraphs twice I couldn’t picture anything I just looked down at the words printed on the pages. My brain lacked the ability to take the words I read and form imagines that I could understand, essentially putting the words into a picture book in my brain. Basically comprehension; was I understanding what I read. I still remember crying with my father but not because of the book, but I emotionally felt relieved and saddened that finally someone understood.