Parenting
As I entered my daughter Ava’s third-grade classroom, her teacher gently touched my arm. “I need to talk to you about Ava.” Those words sent a chill down my spine, triggering a whirlwind of anxious thoughts. What could it be? My mind raced, and I braced myself for the worst.
From kindergarten, I sensed something was off. It started with her struggle with sight words. Each night, she would cry over her assignments, and I would feel a mix of frustration and helplessness. “Just sound it out,” I’d advise, but despite knowing her letter sounds, she struggled to connect them to the words on the page.
When she brought home her first reading book, I was overjoyed. I had always dreamed about sharing my love for reading with her. However, as we sat together, she stumbled over the words, claiming they danced around. Our reading sessions transformed from bonding moments into frustrating battles that often ended in tears.
Her teacher reassured me that this was just a phase, but as first grade progressed, her reading grades began to slip. Homework became increasingly difficult, and she still complained about the “dancing” words. Her handwriting was nearly unreadable, and spelling felt like an insurmountable challenge.
“Just write the words five times; you’ll memorize them,” I’d insist. Now, I look back and cringe at my misguided attempts to help. Deep down, I knew something was wrong, so I approached her teacher again. “Could it be dyslexia?” I asked. “Let’s wait and see,” she replied. So, I waited, but things only got worse.
By the end of the year, I was finally advised to have Ava tested for dyslexia. The teacher believed it had progressed beyond mere developmental issues, and I agreed to wait until the summer.
The following year in second grade was a struggle. With an unhelpful teacher, Ava’s grades fell to Cs. She lost her confidence and began to feel “stupid.” It wasn’t until late March that she was finally tested and diagnosed with dyslexia and Irlen syndrome, a condition causing the words to appear as if they were moving on the page.
Her intervention teacher said, “I can’t fathom how tough this must have been for her. It’s incredible she managed to maintain her grades.” I knew her strength well, being her mother.
Fast forward to that day in her third-grade classroom, my heart raced with hope. I thought she was doing well, but I was anxious. Once the class settled, her teacher approached me with a bright smile. “Ava is doing wonderfully! We’re so proud of how far she’s come this year.” In that moment, I experienced a rush of pride like never before.
A year and a half after her diagnosis, I walked into Ava’s room at bedtime. I settled into my usual spot on her bed, pulling the covers up to our chests. “Read me a story,” I said with a smile. “Okay, just be quiet and listen!” she giggled. For the next twenty minutes, she read aloud from a book of her choice. Sure, she stumbled over some words and needed my help occasionally, but she was reading.
My little girl was finally learning to read, and it filled my heart with joy.
This article was originally published on Oct. 8, 2012.
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Summary
The story reflects a mother’s journey alongside her daughter, Ava, as they navigate the challenges of dyslexia. From early signs of struggle in kindergarten to her eventual diagnosis, Ava’s growth and achievements in reading are celebrated. With support and understanding, she overcomes obstacles, turning reading from a source of frustration into a joyful experience.