Teachers of the Ivory Tower

The Ivory Tower - originally coined in the Bible's 7:4 Song of Soloman - has come to mean a solitary place of study where you can make a career, like university.  I would argue that this could be extended to positions of authority and trust like doctors, police, priests and other community leaders.  Since humans are pack animals, they seek a certain amount of hierarchical structure and these respected "pillars of the community"are where many people find that leadership.  As we grow up, we are taught to respect people in these positions - and rightly so as they are academic and it takes years of dedication to earn these titles.  Yet, there is a loud thump that resonates from these expectations when they are violated.  If a person has a series of experiences with any of these professions (or combination, thereof) that include disappointment, disenfranchisement, scorn, ridicule, fear or violence, the Ivory Tower is cracked and starts to crumble.

The list of Ivory Tower careers would not be complete without mention of teachers.  Those we come to  for access to knowledge from a very young age to adulthood where our definition of "teacher" is expanded away from just those who stand in front of a classroom.  These people are seen as sources of intellect and hold a great deal of respect and trust.  Isn't it a shame, then, that there are members of the educational professions who disrespect this trust by letting their egos guide them, instead of their efforts and good intentions they had while they, themselves, were in school?

I speak from the perspective of someone who has always loved the theory of what school was supposed to be - the ideal pursuit of knowledge and an increasing depth of understanding in all subject areas.  I'm from the "Reading Rainbow" generation - for those of you who don't know, Reading Rainbow was Levar Burton's entertaining show built around encouraging children to read.  I remember being so excited about the first day of school every year... I had enjoyed Summer vacation and I was ready for that new opportunity to "start fresh"... "This year is going to be different! I'm going to excel in my classes and learn a lot of interesting things and I'm going to meet a bunch of wonderful people!"  Soon afterwards though, every year, I'd remember that people can be mean to people who are different.  I'd get off on the wrong foot with someone; I wouldn't wear the right thing; I didn't own the right pencil... whatever.  We all get bullied at some point, right?  If not... you were the bully... But I would try to not let it bother me - we were all taking some time to "get in the swing of things" in the new semester or at the new school... teachers were new, schedule was different... there was an adjustment.

Sooner or later, though, school becomes routine - and for the misfits, popular kids and everything in between, school settles down.  Some classes I liked, others not so much... same with everyone, right?  My routine, however, was mostly grouped into the few classes I did really well in (like Language Arts) and...the others...

I knew that teachers were part of the Ivory Tower class of people I should respect on sight.  They were trying to help, trying to help us grow... and it wasn't their fault that they couldn't stop the bullies from going after me.  Humans are pack animals, and I was one of the runts.

So I worked... and I studied... and I tried to find interest in everything we were learning... yeah... right...

But that was ok because I had music, art, the fun parts of gym (gymnastics, volleyball, that one soccer class that I scored the winning goal) and Language Arts.  I loved L.A. because you got to read interesting books and discuss them.  I did well in the class because I was a strong writer and had good comprehension (except with poetry).

And then there was Mrs. McGee.  She was my teacher in grade 7... and a good one... We got to study "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee...still one of my favourite books... and sometimes we watched movies based on the books we read.  And every class we had 15 minutes of "Free Reading"... anything we wanted to read except comic books.

One day - I forgot my free reading book:

This wasn't a big deal because there was a large group of shelves in the back of the classroom filled with books to choose from.  I saw an orange binding (I love bright colours) and found "The Chrysalids" by John Wyndham (Published by Penguin - all their paperbacks have an orange spine).  Since a post-apocolyptic, science fiction tale looked interesting and free reading only lasted 15 minutes, I started reading it back at my desk and became instantly engrossed.

Mrs. McGee shortly came around to see what I had chosen and immediately took it out of my hands.

"Melissa - This book is for grade 10 students"

Well, of course, I hadn't noticed that the book had grade recommendations on its' back cover... it just looked interesting.  I said that I was enjoying it and asked to have it back.  Mrs. McGee said that grade 7 was too young to read this book and I wouldn't understand it so I would have to choose another book.  With one last attempt, I started to tell her about the small bit I had been able to read in the short amount of time wishing that would be enough... but she walked back to her desk at the front of the classroom, with other kids looking over their books at us, and placed "Chrysalids" on its' corner.  I could see my little book on the big desk and knew that I couldn't argue the point anymore.  What the teacher said was right and a child shouldn't argue with a teacher.

