This post originally appeared on Un-schooled. Kate Fridkis also writes for AOL's MyDaily.com.
People
do better at life when they feel smart.
When they think they’re
worth a lot.
And it’s really hard to make someone
feel like they’re smart and worthwhile when they
aren’t on the level that the kids who are defined over and over again as
“smart” are on.
And when being “smart” in that way is
so critical to being whole.
When no one is giving anyone an “A” for being hilarious.
I believe in disabilities.
I mean, I don’t think they’re an invention of a cruel, capitalistic, oppressive system. People are all different, and some of them have a lot more trouble with things that are basic for the majority of other people.
But a lot of learning disabilities make me suspicious.
And sometimes they just make me really sad.
When kids aren’t learning to read on time, for example,
there’s a lot of panic.
And there shouldn’t be, because kids learn to read at very
different points.
Some kids don’t learn to read until they’re fourteen,
and then they read like everyone else.
And no one can tell that they were a kid who didn’t read until they were fourteen.
Kids are like that with learning in general.
Not every eight-year-old brain is ready to absorb the information that a nationally approved 3rd grade curriculum demands it process.
And then what happens when they don’t learn it on time?
They learn that they
are “slow.” They might get left behind.
I remember in Hebrew School when I was twelve there was this funny kid
named Seth who was nice to everyone. He made everyone laugh with his
antics. He was good at making ridiculous faces. He was good at people.
And one day the teacher said, “We’re going to go around the room and
each take a paragraph.” We were reading a story about the biblical Jacob
and his very large family.
I showed off, because I was an obnoxious little kid
and I was really good
at reading aloud.
The teacher smiled at me and everyone else silently
hated me with all their brief, concentrated might.
And then it was Seth’s turn.
He was haltingly trying to sound out the first word.
“Is-ra-el-leets.”
We all knew it was wrong.
And there was a long, stunned pause.
How could he not know that?
How could he
barely be able to read?
