Yesterday I spoke at a small local advocacy event. All I knew was that I would be speaking as a local resource on behalf of Decoding Dyslexia and that I was given a full hour for my presentation. I was told that most attendees would already know what dyslexia is. Other than that, I had no guidance on how I was to present or what I should say.
I was given three weeks' notice before the day came. I had plenty of time to prepare. But on the day before my presentation, I still had nothing. So as I sat at my desk at work (where I should have been paying invoices) I instead started tweaking an old presentation I used at a previous event. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
The real meat of my work wasn't done until after I came home, though. I remembered a night in October when I had been sitting on my bathroom floor, crying and desperately searching the internet at 2:00 in the morning. I was upset because it felt like I had a story the school wasn't interested in. The people representing the school - who are supposed to be as invested in my son's education as I am - seemed disinterested. Ours was just another case they had to push through the system.
I was mentally and physically exhausted, and as a result I fired off emails to anyone and everyone I thought would listen. The end result was that within about a month's time, I found Decoding Dyslexia and with it, a small portion of the peace I was looking for if for no other reason than because I no longer felt alone.
As I sat wondering what to put in my presentation - and knowing I would have to cater to a large portion of the audience who couldn't speak English - it occurred to me that I should share my son's story. Regardless of any cultural or language barriers, we all have a story. As long as I had a translator, the language gap wouldn't be an issue if we could all share in the same story because, let's face it: all parents of children who have learning difficulties want to share their story and know that someone is out there who can say, "I know what you're going through." It's just a matter of finding that person.
With the story at the heart of what I wanted to say, my presentation went off without a hitch. I spoke of dyslexia, but I gave plenty of resources everyone could use, not just the dyslexics. In closing I promised all of them that if they ever needed anything, language will NOT be an issue. I promised them that if they emailed me, they would get a response, that I have spoken four languages in my lifetime (some better than others) and I am not intimidated by a barrier so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
The first person to approach me after the presentation was a representative of an organization looking for grass roots movements to donate money to. She asked me if I would be interested in starting the application process for Decoding Dyslexia in my tiny town. She was impressed about my determination at making the movement bilingual and she felt her organization could help me do that.
I. Was. Floored. I was absolutely blown away. I was so shocked, in fact, that I gave her my card and totally forgot to get hers! So I may have blown it before I've even had a chance to get started! But that's not my point...
The representative had moved on to speak with others in the room, and a mother approached me. She was very well dressed and had the nicest, loveliest demeanor! "I am sorry," she said, "but I am not good at this talk."
"That's okay," I said. I smiled broadly and as warmly as possible and oh my word! Someone just asked me if I wanted to apply for a grant!
"My child. She have this, too."
"Please, write me!" I said. I was trying to speak as simply as possible so that she would know I wanted to hear her, too. "Scrivimi," I insisted. (That's Italian for write me.) Did I mention that I could possibly get a grant to take this bilingual? How awesome is that? I could get an audio recording of the Handbook done in each language! I could do a professional bilingual video. *gasp!* I could even have at-risk kids in juvie diagnosed for FREE!
The woman took my card. "Your story, it helps me."
"I'm so glad! Please, write me any time. Scrivimi." I smiled.
Looking back on that moment, I feel like such a jerk. (Jerk isn't exactly the right word for it, as I have a vocabulary full of explicit synonyms which I find more appropriate, but in this forum jerk will have to do.) I just finished vowing that language would not be an issue for these people if they ever needed me, this woman sucked it up to come speak to me - and that must've been pretty difficult for her, not speaking English n' all, and I came back with write me. I might as well have told her to have her people call mine.
I was still so shocked about the possibility of taking our little group bilingual - with money - that I overlooked the fact that the opportunity to go bilingual had just presented itself... and I replied in Italian... without the slightest indication that I wanted to hear her story, too.
But don't worry. I will right this wrong. My plan includes the following:
1. I will memorize escríbeme because that means write me in Spanish. Not in Italian, in Spanish. Just as I learned Italian by remembering my high school Spanish, so it is time to learn Spanish by leaning on my Italian. So... it's not scrivimi. It's escríbeme. And I'll follow it up with dime tu historia, because Google Translate says that's how you say, "Tell me your story." Ha! (But if Google Translate is wrong, please tell me. I'm starting to feel pre-ty smug over here about my mad Google Spanish skills.)
2. I will hug mothers who try to break the language barrier. They want to be heard, too. They have anxiety. Most importantly, they need to feel that they have people who can relate to them - especially since they live in a country that's foreign to them. They need support. A hug helps them feel heard and understood and supported, and no words are required.
3. I'm going to get in touch with the mother who approached me. This event was small. It was sponsored by one advocate working locally who wanted to hold an event for the parents who hire her. So I'll ask the advocate if she can email the mother on my behalf. I want this mother's story. I want all the stories I can get my hands on.
The possibility of getting a grant is nice, but it's the stories of the parents that keep me going. It's coming together and sharing our experiences and - when necessary - throwing an arm around another mom's shoulders and saying, "Your kid is fine. Everything will work out," just before I hand her an extensive list of resources, a copy of the Dyslexia Handbook, and start teaching her how to advocate.
On that note, I want your story, too. If you're reading this and you live in Texas and have dyslexia or love someone with dyslexia and you have to "fight the man" to get the accommodations you need, send me your story. I want to compile all of our stories and present them to school boards, state representatives, and advocates. (Your name and other info will, of course, be kept anonymous.)
I'm serious when I say that as parents, we need to come together with a single, unified voice. You might not be able to make it to the State Board of Education meetings, but your story can go. You may not want to sit down with your local congressman, but I want to... and I'd love to take your story with me.
So if you have a story that you need to get off your chest, and if you want to share everything you've been through in your adventures in Dyslexialand - good or bad - send it to me. I want to make sure your story is heard, too.
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