As a mom with experience, I’ve come to appreciate the significance of a simple paper grocery bag filled with neatly organized schoolwork. It represents years of sorting, reflecting, and navigating the ups and downs of academic life. The process involves forgetting, remembering, and sometimes even moving things around due to unforeseen circumstances, like a flood or a roof repair. Eventually, it all accumulates into a tidy bag that gets handed down to the next generation.
While I haven’t reached the stage of passing down my own bag yet, I recently found myself on the receiving end during a visit to my parents. My mother, in her usual fashion, presented me with some childhood keepsakes.
I’ve seen these mementos before, yet the contents often elude my memory. I recall some high school notebooks, a copy of Plato’s Republic that bored me to tears, and a notebook that belonged to my sister. There was a page with a phone number and the name “Laura” in her handwriting, followed by my own scrawl declaring, “is a dork.”
This time, however, the bag held something different. It contained early samples of my handwriting, almost unreadable, filled with spelling mistakes and reversals. I had to sound out the words in hopes they would become clear as I spoke them. Gradually, a narrative unfolded. There were notes from teacher conferences, test scores revealing both my cognitive strengths and my struggles with spelling and legibility. A card from a doctor bore the words “learning disability” in handwritten script.
As I rifled through later projects, I found painstakingly written sentences that eventually transformed into my mother’s neat penmanship, clearly articulating my thoughts. One project stood out—a five-page report on Vermont, complete with stenciled letters and images from old National Geographic magazines. I especially loved the line, “Vermont is a place where horseback riding is very common, which is why I want to live there!”
By the end of my exploration, I felt an unexpected wave of emotion—not about Vermont itself, but from witnessing the effort my mother put into guiding my education. I’ve always known I was dyslexic; I excelled on tests but struggled to showcase my knowledge in class due to my challenges with spelling and letter reversals. Now, I held the tangible proof of my past.
As a parent of children with learning differences, I truly understand the struggle. I’ve been in the shoes of a frustrated child trying to distinguish between “b” and “d,” desperately trying to get their thoughts onto paper. I often wonder whether my efforts are helping or hindering their learning. I’ve faced the daunting task of navigating through testing and seeking assistance from teachers and specialists.
Currently, two of my children have Individualized Education Programs (IEPs) in place. Despite the support available, the journey remains challenging. I deeply admire my mother’s tenacity; she fought for me without the resources we have today. Thanks to her advocacy, I ended up pursuing my education at New York University and building a career as a writer. Now, I find myself mirroring her efforts as I support my own kids through their educational challenges.
I even aspire to create a neatly organized stack of papers in a grocery bag for each of my children someday. If you’re looking for more guidance on home insemination and parenting, check out this informative resource. Additionally, for those interested in home insemination kits, Make a Mom provides excellent options. For further insights into pregnancy week by week, consider visiting March of Dimes.
In summary, the experiences of being a special needs child and now, a special needs parent have given me profound respect for my mother’s journey. Her unwavering support paved the way for my success, and I strive to do the same for my children.