My trouble with words became a serious problem for me when I was in the third grade. The class had started reading aloud, and every day I was panicked that I’d be called on. I’d cower at my desk, hoping my classmates would finish the passage before it was my turn.
I didn’t really know what I was experiencing back in the early 1980s, but now I know it was dyslexia. When I tried reading a paragraph, my eyes skipped whole sentences. When I wrote, I thought I was getting everything down on the paper – only to find that entire chunks and letters were missing.
Home was the one place I never felt self-conscious. As the son of Frank Zappa, I had anything but a normal childhood growing up in Los Angeles. Still, despite what people might expect from two rockers, my parents never did drugs, and they encouraged learning. Our house was always full of interesting people – artists, scientists, actors, musicians – who had great stories to tell.
My mother, Gail, recognised that I didn’t process information like other kids. When I was young, she read to me a lot. One story I loved was Leo the Late Bloomer, a picture book about a tiger cub who takes longer than others to read, write, draw and talk. I realise my mother chose that book for a reason.
Still, even with my family’s support, school didn’t get any better. After I was diagnosed with a learning disability, it actually got worse. In fourth grade, I spent most of the day in a portable classroom with a teacher, her smelly dog Nigel and other kids with learning problems. I started pretending I was sick so I could skip going, and stopped doing my homework. - See more at: http://www.readersdigest.com.au/comic-books#sthash.nxoQ9Ymd.dpuf
My trouble with words became a serious problem for me when I was in the third grade. The class had started reading aloud, and every day I was panicked that I’d be called on. I’d cower at my desk, hoping my classmates would finish the passage before it was my turn.
I didn’t really know what I was experiencing back in the early 1980s, but now I know it was dyslexia. When I tried reading a paragraph, my eyes skipped whole sentences. When I wrote, I thought I was getting everything down on the paper – only to find that entire chunks and letters were missing.
Home was the one place I never felt self-conscious. As the son of Frank Zappa, I had anything but a normal childhood growing up in Los Angeles. Still, despite what people might expect from two rockers, my parents never did drugs, and they encouraged learning. Our house was always full of interesting people – artists, scientists, actors, musicians – who had great stories to tell.
My mother, Gail, recognised that I didn’t process information like other kids. When I was young, she read to me a lot. One story I loved was Leo the Late Bloomer, a picture book about a tiger cub who takes longer than others to read, write, draw and talk. I realise my mother chose that book for a reason.
Still, even with my family’s support, school didn’t get any better. After I was diagnosed with a learning disability, it actually got worse. In fourth grade, I spent most of the day in a portable classroom with a teacher, her smelly dog Nigel and other kids with learning problems. I started pretending I was sick so I could skip going, and stopped doing my homework. - See more at: http://www.readersdigest.com.au/comic-books#sthash.nxoQ9Ymd.dpuf
การแปล กรุณารอสักครู่..