Tatianna Warwick Education: Privilege, Right, or Incomparable Opportunity
ENGLISH 1A
Education is something many of us may take for granted when we are younger. Many never realize the blessing; others never have the chance. For most students; the fundamentals like reading, writing, and simple arithmetic come almost effortlessly. But, it isn’t this way for all, because for those like my younger brother Taner, these basics of early education were a daily struggle. No matter how desperately he wanted to learn and be like everyone else, he couldn’t. At least not in the same ways that others could. It required an exceptional effort on his part. This would become a facet of who he is and would hang before him like a proverbial hoop he must jump through or a persistent hurdle that always stands between him and his ability to acquire and process information; brightly colored and there for the whole world to see. At the onset, my family noticed that Taner was much slower in reaching his milestones. He had always taken a little bit longer to master things than most other infants. As a toddler, the basics like talking, crawling, and walking didn’t come as early for him; as my mom remembers they did for me. This consistently worried her, enough to where she actually took him to his pediatrician to find out if something could be wrong. She just couldn’t understand how there was such a stark difference between her two kids. She recalls that she could have full conversations with me at the age of two, but here he was at almost three and still struggling to form simple words and sentences. The doctor just told her that boys were typically slower than girls, and that it was completely normal because they tend to be lazier. She strived to accept this and not worry so much. She was mindful to be more patient and encouraging with him. But, I often observed her lost in thought with her forehead wrinkled. It was as if she was quietly contemplating how she would complete this impossible puzzle of white clouds placed before her. For so long throughout that time, she wore her fear like an unwelcomed wet coat, heavy and burdensome. My dad would provide her with a glimmer of hope, through his recollections of his own struggles in school; reassuring her that he turned out just fine. But it never provided her any recompense from the unrelenting fact that something was not right. It wouldn’t be until Taner started school that others would start to take notice and address the weaknesses that were becoming more noticeable. Still, it wasn’t until the second or third grade that we would find out exactly what it was that was causing him to be more delayed than others. It turned out that Taner had dyslexia. Not until after a series of assessments were completed by a neuropsychologist were his weaknesses pin-pointed more precisely. Memories of going to that appointment 24
2012 VC Voices
still play through my mind. Being so young and unaware of the seriousness of the situation, I felt a sense of jealousy of all the attention he was receiving. Suddenly, he became the “it” topic around the house; this teacher said this about Taner and so and so said that. On the day of the appointment, my mom asked me if I would go with her for support. I remember that the reception area was small and there were little games and things around the room to keep kids occupied as they waited. It was a beautiful summer day; the sun was at its peak and a million fun things I would prefer to be doing raced through my mind. There was no one else there except for the neuropsychologist and her husband, who was also the receptionist, and their big beautiful golden retriever who laid there in complete tranquility just wagging his tail. He wasn’t fazed by our intrusion at all. For the first three hours I did what I could to entertain myself. I looked at magazines filled with articles and pictures of lavish gardens, fancy models, and tasty recipes. At one point, I even began playing with what would be considered baby games in the corner of the room. My mom fidgeted and drank tea made from a tea bag shaped like a triangle that was filled with what looked to be tiny flowers and nuts and other strange herbs. I could tell that Taner was nervous; he had never done anything like this before. The entire process took about six hours of him sitting in a closed room with the neuropsychologist, with only a thirty minute break for lunch. Starving, the three of us walked over to a Wendy’s across the parking lot to get something to eat. The fries were hot and salty, the bright colors and animated noises in the fast food restaurant were very welcoming after being in that silent boring waiting room for all those hours. Imagining how Taner was feeling having to take all those tests only occupied my thoughts for an ever so brief moment. He looked strained and exhausted, but relieved to finally get something in his growling belly. Encouraging him or acknowledging his discomfort in exposing his most profound weaknesses did not play into the equation that day. The importance of this process was outweighed by my discomfort and the imposition this was having on my own life. The memory of sitting in that office, in that small building filled with different specialists of sorts feels so recent, that I could reach out and feel the doorknob as if I were just walking inside for the first time. The reality that I ever suspected the need to waste our day or that it could ever be a way of him wanting to be the center of attention; shows my immaturity and weighs heavy on my heart today. At the time, I had just entered middle school; this was a huge difference from my elementary experience. The predominant issue for me was being the little fish in a big pond. Because of this, there was a sort of oblivion as to what was going on with Taner. The major change I noticed was that my mom was attending a lot of meetings at his elementary school and having a lot of conversations with his school district about things like “IEP’s” and special assessments. It was also difficult because she was crying a lot and not being her normal self. All these things were foreign and intrusive like an annoying jester in your face at all times. Of course, kids in special education were a part AN ANTHOLOGY OF STUDENT WORK | VENTURA COLLEGE
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