Mom and Dad Held Out on Me, but What Difference Does It Make?
Questions without answers
I honestly wanted to know
One day I was talking to my mom. It was before she passed away, so I was in my thirties. We were talking about my issues, the fact that I couldn’t keep a job until I started working as a security guard.
“ Come on mom, there are Dyslexics that are keeping jobs, why am I the only one that can’t?” It didn’t register then, but looking back, I know she was holding out on me.
She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, she never avoided eye-contact before
“ Surely the Doctors found other things wrong, there has to be something else going on.” I looked at mom silently pleading with her to tell me the truth.
“ They diagnosed something else, but I don’t remember what it was.” She wouldn’t look at me when she said it. At the time, I thought my mom was perfect it never occurred to me that she wouldn’t ever tell me the truth.
As one Vocational Rehab counselor told me, “ Dyslexia isn’t your problem.”
I had problems. Dyslexia was the obvious one. I found out years after mom and dad died, that the problems were more extensive than mom and dad let on.
I never could get out on my own. At first, it was because I couldn’t keep a job. I couldn’t learn what I needed to learn fast enough, or once I learned it, I was too slow.
Mom and dad were always insisting that I join these programs
I lost count of the Vocational Rehabilitation programs I completed. I would complete the programs with hope and new confidence, only to be knocked down again.
I was in my fifties; and homeless in Minneapolis. I had State Insurance, so I was able to receive care from a Psychotherapist. She arranged for me to get tested.
I was in my fifties when I found out the truth
After years of confusion and self-pity. I found out there are reasons that I have so much trouble. It also dawned on me that mom and dad knew the extent of the problems, but they wouldn’t tell me.
I underwent Neuro-Psychological testing. The testing was supposed to last a full day, but they stopped before noon. I was too stressed out. They were probably concerned that I would have another Stroke or a nervous breakdown.
Things make sense now
I was upset when I received the results, but I was also relieved. I’m still confused about why my parents didn’t tell me the full truth. I guess they did but in their own way.
Looking back, not a day went by, “ you’re Dyslexic, Lawson, and you were born with Brain Damage.” Mom and dad meant well. They loved me.
They were repeating what the Doctors told them in the early sixties. When I looked at the Brain-scans with the Doctor in Minneapolis, I learned the real diagnosis.
Not Brain-Damaged so much, but Brain-different
“ You’re brain is Interesting.” He said; as he pointed to the C-scan picture. He told me every way that my brain” is wired differently.” I’m not Brain-Damaged at all.
I have a High School Diploma, I have a few years of college. I was reading college level before I was in High School. I’m not Brain-Damaged, I’m different.
They meant well
Mom and dad tried to help me. I was always pushed into programs that they thought would help.
That stopped when mom died. Dad wanted me to be a security guard forever. He didn’t think I could do anything else. He damned sure didn’t believe for a minute that I could live on my own without help.
Obviously, my dad was correct
History shows that my dad was right. Eight years after he died, I was homeless.
I’m confused, and I don’t know what to think of any of this. If I had known the full truth, would it have made any difference? was I fated to be homeless for almost three years?
Would knowing have changed things?
I wonder if I would have been kinder to myself. More forgiving if I had known the truth all those years, years that I struggled to learn and keep a job?
None of this matters now. All the mental health and Learning Disabilities issues came to a head in Minneapolis. I’m on Disability now.
I no longer have to worry about it
I no longer have to worry about getting fired, and I don’t have to hear the whispers of co-workers. Co-workers who thought I was lazy and trying to get out of doing my job.
My life is good now. Every once in a while I think about what might have been. Every once in a while, I wish my parents were still alive so I could ask them questions.
Final Thought:
Worrying about the past is fruitless. Forgive your parents. They were human and did the best they could, and if the thoughts and memories get too much, write about them. You will feel so much better after you get it out of your system.
