FanStory.com - What We See - Chapter 10Aby Jim Wile

Chapter 10A

At 5:30, I turned the OPEN sign on the front door to CLOSED, locked the door, and went upstairs to freshen up and change for dinner tonight. I put on a polo shirt and khaki pants, left food for Archie, who hadn’t come in yet, then headed over to the Boardmans’. Tommy greeted me at the door.
“Hi, Alan. C’mon in. Want to see my room?”

“Hey, Tommy. Sure, but let me say hi to your mom first.”

Ginnie came out to greet me. She was wearing an apron with a few splatters of tomato sauce on it. The odor of pasta sauce cooking was unmistakable. Beneath the apron, I could see she was wearing a long-sleeved lavender-colored Poor Boy-style top and those tight jeans. Her hair was in a loose braid, and she had on light makeup. She was one of those natural beauties with a wholesome girl-next-door look who didn’t need much makeup—just a bit of eye shadow and lipstick. “Hi, Alan. Welcome to our home.”

“Thanks, Ginnie.” I looked around the living room, which was just to the right of the entry. “You have a lovely house.”

“Thank you. It’s small, but there’s less upkeep that way. Dinner should be ready in about 10 minutes. I hope you like manicotti.”

“Oh, I like anything Italian. It smells wonderful.”

“Tommy, you’ve got some time to show Alan your room now if you’d like. I’ll call when we’re ready to eat.”

“Okay, Mom. It’s upstairs, Alan.”

I followed him up and entered his bedroom. It was small, but packed with interesting stuff. He seemed to like baseball since there was a large poster of George Brett in his batting stance. I could also see a mitt on the edge of his desk in the corner.

“So, you’re a baseball fan, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m in the Little League. I'm on the Jolly Rogers team. There's a game on Saturday. You want to come see it?”

Ginnie was right about his eagerness for older male company. He really seems to be latching on, but he’s a great kid, and I like being around him. It must have been hard for him to grow up without a dad.

“I hope it’s an afternoon game because I have to work in the morning. The store will be open ‘til 2:00 PM.”

“The game starts at 2:00.”

“I’ll come after work then. I won’t have missed too much. How many innings do you play?”

“Six. The game should be over by 3:30.”

“Well, I’ll get there as soon as I can after work, okay? Just tell me where it is.”

He told me where the ballfield was, and I thanked him for inviting me. He then showed me some of the models he had built. It was quite a variety. There was a three-masted clipper ship in full sail between a WW2 tank and an F-16 fighter jet.

I looked each one over carefully. All of them were well constructed, with almost no glue stains. It showed that he was a careful worker. “Did you use the instructions, or were you able to build them without studying them?”

“Well, I studied the diagrams, but I don’t read the best, so I kinda skipped reading them. I like the kind where there’s mostly pictures. Some of the names for things are kinda weird.”

“I hear you. These are very well-made. You have a careful hand with the glue.”

“Thanks.”

I looked around his room a little further and noticed a bulletin board with a number of drawings on it. They appeared to be of superheroes, and they were very good.

“Did you draw these pictures?”

“Yeah. That’s another hobby I have.”

“Well, they’re excellent. You have quite a good eye for detail and a skillful hand. Wish I could draw half as well. Have you always liked to draw?”

“As long as I can remember, I’ve been drawing stuff.”

“Do you take an art class in school?”

“Yep. It’s probably my best subject, but I’m also good in math and really good in science except I don’t always finish the tests on time ‘cause I’m such a slow reader. He usually lets me stay after and finish them, though. I get A’s in all those classes.”

How do you do in other subjects like English and Social Studies?”

“Not so good—mostly Cs and sometimes a D. I have trouble in the classes where you have to read a lot. I try real hard, but it’s tough for me. Some of my teachers just thought I was lazy and didn’t imply myself.”

“Yeah, I know the type. I had trouble in those same classes when I was your age, and my grades weren’t the best in them either.”

“Does it ever get better?”

