Why I love to talk to parents.

As licensed clinical social worker I have the privilege of interviewing hundreds of parents year about their parenting experience in America. I have noticed how quick and powerful Parent Guilt is in it’s impact on parents lives & children's lives. In my work as a family and child therapist who is particularly interested in how problems move through peoples lives I am uniquely placed to notice how the pathologizing of dyslexia has led to entire generations of children and parents believing that there is something wrong with the child.

There is nothing wrong with a dyslexic child. They are the way that God made them. And to quote Einstein “God does not play dice with universe.”  Your child who is dyslexic it is not broken.  He has traded out some of his ability to learn language or his ability to do some other language base skill in order to gain a superpower. It is your job to find that superpower and to support it's development.

Dyslexic students suffer from a series ideas that exist in modern schooling. They are the canaries in the coal mine of school. Most public schooling in the United States is based on the idea that people learn on an incremental edge and a set average rate. Schools are based around the idea that it is better to teach to the average of the class. Many dyslexic students are “slow” in the first few years of learning to read or write but then exploded later in life into these categories of knowledge

I was once one so myself. I was a student who could not read who could not write in a classroom filled with literate people. It is taken decades for me to recover from that experience. The school and its effort to teach me reading and writing taught me fear, isolation, loneliness and bitterness. Even now 43 years later my heart is heavy to think of the child I was.

I would love the chance to help your family avoid the costly mistakes that my family went through when I was a child.  I coach families nationwide in how to come to terms with the realities of having child with a learning disability.

http://www.ashevilletherapy.net

Why does God give us Brains that don’t work?

Genetic variability aside. It just seems to me that the brain is one humdinger of an ineffective way to store information. I mean if God had intended us to remember things she would have given us computer plug-in or other physical ways to keep track like say a pad of paper and a pencil - instead of relying on such foolish things as memories.

So what is the brain designed to do – some would say nothing. Cause there is no design involved. But what is the brain capable of handling. Well our brains are excellent at detecting danger and problem solving dangerous situations we can see (bears lions and tigers). Not so good at situations that are out of sight(Global warming and nuclear holocaust). The brain seems to be a very clever way to create new things with out having created the ability to see the consequences of those new things (DDT, Plutonium)

In general our brains seem to be really handy out helping us to survive – but not so useful at storing information. Luckily for us the human race invented writing and then computers to help us with that particular function.

Maybe God felt sorry for us cause we were with out nasty teeth or claws, thick skin or even fur. So she gave us creativity instead cause it would help to balance the scales.

Cultural Inertia in Teaching

I read about the Video format wars at length last night. For you young people that's was back in the day when the superior Beta format was done in by the popular VHS format. Not because the market saw the much better qualities of VHS (Beta was better), but instead because a few middle level mangers didn’t do such a good job at marketing Beta and well just bad luck for the Beta manufactures. Many people were left with Beta machines and no tapes.

Witch reminds me of an ancient Chinese proverb I read years ago…

Student:  Why does a river flow that way?
Master: Because of the water that came first.

Well – really I made it up – but it sounds like an ancient Chinese proverb.

Culture can be like river and sometimes it is just a matter of getting there first with your flag, standard or point of view. Then improving upon what you are trying to do to make it work. The problem comes if your basic concept is flawed – because you can’t build on shoddy foundation no matter how much money, resources or time you have. The whole thing is just going to fail again and again.

Modern teaching is like that – in the middle ages monks created a standard mythical ideal of the busy copyist who is a learned scholar and this mythological ideal has stayed with us through years of reform and rethinking.

Imagine for a moment that you are sitting in a monasteries copy room, Stacks of books and scrolls fill the room. The atmosphere is hushed and quite. In one corner is monk who busy working on maps. In the main section are two or three monks working on books. There ink bottles are full and their feather pens are busy. Sun light filter into the room from distant windows and the sound of birds can be heard, but the monks do not raise there heads from the books.

The head monk is sitting on raised platform in the middle of the hall. He is keeping track of the other monks work overseeing their production and quality of there work. The chief monk is not cruel , but neither is he really interested in the personal development of each of his monks. He is more concerned that the books, maps and scrolls being copied are accurate.
This mythology lies dormant in the mind of every teacher in the world. A successful classroom is seen as hushed and quite with scholars quietly working on there separate projects. Even though being a successful copyist has little too do with any connection with the word learning.

The problem of course, is that copyists are busy copying down important facts and figures, they are not engaged in effort to study or learn something.   Also the role of the copyist has been replaced by the printing press about four hundred years ago…

Institutional teaching has had a couple hundred years to be improved, but the basic mythological ideal keeps getting in the way. It’s time we killed the copyists off – it’s time for us to cut loose the idea of that teaching is the transfer of knowledge too the ideal that teaching is the inspiration of culture.

