Poem of the Day: A Little Dyslexic Girl

A Little Dyslexic Girl

I was 18
And a camp councilor
I was in charge of the sports activities
I know nothing of sports
Red Rover was my game of choice
But the medic tent told me to
Too many pulled shoulder sockets
The kids loved me
The boys would
Steal my hat
And the girls would
Hold my hand
I sat in the hot sun
On a warm wooden bench
And squinted at ‘The Buttons’,
A girl troop I got going on a game of
Kick ball
I noticed my favorite little 9-year-old camper girl – Emily
Crying behind the chain link fence
Behind home plate
Emily crying was not okay with me
I jogged over to her
“Emily, what’s wrong?”
“I have Attention Deficit Disorder and I don’t want it”
“What are you talking about, come here”
She was red cheeked
And hot from crying
“Wait, what’s wrong?” I asked again, not sure if
I heard her right
“I’m dyslexic and have Attention Deficit Disorder,
It means I’m dumb”
“Whoa, no it doesn’t,” I said
“Yes it does, even my Mon says”, she looked lost at me, Now on my lap,
Half hugging.
“What? No she didn’t
What’d your mother say?”
She said, um, she said that that’s why I’m not as
Quick as the other kids
I learn slower, she says I learn, um, slow…er
And that’s what they say too!”
Emily swung her arm at her troop
And buried her
Hot face
In my chest
Wetting my shirt
I pulled her back
“Emily, did you know that I have Attention Deficit Disorder and that I’m dyslexic?”
Amazed, she looked up
It’s funny how even
Young females
Can turn
Tears on and off like a spigot
“You are?”
“Yes I am”, I shared
“And you know what that means?
It just means our brain’s work faster then most
We like creative things, like art and music
We don’t like all the boring stuff
You don’t like boring stuff do you?
“No”, she said
She was cooling down and listening on memory record
“I didn’t think so and me neither
I like fun, off the wall things,
I like crazy fun things, color, painting, singing, dancing”
“Me too”!
Emily was my favorite
“You tell your mother to never call it Attention Deficit Disorder anymore,
You tell her to call it,
Attention to Creativity
And you tell her what we talked about
She said, then hugged me longer then an
18-year-old boy knows how to hug
Her voice muffled in my damp shirt
“Attention to Creativity”, I checked
“Attention to Creativity”, she repeated
“What an idiot her mother is”, I thought as I watched Emily bounce back
To the other

Poem from The Gypsy Mile available on Interpunk.com

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