Keith Carman—Chief Administrative Coordinator
Full disclosure: I’m 48 years old. Middle age is starting to look like a passing acquaintance when I’m barely over the realization—let alone acceptance that—I can’t lift, rebound, or party like when I was 20. No matter how hard I try.
Just writing that hurt a little.
What does that have to do with Learning Disabilities? A lot, actually.
It took me 46 years to learn that I’ve been fighting one heck of an uphill battle. The biggest foe in that knock-down, drag-out war of wills? A bugger called math.
Now, I obviously knew that math and I weren’t exactly chums since, well, I can tell you exactly: Grade Two. I specifically recall sitting at a set of four desks, watching my classmates blast through multiplication problems on their work pages. Heck, I can still smell the thick, pungent toxicity of that ditto machine “ink” and see the fuzzy purple problems all laid out in their taunting, snickering fashion. If that last sentence resonates with you, you’re certifiably old.
Know what else I remember? Squeezing my fists into tiny balls as I struggled not to bawl my eyes out and embarrass myself in front of the other 26 kids in my class because I just. Couldn’t. Get. It.
They were bragging about how “easy” these things were and how “fast” they were whipping through this ridiculous exercise that was only stalling them from a sea of green grass and dangerous ‘80s playground equipment. I was wishing I could crawl into a hole because this gibberish may as well have been Greek calculus.
Oh, and I had to stay in during recess to finish it with the teacher’s help as she coaxed me on, saying I could do it if I only tried harder. I’m surprised I don’t still have nail marks on my palms.
How strange that I would go on to fail Grade 11 math, squeak by, try—of all things—high school calculus (I wonder if I was vying for a Darwin Award or something), drop that for Finite Math and still have to repeat it! Getting, like, 52% the second time!
So, yeah, math and I? Not friends. The worst part, though, was that any other class or subject was no big deal. I wasn’t at the top of the heap, but I was an Ontario Scholar when graduating high school. No dummy.
Yet, boy, did I feel like one. I mean, what adult needs to count on fingers and toes when making change for a nickel? This thing just stuck with me as if I locked the answers in my own head and threw away the key. My self-esteem just wouldn’t let it go. WHY CAN’T I FIGURE OUT MATH??
Moreover, when you’re an adult and have to do things like, I don’t know, budgeting, it can get a tad frustrating.
Fast-forward a few, cough, decades, and I’m sitting here post-psychoeducational assessment. Guess what? I have a learning disability! In math!
You’d have thought I’d have seen it coming. I honestly didn’t. However, once I learned that traditional methods of learning were like roadblocks and pitfalls for me when it came to math, a new world opened.
So, what does that mean? It’s simple: the answers are there, with me, when material is presented in a way that MY BRAIN understands it. Simply put, I’m my own key to my own lock. I just need someone to show me how to use the key in Way Y rather than Way X.
For me, it’s math, but this applies to everyone, everywhere. We’re all different, so we all have our own struggles. For you, it could be writing out your thoughts. Trying to listen to someone explain things as you process what it means. Spelling. Working memory. Name it. What’s important to know is that you, too, are your own key. Life can get easier (well, more manageable/tolerable) when you start hurdling the blockades instead of crumbling in front of them…at any age.
Do I enjoy math now? I’d rather give a rabid skunk a proctology exam in a locked closet. However, I can now do things like, I dunno, budgeting. Sure, I still count on my fingers when making change, but I’m not ashamed because my brain PREFERS doing it that way. My brain UNDERSTANDS doing it that way. Iunderstand that my brain understands it that way, which is the most important part. I (usually) arrive at the correct answer, too, so who cares?
Most importantly, I’m not as tough on myself. I don’t feel so stupid for not getting what everyone else just inherently seems to know. I do things my own way. I’m not as stressed, depressed, or anxious, so yes, a learning disability has actually made me “better.”
Now, let me at that playground.