The river flows on – why master does the rive flow that way and how do we change it’s course?
Perhaps you know the answer.

Frankie Loves Peanuts

Once upon a time there lived an elephant named Frankie. Frankie lived in a zoo; not one of those modern zoos that you may have been to, but an old zoo with tired buildings and cracked sidewalks. You would think that this would make Frankie a very unhappy elephant, but no, he was very happy indeed. The lions were not happy, the penguins were not happy, the parrots and the monkeys were not happy, but Frankie didn’t care. He was happy.
Outside of Frankie’s window, just off to the side of his trench there was a little machine for giving out peanuts. Every day the children would come from all over town, and they would bring their lunch money and their candy money to buy peanuts for their elephant. Frankie was very happy. He would reach through the bars of his cage with his long trunk, and he would carefully pluck each peanut from the little hands that offered them. Then he would take the delicious peanuts, he would put them in his mouth, and chew each one… oh so carefully. Then he would smile, look out at all the smiling faces, and he was so very happy. Frankie loved peanuts.

One day a man in a suit came to the zoo to make sure that everything was safe and that the zoo was taking care of the animals. This man saw all the sad animals, the cracking concrete, the worn down buildings and the peanut machines. He shook his head, “We will have to close down this sad little zoo in a few years. We could sell all the animals except for the elephant. He’s too old to sell. We will have to put him to sleep and give his body to the glue factory.“ Then the man said, “Ed, stop filling up those peanut machines;. it’s too dangerous. The elephant might hurt someone. No more peanuts for Frankie.”

Ed was very sad. He had been taking care of Frankie for a long time. He knew how much Frankie loved peanuts, he knew that the man was serious about closing down the zoo and that would be the end of Frankie. He took away the peanut machines so that Frankie wouldn’t see them anymore, and he hoped that Frankie would forget all about the peanuts. The children stopped coming to see Frankie. Now Frankie was unhappy.
He stood in his cage, looked at the blue sky, and got very depressed.

One day Frankie decided not to get up. He said “This is the end. I’m not getting up ever again.” What a sad little elephant he was. Ed came in to clean Frankie’s cage. “What’s wrong Frankie are you OK?” he said, “I have a treat for you.” Ed reached into his pocket, and he took out a little bag of peanuts. But Frankie didn’t move, he was that down. Ed looked at him, then he dropped the peanuts and ran out the door to get help.

Frankie was lying there not feeling so good about himself, but he kept smelling peanuts. He looked around and there was the bag that Ed had dropped. Frankie thought he would have just one, and maybe another and then, all of a sudden, the bag was empty. Frankie was feeling a little bit better. He looked over and noticed that the door to his elephant house was standing wide open. Frankie thought, “maybe I can get my own peanuts. I’ll just take a quick look around town.”

Frankie tried to be very quite about sneaking out of the zoo. But all of the animals saw him, and they wanted to go too. The lion roared. The parrot called. The penguins splashed and the monkey yelled. Frankie ran out of the zoo fast. The man at the toll both said “Stop Frankie. Go back.” But there was no stopping Frankie. The elephant ran into town. He smelled something really good. Hmmm, what was that smell? He ran around corners, and down streets until he came to a bakery. He didn’t like bread, even if it smelled so good.

Frankie decided he needed a place to hide out so that the police couldn’t find him. He was lucky, and he found a beautiful fountain with many stone elephants. This was a great place for an elephant to hide on a hot summer day. While he was hiding in the fountain a police car stopped in front of the fountain. Frankie thought for sure he was caught; but the two officers were only having lunch at the fountain. “Where did my peanuts go?” said one of the officers, “I had them right here.” Do you know where the peanuts went? Then I don’t need to tell you. Frankie loved peanuts.

Frankie smelled another delicious smell. He followed his nose for a long time and discovered a doughnut shop. He found the doughnuts easy to carry on his trunk, but he still wanted to find some peanuts. Then Frankie smelled another scent. The smell was s so rich and full of flavor. He thought, “This must be where there are peanuts hmm… but there were no peanuts, and that shop was full of people drinking coffee. Frankie was getting discouraged. He had looked everywhere all over town, but he could not find any more peanuts . I might have told him to look in the grocery store, but he never asked me.

It was getting dark and Frankie smelled peanuts! He was so sure that he ran down a street, and over a hill. There, they are in front him was a peanut factory! Frankie ran into the factory. He looked through all the different rooms until he found a room filled with piles of peanuts. Frankie had never seen so many peanuts and his whole life. The pile of peanuts in that room was five times bigger than him! There were dump trucks and bulldozers to move the peanuts around. He ate peanuts till he was full. Then he burrowed into the pile of peanuts and leaving only his eyes sticking out.