Later, I thought that she must be right... I wouldn't have been able to read it... why should I try?  And I didn't read much for the next while... why bother?

I slowly got back into reading, little by little... but that always gnawed at me that someone who I had called my "favourite" teacher could do something like that...  As an adult, I look back and think "Hey, if I'm a teacher and I have a student who is reading above their level, I should encourage them... not publicly argue their abilities in front of the other children who are likely bullies..."

Since then, and other misadventures with Ivory Tower types, I have to work very hard to give people in those professions the opportunity to earn my trust and respect.  I still know there are plenty of good people in these professions... and a good friend of mine is a teacher (an excellent one)... but there is always that sense of mistrust... The Ivory Tower has crumbled.

Slow of Speech - Not Slow of Mind

When people hear you have a disability, they speak slowly to you... or the area around you... or the person standing next to you... It's what I call the "Therapists' Voice"

It doesn't matter that people like me have an amazing vocabulary and our depth of understanding of any topic that interests us can be the same or deeper than people without this life situation.  Incidentally, I call it a "life situation" more often than I call it a disability or problem because my NLD has both positive and negative sides to it - and it is a lifelong situation, not something that can be helped with an artificial limb or laser surgery.

I try not to blame people for using the Therapists' Voice when speaking to me as they are trying to be helpful.  They don't understand how insulting it is and they want to be kind.

It's true, I speak somewhat slowly and have a naturally low voice.  I enunciate my words - partially because I loath how many people don't; partially because I have so many thoughts running through my head, I have to concentrate to get the sentence out (especially if I'm under stress or am annoyed).

Here's an interesting analogy:

When I was in a class recently, we were reading parts of a manual aloud to each other.

It was a very repetitive text and my attention was waning.

When it was my turn, I enthusiastically read my paragraph - I truly enjoy reading out loud to others.

But this chapter was boring - and repetitive

I finished reading and the group had an emotional shift that I felt and they laughed.

I looked around for a clue as to why they were laughing...

Apparently, I had drifted off at the end of the final sentence without noticing.

That line had been repeated so many times, I guess I just stopped.

Later in the program, some of my classmates retold the story and it ended up being something we could laugh about together.

Please remember that there are lots of different life situations people face and rarely do they call for the Therapists' Voice.  Instead, speak normally and ask questions.  If you're not sure how to communicate with ANYONE - ask questions.  Don't assume - ask que............

The Value of Silence

This world is noisy.  Some of it is in our control - like the music we listen to and our favourite kitchen gadgets like the coffee maker - but commercials, other people, traffic and everything else that penetrates our ears on a daily basis, it can be downright painful.

With NLD, OCD, shyness, depression, insomnia (and any combination), uncontrollable noise can feel claustrophobic.  It's times like this where I disappear until someone close to me calls two days later and asks what's going on.

Noise can be palpable - sometimes I feel like I can actually see sound waves because they're so strong.

Closing the blinds, shutting off everything in the house, and having a bubble bath before bed can help but then I just hear my thoughts that can keep me awake...

Who else struggles with this?

Tapestry or Patchwork Quilt?

It occurs to me that knowledge can be seen as a blanket - We slowly build it throughout our lives and each piece of information is a thread that weaves in and out of the previous understanding of life.  As we grow and learn, the blanket gets larger and the design is more intricate.

As we attend school, we face a certain amount of Rote Learning
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rote_learning

As we get older, we are expected to take the facts we've learned and apply them to different situations.  This works for many people with varying levels of success.

Now, suppose that knowledge takes the form of a patchwork quilt, not a woven piece of art or blanket. This is closer to my experience.  Learning lots of information on a variety of subjects is something I enjoy and excel at - It's applying that knowledge to complex situations that is the trick...

