Juggling

At this time I was still working full time at the library and juggling with two daughters that needed a lot of their moms attention and help. Shannon needed a confidence boost, and Caragh needed help fitting in at senior school.

I heard at work that Birmingham city council was staging children's poetry competition, perfect for Shannon I thought. We had a few brain storming evenings, before Shannon came up with her poem:

Dyslexia dearest

When I am at school I hate you

You make me feel so frustrated

Why did you pick on me?

Why couldn’t you pick on my other friends?

But when I’m doing music or art

You’re my hero

You have compensated me well.

Why couldn’t you pick on my other friends?

I wonder what it would be like free of you?

So I could spell and write perfectly

That would be a dream come true for me

Why couldn’t you pick on my other friends?

But if I had not been born dyslexic I would never have known how it felt, don’t think I like you any better but at least I understand

Shannon won the competition, which meant we all went for a slap up lunch. Shannon had her photo taken with the poet laureate and Benjamin Zephaniah her little cheeks went bright red she was so happy. Caragh got her own goody bag and looked like a proud big sister, after the grand affair of the lunch we were invited as part of Shannon’s prize to go watch Benjamin perform over at the library theatre. It was a day to remember, for the three of us.

Increasingly Worried

You would think after the dyslexia diagnosis things would improve for Shannon, but alas little changed and in a class of thirty-one Shannon was getting little support. Despite the dyslexia, Shannon was showing a flair for writing. she loved to write scary stories.

Caragh had started ‘big school’ by now and although started off well, she was struggling to fit in. She had started to fall down the groups; while she was brilliant at English her lack of concentration skills was making her slip behind. She was struggling socially with her peers. She continued to have one really good friend but her other choice in friends was questionable.

I was becoming concerned for both of them, but didn’t know how to help. I was having constant meetings, phone calls, and writing letters to the school. I did not know the signs of autism, but I was getting increasingly worried for my children, as they were struggling socially but in different ways.

The lack of help Shannon was getting from school was exasperating me, we did lots of work at home, but the dyslexia issue was just being ignored at school. Since no one else was willing to help I took the matter into my own hands, and I decided to phone around the Birmingham schools interviewing each head teacher over a matter weeks. A lovely lady (Mrs. Percival) spoke so knowingly about dyslexia, that I decided I would take Shannon out of her school and move her five miles away. Two buses there and back each day was a strain, and knew this could not continue.

Loud voice quiet voice

No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I did there was always a “NO” blocking the way. There is still that thought, that maybe I could have pushed a bit harder. When thinking of my children and their childhood, I wonder if an early diagnosis would have changed things. Then I question myself, If only I had known somehow, done more and pushed harder... 

Shannon by the age of six was showing signs of dyslexia, which I could blatantly see; although her teachers did not agree with me. Her father was severely dyslexic, and I at the age of thirty-six had also been diagnosed, and knew what to look for, where it seemed the teachers knew nothing. They said they had done a ‘ten point score sheet’ and found she was fine. They believed ‘she was just a slow learner’ and ‘she was being a little bit lazy with her words’. It was only after I had decided to get an educational psychologist to test her that they agreed she was indeed dyslexic and she was put on the special needs register. 

Caragh had made a friend and was doing ok in junior school; she was close to top of her class. I always felt that the world did not make sense to Caragh because she always seemed puzzled by peoples’ behaviour. We used to play a game called inside voice/outside voice, to try and help her not talk so loud at home. Making friends was her priority: she used to try desperately to be friends with her peers, at any price.