I Wanted To Be Happy

I was interviewed about the role that humor plays with being dyslexic. Here is part of the interview.

Did you always have a sense of humor?

Well, yes and no. I always felt I had a sense of humor but when it came to being dyslexic I was very sensitive.

Why is that?

I received a lot of criticism and teasing from people. For example, kids at school poked fun at me and called me “stupid”. There were many times I missed lunch just to finish an assignment that the teacher wanted done. I spent hours in front of a chalkboard working on misspelt words. I often wasn’t allowed to go to recess because my work wasn’t completed. I was given extra homework on top of all that.

In the Special Ed classes at school they kept changing teaching methods. As soon as I started to understand, they would change what they did and I started all over again. I never felt that I could get ahead.

Family wasn’t always supportive. Sometimes I was criticized for not being better at spelling, or reading. Or, if I gave a talk at church, many people said I did good just getting up in front of other people, but family would often point out what I did wrong.

What was that like?

The negativity was just plain frustrating.

Where did you get the idea of having a sense of humor about being dyslexic?

My grandmother from my mom’s side. She would tell me, “Life is too short to waste on feeling sorry for yourself, so be willing to laugh at yourself and your world will be happier.”

What was your reaction to that idea?

Well, at first I didn’t understand. I was just a kid. As I got older I came to the realization that I can be miserable or be willing to laugh at myself, relieve the stress, and learn to love my life.

What was your process for developing a sense of humor?

First I realized that what I was doing did not work. Second, I started to change that day and work on being a better me. I wanted to be happy. You work on it every day all your life. It’s a lifetime pursuit.

 

A Dyslexic Joke

When you’re dyslexic, you have to have a sense of humor. When I write a story with my children, and I can’t remember how to spell a word, I feel like this cop:

A dyslexic cop is severely reprimanded by his captain because the spelling on his police reports is incomprehensible. “How can you expect anyone to read this! If you file just one more report with any and I mean any words misspelled, you are going on report!” screams the captain.

The cop vows not to make any more mistakes. The next day he is in his patrol car when a report of a traffic accident comes over his radio. He arrives on the scene to discover a grisly head-on collision. The cop takes out his notebook and begins to write, taking care to spell each word correctly.

“One, O-N-E. Ford, F-O-R-D. In the ditch, D-I-T-C-H.”

“That’s good,” thinks the cop as he walks across the street to the other vehicle.

“One, O-N-E. Dodge, D-O-D-G-E. In the ditch, D-I-T-C-H.”

“I am doing great!” says the cop out loud as he confidently walks to the middle of the highway, where he discovers a decapitated head.

“One, O-N-E. Head, H-E-A-D. In the boulevard, B-O-L … B-L-U …B-O-L-L … B-I-L …”

Finally, the frustrated cop looks around to ensure nobody is looking, then kicks the head and writes, “One head in the D-I-T-C-H.”

 

Your Head, Not Dyslexia, Stops You

Imagine you find yourself in a pit of poisonous snakes. There is a part of your brain that acts to preserve your life. It starts the heart pumping blood faster, orders adrenaline to be added, tenses muscles, causes breathing to become faster, and a whole set of other actions designed to ready your body for action.

Now imagine you find yourself caught up in a movie theater, watching a thriller that features a pit of poisonous snakes. That same part of your brain becomes activated in the exact same way as before, because it cannot distinguish between actual danger and perceived danger.

In the first scenario — you really are faced with deadly snakes — running away screaming might be a wise course of action. In the second scenario — the snake thriller movie — running away screaming would only make you look foolish. However, the physical changes in your body are the same. Only your rational mind keeps you in your seat to see the rest of the movie. It knows that you’re in no danger, but you feel the effects of the lower part of your brain that cannot make that distinction.

The important point here is that regardless of the situation that triggers fear, it feels real, and can stop us from taking action in our lives. When we’re faced with difficulties, we can get into the habit of avoiding that which bothers us with words like, “I can’t,” “It’s too hard,” or “No way.”

We dyslexics frequently become conditioned to respond this way through our exposure to schooling. Certain academic subjects can be difficult for us. To avoid the unpleasantness it’s easy to acquire the habit of saying, “I can’t” rather than tackling the challenge. After repeating this to ourselves out loud, it becomes part of our identity, and we start to really believe that we in fact are not capable.

This belief is false. We can accomplish whatever we set our hearts on. It may take us longer, or we may enlist the help of others to act where we are weak, but we are still humans whose limitations exist only in our minds. We are frequently our own worst enemies.

The funny thing about this is that here we are exactly the same as every other person out there. People are limited by their beliefs and live lives constrained by the visions in their heads.

In the next articles I will talk about changing that ideas that bind you into a vision that frees your life.