Dyslexia made school a minefield for me. Every year, teachers ask who has dyslexia or spelling problems in the class. They mean well, but in those moments I always felt singled out, branded as an "idiot." Like in elementary school when I had to copy twenty times each of the sixty words I'd misspelled on the dictation.
Some teachers read students' essays aloud to point out who went off-topic, and the whole class laughs. It always happened to me—I'd misread a word in the assignment and end up writing something completely off the mark. Between botched exercises from misreading instructions, endless zeros in spelling, and terrible grades, I was condemned to finish at the bottom of my class. After middle school, I was sent to a technical track (more hands-on work), and I hoped to finally be among the top three.
Outside school, I run into just as many walls. I don't always find the right words to say what I mean. When I argue with someone, I often use stronger language than I intend, and that creates tension.
Friends don't make it easier. I never write an email without running it through spell-check first, terrified of being mocked.
When I go on vacation with friends and see them reading or talking about authors, I feel ignorant because I never read. It's like I'm missing something. At the same time, reading makes me sick—all the shame and frustration from childhood come rushing back. I'd rather search the internet: the paragraphs are shorter, it feels like a game. I watch history and nature documentaries on TV so I can talk to people about things that interest me. But even that takes real effort because I struggle to remember what I read or see.
The good news is that none of this stopped me from getting into a solid engineering school this year—and I actually like it!
Arnaud Franc, 2009
(Ombres et Lumière no. 168)
