by Bren Alvarez, Stern Center Parent
The “not learning to read thing” kind of creeps up on you slowly. For my son and me, it was like this:
We loved to read together. Well, actually, I read to him, and he loved his books.
Our shelves were overflowing with books. “Will you read to me?” I would ask him. “No, I like it when you read to me,” he would answer. “That’s ok,” I would think. Then I would tell him, “I’ll read to you. I like to read to you and soon you will be in Kindergarten and you will be reading on your own.”
Then there was Kindergarten and lots of new things to learn and new books to read. I read to him and he loved the new books.
“Will you read to me?” I would ask him. “No, I like it when you read to me,” he would answer. “That’s ok,” I would think. Then I would tell him. “I’ll read to you. I like to read to you and soon you will be in first grade and you will be reading on your own.”
The school conference was so reassuring: Kids learn to read at their own pace and boys, well, boys, they often learn to read later. He is a bright and inquisitive boy. English is his second language and he works hard in his ELL group.
And then there was first grade and second grade and nothing changed. There were lots of new things to learn and new books to read. I read to him and he loved the new books. The school conference was reassuring.
And then there was third grade. But, in third grade they aren’t really learning to read. They are reading to learn. And I still read to him.
by Matt Zahn
The following is a college application essay written by Stern Center alum, Matt Zahn, that talks about his struggles with dyslexia and his determination in finding his own success:
Life is full of ironies. Throughout childhood kids are constantly seeking to be like everyone else. They long to be part of a larger group where they can identify and blend, such as the soccer team, scouts, band or the local ballet troupe. Groups offer a comfort and stability from the angst of youth. Before long, high school, senior year and college applications roll around. Suddenly kids must stand out from the crowd. They can no longer afford to blend in. Young adults must stand on their own two feet, advocate for themselves and navigate the college admissions process. For most this is a dramatic and uncomfortable change; for others, however, being different has been a way of life.
The scene: a Norman Rockwell classroom, the sound of children running by laughing candidly, the raw warmth of recess-sun-kissed skin, the smell of Fritos hanging in the air. This is my life in third grade. The matronly teacher, Mrs. McCloud, herds the children into the circle of chairs to read Dr. Seuss’ I Wish That I Had Duck Feet. Everyone follows along with their fingers, each taking a turn to read paragraphs rhythmically. It’s my turn to read. Letters float off the page before me.
Iw ish
thatI haddu ckfeet
An dIca nte llyouw hy.
Youca nspl asharo undin duck feet.
Youdo n’tha vetok eepth emdry.
Suddenly, I’m sweaty and fidgety. I lean back on my chair so far I fall over. The class erupts in ripples of laughter. All order is lost. Phew.
by Ed Wilkens
Depending on family dynamics, you might become aware of any academic difficulties your child is experiencing over family dinner, while driving to soccer practice or in those quiet conversations just before bed. Or, you might be totally surprised to learn from your child's teacher or through a formal written progress report that things are not going as well as you had assumed.
Regardless of how you discover the challenges, what you do next is crucial and it's all about communication and relationships. The essential players include you, your child and the teacher or teachers relevant to the challenge. Potential additional partners might include a counselor, coach or administrator depending on the specifics of the challenge.
