Words
To him, words are a particle of sand stuck in his eye.
To me, words are soothing eyedrops.
To him, words are sharp rocks digging into his bare feet.
To me, words are soft mossy green carpet.
To him, words are shards of glass, drawing blood.
To me, words are smooth pearls slipping through fingers.
To him, words are a slap on the face.
To me, words are a touch, gentle caress.
To him, words are slimy slugs, leaving a sticky trail.
To me, words are butterfly wings, dancing in the breeze.
To him, words are a tangled tight knot.
To me, words are a satin cord tied in a bow.
To him, words are a paper cut.
To me, words are a band-aid.
To him, words are a sharp stick in the eye.
To me, words are a flagpole displaying a flapping flag.
To him, words are the grime remaining in the tub.
To me, words are the foaming, scented bubbles.
To him, words are playing cards, refusing to stack.
To me, words are perfectly weighted blocks, towering into the sky.
To him, words are an overdraft notice from the bank.
To me, words are a fortune bequeathed.
To him, words are a toothache.
To me, words are a Farrah Fawcett toothy grin.
To him, words are a straightjacket, escape impossible.
To me, words are a vibrant silk gown.
To him, words are a noose.
To me, words are oxygen.
To him, words are the enemy with rifle drawn.
To me, words are the faithful friend with icy drink waiting.
No wonder my son hates to write. Words trip him, confound him, confuse him, push his face into the ground. Composing words together for him is like riding a ski lift into the mountains and getting tangled when he tries to leap off. Then, to add insult to injury, his ski pops off and an avalanche buries him.
This boy just can't write. He hates words . . . my beloved words.
To me, words are soothing eyedrops.
To him, words are sharp rocks digging into his bare feet.
To me, words are soft mossy green carpet.
To him, words are shards of glass, drawing blood.
To me, words are smooth pearls slipping through fingers.
To him, words are a slap on the face.
To me, words are a touch, gentle caress.
To him, words are slimy slugs, leaving a sticky trail.
To me, words are butterfly wings, dancing in the breeze.
To him, words are a tangled tight knot.
To me, words are a satin cord tied in a bow.
To him, words are a paper cut.
To me, words are a band-aid.
To him, words are a sharp stick in the eye.
To me, words are a flagpole displaying a flapping flag.
To him, words are the grime remaining in the tub.
To me, words are the foaming, scented bubbles.
To him, words are playing cards, refusing to stack.
To me, words are perfectly weighted blocks, towering into the sky.
To him, words are an overdraft notice from the bank.
To me, words are a fortune bequeathed.
To him, words are a toothache.
To me, words are a Farrah Fawcett toothy grin.
To him, words are a straightjacket, escape impossible.
To me, words are a vibrant silk gown.
To him, words are a noose.
To me, words are oxygen.
To him, words are the enemy with rifle drawn.
To me, words are the faithful friend with icy drink waiting.
No wonder my son hates to write. Words trip him, confound him, confuse him, push his face into the ground. Composing words together for him is like riding a ski lift into the mountains and getting tangled when he tries to leap off. Then, to add insult to injury, his ski pops off and an avalanche buries him.
This boy just can't write. He hates words . . . my beloved words.
posted by Melodee at Monday, March 28, 2005
3 Comments:
THIS is why you are one of my favorite writers.
Really, truly, someday your son will rise up and call you 'blessed' (although don't expect that to happen any time soon!). You have taken the time to know get to know him, and to understand.
Sounds like my son's IEP meeting today.
Hi Mell
Oh I can so relate to this post. I could put myself in your shoes with each sentence your wrote and put D#2 into your son's shoes. She struggled with reading and writing through school and in grade 4 we had her tested for learning disabilities. The tests were inconclusive, but she did mix letters up in the small words and read "on" as "no" and would trip over other small words like "is" and "in". She could read a long word like "grandmother" but just couldn't connect it to the other words in the sentence and couldn't write the letters in "grandmother" down in the proper order if she tried to copy it. Oh dear she had such a struggle.
My heart ached for her, but she managed to struggle through elementray school with all sorts of extra help and work and when she hit high school she came into her element and took off. She learned to type, so she didn't have to struggle to write the words over and over again in longhand and she found math and science and art. She worked twice as hard as the other kids on essays and reading, but she did the work and did well in those subjects too.
To make a long story short, she graduated high school with top honours and won all sorts of math and computer awards. She is now in her third year at university and is thinking of going on to do her Masters.
I stand amazed at what she has accomplished when I know what a stuggle she had with words in elementary school. Wonder of wonders, she even loves reading now and always has a book on the go.
Isn't life amazing? What lessons our kids teach us, what gifts they are.
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