Time is running out, so I’ll get right to the point. But after that, I cannot guarantee a direct course through my story.
I always wondered how I would begin my memoir, which, by the way, I find amusing., not the writing of one, but the sound of the word”memoir” as if it should be written inside the “boudoir “. Actually, it probably should, based on the fact that one has to dig deep into the private space, the space saved only for the select few, unless, you are a floozy.
And now, you can see how my mind travels.
Oh yes, I will from here on in refer to my memoir, as simply my story.
She said, “you were born ass backwards and have been doing things ass backwards ever since. “
The description stung, leaving a welt that I carried throughout my life. Little did I know that by mainstream learning standards, she was right.
We no longer accept that diagnosis.
Today we have a myriad of acknowledged learning styles, but that was not the case when I was growing up. I was told that I was not focused and unteachable.
But I knew one thing, I had a strong desire to learn. Unable to explain why the words were moving on the page, or how I was able to see patterns between the letters( negative space), I left them all confused and frustrated. Not that they didn’t try, but basically, having checked my eyesight and hearing, there was nothing left to consider.
So I struggled through, painfully, learning how to teach myself. I also learned not to trust adults who placed limitations on me. Though, while not trusting them, their voices created a lifelong symphony of self doubt. Painful? perhaps. But it also served in propelling me to investigate things thoroughly, on my own terms in my own fashion.
Like many people my age, (seventy two), I have come to realize that I had dyslexia, ADD, and synesthesia. Add that to a troubled home life, and, well you’ve got a recipe for a possible disaster. I say “possible” because even at the early age of eleven, I was aware the choice would be mine.
Mine is a story of finding balance, forgiveness and freedom by allowing the tears and the laughter to commingle peacefully from the same well.
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of swinging a bat, while being coached by a mature ten year old. I missed the first hit, and the second. Before he tossed me the ball the third time, he looked me straight in the eyes, and said in a tone full of kindness and conviction, “you can either be disappointed, or determined!”
And I remembered that I used that motto most of my life. It worked, And yes, I hit that third ball.
a.tomasulo