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Anonymous

MymouthfeltdryasIfollowedmymotherintothedoctorsrivateofficeandsankintoaaddedchairnexttohers.Thisdoctordidntcarryastethoscoe.Hehadaroomfullofgadgetsandgizmostoanalyzethelearningabilitiesoffailingstudents.Thatdayhehadanalyzedme.

Heshuffledaersandjabbedhiswireframeglasseswithaforefinger.“Imsorrytotellyouthis，Mrs.Dow，butPeterhasdyslexia.Afairlyseverecase.”

Iswallowedandtriedtobreathe.Thedoctorwenton.“Hellneverreadabovethefourth-gradelevel.Sincehewontbeabletocomletehighschoolrequirements，Isuggestyouenrollhiminatradeschoolwherehecanlearntoworkwithhishands.”

Ididntwanttogototradeschool.Iwantedtobeareacher，likemydad.Myeyesfilledwithtears，butIforcedthemback.Atwelve-year-oldwastoobigtocry.

Momstoodu，soIjumedtomyfeet，too.“Thankyou，Doctor，”shesaid.“Comealong，Peter.”

Wedrovehomewithoutsayingmuch.Ifeltnumb.Dyslexia?Idneverheardtheworduntillastweek.Sure，Iwasalwaystheslowestkidinmyclass.DuringrecessIhadasecialhidinglacebehindashrub.ThereIwouldcrybecauseIcouldntdomylessonsnomatterhowhardItried.

Ofcourse，Inevertoldmymomaboutthatartofschool.Iwastooashamed.Ididntwanttoworryher，either.Shehadenoughonhermindwithteachingschoolfull-timeandtakingcareofDad，mytwobrothers，mysisterandme.

MomandIarrivedhomebeforetherestofthefamily.Iwasglad.Iwantedsometimealone.Withmychinalmosttouchingmychest，Iulledoffmycoatandhungitinthecloset.WhenIturnedaroundmymotherwasstandingrightinfrontofme.Shedidntsayanything.Shejuststoodtherelookingintomyeyeswithtearsrunningdownhercheeks.Seeinghercrywastoomuchforme.BeforeIknewwhatwashaening，Iwasinherarmsbawlinglikeabigbaby.Afewminuteslater，sheledmeintothelivingroomtothecouch.

“Sitdown，honey.Iwanttotalktoyou.”

Irubbedmyeyeswithmysleeveandwaited，luckingatthecreaseinmytrousers.

“Youheardwhatthedoctorsaidaboutyournotfinishingschool.Idontbelievehi”

Istoedsnifflingandlookedather.Hermildblueeyessmiledintomine.Behindthemlayanironwill.“Wellhavetoworkveryhard，youandI，butIthinkwecandoit.NowthatIknowwhattheroblemis，wecantrytoovercomeit.Imgoingtohireatutorwhoknowsaboutdyslexia.Illworkwithyoumyselfeveningsandweekends.”Hereyebrowsdrewdownassheeeredatme.“Areyouwillingtowork，Peter?Doyouwanttotry?”

Arayofhoeshonethroughthehazyfuture.“Yes，MoIwanttorealhad.”

Thenextsixyearswereanendurancerunforbothofus.IstudiedwithatutortwiceaweekuntilIcouldhaltinglyreadmylessons.Eachnight，mymomandIsatatmylittledeskandrehearsedthatdaysschoolworkforatleasttwohours，sometimesuntilmidnight.Wedrilledfortestsuntilmyheadoundedandtherintblurredbeforemyeyes.Atleasttwiceaweek，Iwantedtoquit.Ihadthestrengthofakitten，butmymomscourageneverwavered.

Shedriseearlytorayovermyschoolday.AthousandtimesIheardhersay，“Lord，oenPetersmindtoday.Helhimrememberthethingswestudied.”

HervisionreachedbeyondthethreeRs.TwiceIwonatstatewideseechcometitions.Iarticiatedinschoolrogramsandearnedalicensetoworkasanannounceronalocalradiostation.

Thenmymotherdeveloedchronicmigrainesduringmysenioryear.Sheblamedtheheadachesonstress.Somedaystheintenseainketherinbed.Stillshedcometomyroomintheevening，wearingherrobe，aniceackinherhand，tostudywithme.

WelaughedandcriedwhenIassedmyseniorfinals.TwodaysbeforegraduationItalkedtomymotherandfatheraboutBiblecollege.Iwantedtogo，butIwasafraid.

Momsaid，“AlyattheBibleInstituteinourtown.Youcanliveathome，andIllhelyou.”

