I'll start by saying that I'm not an expert in dyslexia, and I have no formal training with regards to any specific learning disabilities. However, I have a remarkable story to tell about dyslexia. Since I'm not an expert, I'm simply going to tell the story. It's a story of guidance and of healing. It's a story of a young boy who was profoundly dyslexic and who UTTERLY conquered his dyslexia. It's the story of a solution that is accessible to everyone.  

The youth I'm writing about is my son, Luke. As is the case with many dyslexics, Luke is very smart. He has shown signs of being intellectually gifted since he was very young. In spite of his potential, in his early years in school he struggled and lagged badly. The disconnect between his intelligence and his academic experience was glaring. During the fall of Luke's third grade year, his mother (and my former wife, Cay) decided that we should have Luke tested for learning disabilities. I can never give her enough credit for taking the initiative at this point. I'm sure if she had not resolved upon taking this step it would have been years before I would have had the sense to do it.

We took Luke to a PhD psychologist who specializes in specific learning disabilities. At that point I didn't know anything about SLDs, and as far as I remember Cay didn't either. Neither of us knew that Luke was suffering from dyslexia. The only thing we knew for sure was that he was suffering with his schoolwork. The first thing the psychologist told us was that there are numerous different SLDs, and that there is a battery of psychological tests that can be used to make a diagnosis. In some cases the diagnosis can be quite accurate. Luke took the tests that the psychologist recommended. After about a week Cay and I returned to her office to get the results. She was very specific in her diagnosis. "Luke has dyslexia", she said. "I don't see a lot of cases of pure dyslexia, but Luke is the real deal. This is as clear-cut as I've ever seen for dyslexia."   

It was something of a shock to me to have a diagnosis with a clinical name on it, and at the same time it was something of a relief to have the clarity of knowing what Luke was up against. Talking with Cay as we left the office, we resolved to try to find a way to help Luke. For my part, I decided to start by educating myself on dyslexia. I quickly learned that a book about dyslexia had recently been written by one of the leading experts on dyslexia. That book, Overcoming Dyslexia, by Sally Shaywitz, was an overview of the field of dyslexia, written for lay person and especially for parents of dyslexic children. I bought the book and made a disciplined schedule of working my way through it. Although it discussed all of the most widely accepted approaches for dealing with dyslexia, to my mind none of them seemed very promising. None of the well-known approaches claimed to cure dyslexia. None of them included any cases of actually defeating dyslexia. They all involved a great deal of work and promised only limited progress. What I was reading about was methods for coping with dyslexia.   

The psychologist who tested Luke also had some methods for dealing with dyslexia, and we plunged into them with complete dedication. After a while Cay and I both felt that these approaches were lacking, so we switched to another PhD psychologist who also specialized in SLDs. She tested Luke and she also diagnosed him as being a pure dyslexic. She had her own approaches to dyslexia, which involved several hours every week of one-on-one reading coaching by another psychologist. Luke's reading coach specialized in dyslexia and had a masters degree in psychology. We put Luke in this program.

Luke continued to struggle. Although Luke's reading may have improved incrementally as he grew older, he was rapidly falling farther and farther behind his peers. I could not observe any progress from the several hours per week of coaching by the specialist in dyslexia. As Luke advanced through third grade and into the fourth, the emotional toll on him increased dramatically. There's a tremendous difference between a first or second grader being behind his peers in school and a fourth grader falling farther and farther behind his peers. I remember anguish-filled moments when my brilliant son would tell me that he was so stupid that he shouldn't even be alive.

I was still trying to educate myself on dyslexia, but I was running into my own roadblock. After I finished Overcoming Dyslexia, I bought numerous additional books on dyslexia. I would usually spend an hour or so reading at bedtime every night, so I kept my dyslexia books next to my bed. I made some progress but not much. Everything I read seemed dense; nothing seemed to offer a way forward with much hope. There was one book in particular that I could simply not force myself to read: The Gift of Dyslexia, by Ron Davis. The title made me furious. Seeing the daily emotional trauma that Luke was suffering, I thought that calling dyslexia a "gift" was downright cruel. Night after night, for at least a year, I went to bed telling myself I should read that book, but not being able to do it. Night after night I read on other topics instead of dyslexia. Night after night I felt guilty for not reading about dyslexia, for not educating myself further to the point where I could help my son.

We spent Christmas break of Luke's fourth grade year in Hawaii. My children were spending the first half of the break with me and the second half of the break with their mother in Tampa. I was their escort on the flight back Tampa. Since I was staying in Hawaii for several more weeks, my plan was to fly with them to Tampa and then turn around and fly back to Hawaii. As I packed up to escort my children home, the very last thing I did was to pack a book to read on the airplane. Stacked next to my bed were several books that I planned to read. I picked a book on child-raising and headed out the bedroom -- we were almost late for our flight. As I neared the door I was stopped by an experience that I will never forget. It was like a command thundered into my mind, a command that was very forceful and utterly unchallengeable. I felt as if a overwhelming physical force blocked my path, like I could not take another step forward even if I tried with all my might. I didn't try because very explicit words, words that I will never forget, exploded into my mind: "Don't take that book. Take this book instead." And as the words were spoken into my mind, my head was turned back to the bedside table and my eyes could see only one thing: The Gift of Dyslexia, by Ron Davis. I realized what was happening, switched books, gathered up my children, and headed for the airport.

I delivered the children to Cay in Tampa, took a shower, and returned to the airport. I flew to Los Angeles and spent the night there. The next morning I boarded a flight for Honolulu. Immediately after I took my seat I put on noise-cancelling headphones, pulled out The Gift of Dyslexia, and began to read. After over a year ...