When our son was five years old, the pandemic hit. Like many parents, we had to make quick decisions about his education. I chose to homeschool him for kindergarten, knowing that remote learning wouldn’t be the right fit for him.
From the start, I saw his strengths—he was curious, imaginative, and loved deep conversations. He did well in subjects like science, math, and social studies, but I quickly noticed a challenge with reading. He struggled to remember letters, even minutes after reviewing them. I would show him the letter “A” and tell him its name, but when I showed it to him again later, it was as if he was seeing it for the first time. I knew something was off, but I had no idea what.
Our home was filled with books. I come from a long line of librarians, so reading was part of our daily lives. Despite being surrounded by books, my son wasn’t progressing as expected. When first grade began, we transitioned him back to school, and I immediately expressed my concerns to his teacher. He was tested and scored exceptionally well in areas like spatial recognition and IQ, but his reading was significantly below grade level.
The teacher assured me, “He’ll catch up. He is very smart.” I wanted to believe that.
That year, my son received extra reading support, and while he made some progress, it was painfully slow. That summer, I hired a reading tutor, but by the end of our sessions, she gently confirmed what I had suspected all along—this wasn’t just a late start. She recommended further testing and an Individualized Education Program (IEP).
For second grade, I specifically requested a teacher I trusted. Within weeks, she reached out with concerns. When I mentioned dyslexia, she admitted she didn’t know much about it. I appreciated her honesty, but I couldn’t shake the frustration—how had no one caught this earlier?
The school initially wanted to wait six more weeks before testing again, but a close friend with a special needs child gave me the push I needed. “You’ve waited long enough,” she told me. You have to be more aggressive.” So I was.
My son underwent another round of testing—long, exhausting, and frustrating for him—but this time, the results were clear: he had dyslexia. He was given an IEP, and the school did its best to support him. But by the end of second grade, his progress remained extremely slow.
I started researching everything I could about dyslexia. Could I homeschool him again and teach him myself? That summer, I took a course at Yale on dyslexia. I studied everything there was to know about the dyslexic brain. It was fascinating, and my son seemed like the poster child.
I also learned something life-changing—I didn’t have to do this alone. Experts existed who could help my son in ways I wasn’t trained to.
At the start of third grade back-to-school night, his teacher said, “The children are no longer learning to read. They’re reading to learn, and they should be reading 30 minutes aloud every night.”
I sat in that classroom, looking at the books she recommended, and realized—my son wouldn’t be able to read any of them. I held back tears. That morning, I had reached out to a private school specializing in dyslexia and language-based learning disabilities. The timing felt like fate.
After an interview, testing, and many tough conversations, we transferred my son mid-year. It wasn’t easy—he had already built friendships, and change is hard. But I knew he couldn’t stay where he was. He was in third grade, reading at a first-grade level despite his intelligence and efforts.
Within weeks at his new school, everything changed. He had the right support, the right teaching methods, and most importantly, the confidence that had been slipping away from him for years was starting to build back up.
We have been at his new school for a year now, and last night, we were reading Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. My son asked, “What level is this book?” We looked at the back, and it said it was for ages 8 to 12. His eyes widened. “I’m 10!” he said. He realized that he was finally reading a book that was made for his age instead of years younger than him.
Dyslexia never goes away. My son still reads slowly, and school will always require extra effort, but he is reading. He is understanding. And most importantly, he knows he is capable.
I wish we had caught his dyslexia even earlier, but I’m grateful we acted when we did. The right support changes everything. Trust your instincts if you suspect something isn’t right with your child’s learning. Early intervention makes all the difference.
And to every parent walking this road—you are not alone. Keep pushing, keep advocating. Your child is worth it.
