I hated school because I’m dyslexic. I hated everything about it. The teasing, the stares, the whispers when I couldn’t read out loud in class, the tests that I would just stare blankly at. It wasn’t until tenth grade that finally I was given a chance.
My English teacher, Mrs. B, noticed I was dyslexic right away, and talked to me about it. In class, she didn’t call on me to read out loud, and she would let me take my tests out in the hall, away from people. She found out I loved music, and let me write my essays about it. She encouraged me to write my feelings down, and tell people how hard I was really trying. I wrote a story, and she helped me publish it online. I was so proud when I saw that this was something I could do, and do well. People liked my stories, and my ideas.
She encouraged me to talk to musicians, and I eventually got a job promoting little known bands I liked. She let me stay after school with her to share my ideas with her, and write them in a safe, happy environment, instead of my empty house. She changed my perspective about school, and my abilities. I see now that even though I’m not good at talking aloud, remembering dates or numbers, or taking tests, I’m good at telling guitars apart by their sound, telling stories, and helping people out. She changed my school life, and I am forever grateful for that.