The next day when the workers at the factory workers came back. They were surprised at how many peanuts were missing. “Where did all the peanuts go?” they asked. I don’t need to tell you. Frankie loved peanuts. The next night, after the night watchmen had been in to check on the peanuts. Frankie went exploring. He explored all around the factory until he found a little building which said, “Top-Secret” and “Keep Out”.

Elephants are very curious creatures , and Frankie couldn’t help himself . What was in that building? Was it a special type of peanut? A secret recipe?

Frankie peered in the door. He didn’t mean to break-in. He just kind of leaned on the lock a little. Then he stuck his head in the door. Then he had to get down on his knees, and crawl in the room. There were lots of peanuts in this building, each in its own special pile. Some were marked, “peanuts with honey,“ and others were marked, ‘peanuts with mustard.’ Frankie’s favorite type of peanut was with chocolate.

Frankie ate all the peanuts covered with chocolate. Chocolate is not good for elephants. He did not feel so good, and he fell asleep standing up. When Frankie woke up it was morning, and he had been caught. There were cameras taking his pictures, and women with microphones. He was surrounded by people; policeman firemen and doctors, but best of all Ed was there too.

Ed said, “Frankie you are famous. People all around the world have heard about you, the famous disappearing elephant.” Then cameras and reporters came closer to Ed and Frankie. “Why did Frankie come here?” they wanted to know. You know the answer to that question; Frankie loved peanuts.

That night Frankie got to go home to the zoo. The next morning the president of the peanut factory came to see him and Ed. He said that Frankie had made the peanut company famous. That nobody cared if Frankie had eaten all those peanuts because now everybody all around the country wanted to eat Frankie’s chocolate covered peanuts. The president of the company said that before he had been planning to close down the factory. Now he had to hire more workers, and he wanted to thank Frankie in his own way. The company had decided to give Frankie a lifetime supply of… peanuts.

That tired old zoo has been remodeled, and made into a new zoo. All the animals live there happily. In one little house there lives a very happy elephant, and every day, when the children come after-school he throws them peanuts! Frankie loves to share peanuts.

Down with the Grammar Nazi’s

I have an arrangement with my local paper, the yellow springs news. I write letters to the editor and they kindly edit them, with my permission, so that the typos and other snafus are removed before publication. This allows me to participate in the body politics of my village. Though whether or not the local newspaper is relevant to what is going on in town is a whole different question worthy of discussion. I wish that more people were so kind and generous with there editing abilities.

I am sure that a large percentage of the population does not participate in community politics simply because they feel that they would make fools of them selves any time they sent something into the paper or even posted a comment on an online forum. Maybe it’s a side effect of high school English that many people see the potential risk (embarrassing omission of grammatical ability) far out weighs the potential gain (Getting a letter in the paper).

Perhaps it is the way those of us who are gifted at writing or spelling there way through life behave towards those who are not so gifted. Maybe it’s a few bad apples that spoil it for the rest of us. All I know is that if I didn’t have the kind support of the editorial staff of the paper at my back I wouldn’t be writing those letters to the editor cause I don’t need the five emails I would receive telling me that I need a comma after the second sentence and that I dropped the past tense there and by the way shouldn’t I have someone correct my letters? Like the government is going to give me a grant for that!

Many times if I have not hired or begged a proof writer for some piece of writing; I have had individuals who can edit assume that I have been lazy or that I have been worse yet ignorant of my misspellings. Maybe that is my secret desire of this blog to change the tone of our dialog about spelling and grammar. To a kinder more gentler one where people who can’t spell are given the reasonable expectation that they are trying there best to participate and that there best would look so much better if they had a helping hand from those who can see in the colors of the rainbow.

Of course the grammar Nazi’s won’t be reading this blog, because of all the typos, but what do want out of me anyway?

Is Dyslexia the result of Bad Teaching?

Someone told me that they thought that a lot of children who were diagnosed as dyslexic were in reality suffering from a lack of teaching.

I don't think so - most children are over taught and the more I am involved with working with children the more I think that they need a gentle hand.

You don't teach two year olds how to read - unless they ask for it. So why do we insist on teaching at grade level so much? Studies show that it takes an adult thirty hours to learn to read at an adult level. So why do we spend years on it in childhood?

We do because the lesson is not reading - the lesson is to tame the spirit and squash the soul.   A free people can not be ruled or conquered with out there implicit permission either through non-action or lack of imagination. If the ruler can kill the idea of freedom that what need has the emperor for the sword or the boot?

Dyslexic people are people who have less toleration for the crap that the rest of us call learning by route.   A throughly discredited form of learning that has no business being in the same room with small children or adults - unless invited by there passion and sheperared by there own desire.

With  Love

Eric Wolf