As I Am Michael William Bell

Most people are surprised to find out that I am dyslexic. Of course, most people don’t know. It’s not that I am ashamed of it, just that I don’t like to tell people about my problems. It is hard to hide, however, when a teacher asks me to read something out loud and I take twice as long as any other student. Or when I have to spend twice as long doing the same homework. Dyslexia is defined as an impaired ability to learn to read, but that definition doesn’t tell of the frequent humiliation or the struggle to fit in. I am not ashamed of it anymore, but it took a long time for me to learn to accept dyslexia as a part of who I am.

Ten years ago, I entered the first grade, which is when most “normal” students learn to read. That was when my struggles began. After three years my parents realized that I was dyslexic. They sent me to a private tutor, and so I had to spend much of my time after school continuing to study rather than playing outside with friends. I didn’t understand why I had to do so much extra work just to be average. My frustration was compounded by my second-grade teacher, who saw my dyslexia as a sign of stupidity. She once told my mom over the phone that “Michael is going to end up in a tech school.” My mom was so...