Think about the first time you put on rode a bike - you don't have to understand how the chain works with the gears and tires in order to ride a bike.  You need some balance and enough speed to progress forward without the bike falling down... and I imagine most of you had the hands of a trusted family member or friend holding the bike while you got started like I did... Once you get going, you experiment with speed, different gears, terrains, and on it goes... This is weaving the tapestry.  It relies on an ability to take bits of information and apply it to a new circumstance - like the first time to climb a hill.  If you try to ride up the hill without gearing down, you may be able to do it but it will be much harder. After you've experimented with different gears and speed, you realize how much easier it is when you gear down right before you start to climb.  Later on, you see a garage door that is attached to a pulley system or you use a lever system like a wheelbarrow and you learn the principles in all the devices are similar.  The gear on a bike, size of the wheels on a pulley, or length of the rope or lever is what helps you accomplish the task at hand.

My patchwork quilt contains many squares from other outdoor activities, music, art, chess sets I've made, tv shows, politics, history, literature, and psychology.  Do you have a tapestry or a quilt?

The Icarus Factor

As he flew with his waxen wings, he felt exhilarated, powerful!

"I can do anything!  I have harnessed the wind under me and I can see the Earth below"

He cried with joy and laughed that his father said it couldn't be done

He was in arrogant lust of accomplishment and he revelled in it

But as he flew closer to the sun, he realized he hadn't heeded the advice he should have;

"Son, don't fly too close to that golden sphere or it may cost you dear"

The wings started to drip, he started to slip, and Icarus fell from the heavens with a final cry of good-bye!

- MRK

The Icarus Factor is part of the every day experience for me - a calculation I use when deciding on a course of action - based on the Grecian myth.  Icarus was the son of Daedalus, the craftsman who built the maze that imprisoned the minotaur conquered by Theseus.  It's that feeling of joy when I start excelling in something I didn't think I'd be able to do as well as the knowledge that if I got too far with it, I could fail.  It's the cycle of hope, excitement, dread, and understanding of the past as it pertains to my current situation.  Since I don't understand feelings or thought processes the same way that non-NLD people do, I often use common myths, metaphors, and similes in order to explain what might make more sense to someone outside my head.  Unfortunately, this is sometimes unsuccessful because of the "Smarty Pants" effect... I have a great vocabulary and a good knowledge of a wide range of subjects including mythology and that seems to annoy some people... so my effort to be helpful is reacted to with anger like "What the hell are you talking about?!" or impatience because my "shorthand" explanation took more time and didn't work.

If I had said "I feel like the sword of Damocles is over my head", would that have made more sense?

And then it's down the rabbit hole with my worries about being normal, failure that I'm facing an angry person, agitation because now they're in more of a rush, feelings of hatred towards the education system because "everyone should know about Icarus and Damocles"...and meanwhile, my hands are stiffening up because the person I was talking to is trying to make me move faster than I am capable...

THAT is the Icarus Factor.

Call for research

While this will be a blog focussing on my research and experiences with NLD, I welcome any contribution. What is it about us who have this condition/affliction/disorder... we excel in vocabulary, reading, rote memory and can gain a certain measure of success like graduating from university and becoming published authors... and yet, I am continually confused by social interaction that is easily understood by others.  I am highly intelligent and am gifted in verbal pursuits, yet the passage of time eludes me.  While I can do math and run an obstacle course, speed is not something that comes easily; I often stumble or injure myself.

What sort of challenges have others faced?

Introduction

Melissa Roi Knive

To ask who I am is to understand what influences my character.  I am a Canadian girl born in the prairies of Alberta to a family of farmers.  Melissa is a Greek name meaning “Honeybee” - chosen because it was a different name then the common rural handles picked by my parents’ contemporaries.  Roi is the French spelling of my father’s name given to me by my aunt who understood the inherent significance between a man and his daughter and voted to honour that link.  Knive is the Norwegian family name given to us through my paternal grandfather who immigrated to Canada.  I am also of Welsh decent on my mother’s side - my great grandparents immigrated after my maternal grandfather travelled across the Atlantic seven times as an entertainer with his beautiful tenor voice.  I am also a Pisces which explains my active imagination, sensitivity, moodiness, romantic inclinations and interest in a wide variety of topics.