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Written by Charles E. Krause
Over time, many embarrassing events in life are transformed into fascinating stories about the past. We laugh at our youthful naivety and remember how foolish we were back then.
But not every failure or bad result turns into nostalgia. Part of yesterday permeates into tomorrow.
I have a learning disability. Some of them. Right now I’m thinking about not being able to spell most words. You can also do other things with words. define them. Please organize them. We have been publishing regularly for over 50 years. Thank you for the dictionary, the word list, the spell check machine, my dear friend, and my wife Linda. How do you spell it…? She has been answering that question ever since I started working in print.
During what people call my formative years, no one recognized misspellings as a learning disability. It was just bad spelling. Either I wasn’t applying myself or I just lacked the intelligence.
I can’t see the words in my mind’s eye, and I can’t say them out loud. If a word is part of my knowledge base, I can spell it. Otherwise, I’m at a loss. Certain combinations of pronunciations identify words that I can reproduce accurately, and there are no words that stump me. He spells the same word six different ways in one paragraph.
As a child, I stood in front of the class during the weekly spelling bee and repeatedly showed off my stupidity. At my teacher’s urging, I copied the “properly” spelled version 10, then 20 times. Nothing good happened, but $1,000 could have been better. After 5 minutes of filling the page, it’s back to guessing the string you want. Repetition, logic, rules, none of them will succeed.
As life progressed, I was constantly thinking about the possibilities for my exposure: new classrooms, new jobs, new neighbors, social situations, joining and participating in civic clubs and professional associations. Is it possible that my incompetence in spelling will be exposed?
I am on high alert in so many situations. I sit in my office, filling out job applications, medical histories, and jotting down instructions for starting the generator, with my tenant looking over my shoulder. Or maybe I’m just trying to write an entry in a journal I received as a gift. Do you have the courage to put a sample of my unlikely speculations down on paper? Into recorded history?
Events that cannot be spelled out have repercussions. The fear of anticipation – will I be asked or somehow required to copy the words to paper or screen? Is it a word that anyone else, even my grandchild, can use easily? Is it possible that someone is snooping on my notes? Is my handicap becoming a focus? again?
It’s scary to have your shortcomings revealed. I’m an adult. This name comes with many assumptions. You should be able to spell.
There was a time when my spelling ability was almost observed. Just before the pen hit the paper, there was a pause in the process, and my entire being was filled with fear. A cacophony of voices, the sum total of all the encouragement your parents and teachers have ever given you, you can do it, say it out loud, don’t think about it, just write it down, keep it in your heart. Picture it in your mind, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it – the shock others expressed as they took in what I had actually put down on paper. In conjunction with the echo, some were expressed quite loudly. Just a split second before I’m forced to spell a questionable word, I experience anger, resentment, a longing to be normal, a ridiculous hope, and a plea that maybe this time I’ll come up with a preferred spelling.
At some point, those in power decided to call my problem a learning disability known as aphantasia, the inability to create mental images. The unique spell was simply a flaw in the equipment. I was born with a disability, just like I was born deaf or blind.
But in the end, no matter what you call it, no matter how you describe it, the words that come out seem like random squiggles, placeholders for established, symbolic reality. And I look like this: . . .Exception to the rule.
Charles E. Krause He is the author of four books, including Never Work in Teaneck, New Jersey.
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