Iutmyarmsaroundherandhuggedherclose，abaseball-sizedluminmythroat.

Aweekaftergraduation，mymomfeltastabbingaininherhead.Shebecamedisorientedforjustamoment，butseemedtobeallright.Itwasanothermigraine，shethought，soshewenttobed.ThatnightDadtriedtowakeher.Shewasunconscious.

Afewhourslater，awhite-coateddoctortoldusMomhadananeurysmthathadburst.Amassivehemorrhageleftusnohoe.Shediedtwodayslater.

Mygriefalmostdrownedme.ForweeksIwalkedthefloorallnight，sometimesweeing，sometimesstaringatnothing.DidIhaveafuturewithoutmymother?Shewasmyeyes，myunderstanding，mylife.ShouldIstillenrollinBibleschool?Thethoughtofgoingonalonefilledmewithterror.But，deeinside，IknewIhadtomoveontothenextste，forher.

WhenIbroughthomethefirstsemestersbooksandcourseoutlines，Isatinthechairatmylittledesk.Withtremblingfingers，Ioenedmyhistorybookandbegantoreadthefirstchater.Suddenly，Ilookedoveratthechairsheusedtositin.Itwasemty，butmyheartwasfull.

Momsrayersstillfollowedme.Icouldfeelherresence.Icouldsenseherfaith.

InmygraduationtestimonyIsaid，“ManyeolehadaartinmakingBiblecollegeasuccessforme.TheersonwhoheledmemostiswatchingfromHeaventonight.ToherIsay，‘Thankyou，Mom，forhavingfaithinGodandfaithinme.Youwillalwaysbewithme.’”

我跟着母亲走进医生办公室，一屁股坐到母亲旁边的一把软椅子上，感觉口干舌燥。医生没有戴听诊器，他的房间里满是小装置和小玩意儿，那是用来分析成绩不好的学生是否具有学习障碍的。那天，他给我作了全面检查。

医生不紧不慢地翻看着病历，然后用食指推了推金丝边的眼镜，说：“我很遗憾地告诉你，杜夫人，彼得患的是阅读障碍，比较严重。”

我局促不安，几乎要窒息了，并努力使自己的心情平静下来。医生接着说：“他顶多能读到四年级，既然无法上高中，我建议你还是让他去上职业学校吧，那样，他还能学到一些手艺。”

我不要去职校，我还要像爸爸一样当牧师呢。我热泪盈眶，却强忍住了，我12岁了，已经是大孩子了，不能再哭了。

妈妈站了起来，我也跟着从椅子上跳了起来。“谢谢您，医生！”她说，“走吧，彼得。”

我们没再说什么，便开车回了家。我麻木了，阅读障碍？直到上周我才听说还有这么一种病。的确，我总是班里反应最慢的一个，课间休息时，我总会跑到灌木丛后边去，那是我所拥有的藏身之处。我会躲在那里，偷偷地流泪，因为无论我怎么努力，成绩总是不尽如人意。

当然了，我从未把这些事情告诉妈妈，我很羞愧。况且，我也不想让她为我担心，她在学校里全天上课已够心烦的了，而且她还要照顾爸爸和我们兄弟姐妹四人。

我和妈妈到家时，其他人都还没回来。我很高兴，我想一个人待一会儿。我垂头丧气地脱下外套，把它挂到壁橱里。当我转身时，母亲就站在我的面前，她一句话也没说，只是站在那儿默默地看着我，眼泪簌簌地滑过她的脸。看到她哭得那么伤心，我心里难受极了。不知为什么，我扑到她的怀里像个宝宝似的大哭起来。几分钟后，她把我带到客厅的沙发那儿。

“坐下吧，亲爱的，我想和你聊聊。”

我用袖口抹了抹眼泪，等着她开口，我的手不由自主地摆弄着裤子上的皱褶。

“你都听到了，医生说你不能完成学业，但我不相信。”

我停止了抽泣，盯着她看，她微笑着，那漂亮的蓝眼睛温柔地注视着我，在这温柔的背后隐藏着她无比坚强的意志。“我们必须齐心协力，我想我们一定能成功。现在，我已经知道问题的症结所在，我们要努力克服它。我打算给你请一位懂得如何应对阅读障碍的家庭教师，每天晚上和周末我来陪你一起学习。”她凝视着我，说：“彼得，你想努力学习吗？你愿意尝试一下吗？”

一道希望的曙光照亮了我那无法预知的未来生活。“妈妈，我愿意尝试。”