“There’s no cure for it, if that’s what you’re asking, but there are ways to cope with it. They’re learning more about it all the time. My mother used to work with me very hard on my reading. It helped a little.”

“Yeah, my mom works hard with me too. I just wish my teachers knew more about it.”

Right about then, Ginnie called from downstairs, “Dinnertime!” and we headed down to join her at the table.

The house was so small that the “dining room” was really just an extension of the kitchen. There was a small table set for three.

“Alan, why don’t you sit there,” she said, pointing to one of the seats. Tommy and I sat down. There were salad bowls full of lightly dressed salad already at the table and glasses of water. She then brought in two plates with two manicotti shells on each, smothered in marinara sauce and cheese, and a piece of garlic bread on the side. It smelled delicious. She set these down for Tommy and me and returned to the kitchen to fetch her own plate and a bottle of red wine.

“Would you like some wine with your meal, Alan?”

“Yes, thank you,” and she filled wineglasses for me and herself.

“How about me, Mom?” said Tommy.

“When you’re older.”

“Rats.

Dinner was very pleasant. Ginnie offered me seconds on the manicotti and garlic bread, both of which I accepted. She was a good cook, and the meal was delicious. Tommy regaled us, mostly me, with stories about his little league games, and I asked Ginnie if she minded that I come watch his game after work on Saturday as Tommy had asked me. I told her I’d be a little late, and she said she would save me a seat in the bleachers.

After a dish of ice cream for dessert, Tommy asked if he could go watch TV. Ginnie told him he could but that she wanted him to read a chapter or two in his book before bed, and he left, happy.

That left Ginnie and me alone at the table. As we relaxed over a cup of coffee, she said, “Tommy seems really drawn to you, Alan. That was awfully nice of you to offer him a job this summer and to agree to watch his baseball game. I do my best with him, but it’s hard to be both a mom and a dad to him.”

“I can imagine. You’ve done a great job. He’s a good kid.”

“I try. It’s not easy, though. He struggles with some things, like reading. He may have told you that he’s dyslexic. He’s never been tested for it because he’s been able to scrape by, but I’ve done a lot of reading about it, and he exhibits all the signs. He’s a very bright boy; he just has trouble reading and writing.”

“Believe me, I understand. I’m moderately dyslexic myself, and school was difficult for me in all the subjects that required extensive reading and writing. To this day, it still doesn’t come easily to me, but I’ve improved some since childhood. Math and science have always been my strongest areas. Tommy told me they are for him as well, along with art.”

“Then I’m sure you’ve studied it too. There seems to be a spectrum of the disorder, and apparently neither you nor Tommy are that severe. Do they know what causes it and if there’s any hope for reversing it?”

“From what I’ve read, the dyslexic brain just works a little differently from the normal brain. They haven’t found any correlation with IQ, and some very smart people have been dyslexics, including Albert Einstein. It’s been said he didn’t begin talking until he was four years old, but I don’t know if that part’s true.”

“I didn’t know that. I’ve always known Tommy is smart, but I’ve had to work really hard with him on his reading, especially with phonics. It takes him forever to read and get his homework done. It may be helping some, but not as much as I’d hoped.”

“Yeah, that’s the way it seems to go. My mother worked hard with me too, and it may have helped a little, but it’s almost like trying to help you hear better if you’re hearing impaired. You can wear hearing aids, which may help some, but there’s a limit just how much you can improve things. But I’d keep at it with Tommy, even if it’s helping only a little. Might I ask if Tommy’s father was dyslexic?”

“No, not that I know of. I’ve read that there may be a genetic component to it, but his father never let on that he had it or had any trouble reading, and I never heard him mix up his words the way Tommy does sometimes. Let me ask you—how did you manage to cope with it all your life? You appear to have become well-adjusted to it.”

“It wasn’t always easy. I developed some strategies to deal with it with the kids, but dealing with the teachers was another matter. Most didn’t seem to understand or accept it and thought I was lazy.

This chapter will be continued...