And We Are Better for it...

My friend, Sylvia, has a great post about the sadness of illiteracy. You can find it here.

As I read it, I was reminded of my grandfather, John Gleason, who was a proud and strong Irishman but who was illiterate. He worked as a supervisor during most of his life at CN. And he managed to cover up the fact that he couldn’t read or write a word. I remember so fondly the stories my grandmother used to tell. How Grandpa used to memorize every one of his crew members’ names and then come home to tell my grandmother how many hours each employee worked that week. Despite the fact that she was raising seven (or eight) children, Mau used to help him with the payroll records every week so that each of his men got paid the right amount. Together they kept better records than any fancy techy payroll system could do today. All the men got paid. And, nobody ever knew that he couldn’t read or write; he was that good at hiding it.

I was also reminded of my uncle who also could not read or write. However, he got so good at recognizing his favourite shows in the TV Guide that you could almost swear he was reading right from the Guide. He also learned how to read the lotto numbers in the paper. My uncle, a big and generous man who fought in the War. And, nobody ever knew that he couldn’t read or write; he was that good at hiding it.

And then I was reminded about Kelly. How we were told in her primary years at school that she had a learning disability, and that meant that she would also have trouble reading and writing, forever. How Jim and I fought back against that label in a school system that was quick to assign damning labels to those who didn’t quite fit into their check boxes. How we insisted that she get special help but without assigning their fancy labels. How a wonderful teacher by the name of Ms. Wright showed the system that they were wrong. How she encouraged me to read to Kelly every night – a task I embraced with Joy. How Kelly rose to the challenge. And, by that grace, Kelly can read and write beyond the skills of most of the population. And she won't need to hide.

And, finally, I was reminded about Peter. I read with Peter every Saturday at the library in a program called Leading to Reading. Peter came “with labels”. However, in the two + years that we have enjoyed together, he is reading at the level he is *supposed* to be at for his age. We rejoice in that together. And when we are together I am reminded of the opportunities available to him that were not available to my orphan Grandfather. And I am proud of the social system we have built in Canada. And hiding from labels is something Peter will, thankfully, never have to experience.

And so, as a read Sylvia’s post, I think of the concept of full circle. I wish I had lived at a time when I could have helped my grandfather to discover the joys of reading authors like R.L. Stine (a favourite of Corey’s when he was growing up and now a dawning favourite of Peter’s).

My mother always said that we are placed on this earth to make things better for the next generation. Through the power of words and books, we can open up new worlds and rip off the labels. And so the link goes from my grandfather, to my uncle, to Kelly, and to Peter. We have triumphed over the labels.

And we are all better for the contributions that they have made, or will make, to our lives. And we don’t even know it.

When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only,

but now and then I come across a passage,

perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for me,

and it becomes part of me.