Fraud
Up until 1995, I was unknowingly suffering from dyslexia. This is my brutal truth.
Being accused of fraud was one of the best things that ever happened to me.
Fraud. This is exactly how I felt attending University; a fraud. Somehow, I managed to graduate high school with a GPA that snagged an acceptance to my preferred post-secondary education establishment. This was a feat within itself because…
I pulled through high school without reading a single book cover to cover.
My trick? Well, I took impeccable notes, that only I could translate and I made a point of writing essays that regurgitated the opinions of my teachers as discussed in class. I wore a path in the library carpet directly to the Cole’s Note section and specifically chose books that had been made to film, no matter how obscure. Imagine what I could have done if Google had existed back then. Anyway, all of my diversions to reading worked like a charm. Or so I had thought.
Until the day I was asked to stay after one of my first-year university tutorials.
Upon hearing my name, I froze; a familiar panic taking howl. In spite of the heat that instantly brightened my face and the pulse that throbbed hotly scorching my veins, I could not move. This should not have come as a complete surprise. After all, everyone but me had had their midterm papers returned to them at the end of class.
My T.A was about five years my senior; a only fact that made the ‘no-notice’ discussion bearable. Well, far less intimidating than if it had been my professor that is. As I approached the vacant seat reserved for me, she slid papers from a folder. Immediately, I recognized them as two of my own assignments. One had been a five page, take home article; typed double spaced as required. The other was a handwritten, in-class essay.
Hey, it was the nineties.
She tapped her capped pen on the typed title page. “Who wrote this?”
The question shocked me into silence. It was a long moment before I closed my mouth and blinked the dryness from my eyes.
“I did.” My response was not more than a squeaky whisper.
This, I had not expected. I had assumed and prepared for a bad mark and…
yet another conversation that gently suggested that I drop out of the class.
See, dreadfully low grades mess with the bell curve and no professor wants that. Thankfully, final grades depend on more than just the written component or I would never have made it out of fourth grade. It was always the shining marks I earned through oral presentations, class discussions and in group work that pushed me through.
“Prep time and spell check.” I deadpanned without missing a beat.
“This one is unreadable.”
I was holding my breath waiting. Waiting to be expelled for fraud or being kicked from the program for being too stupid the belong.
Moved me deeply.
I am too. After years of struggle, learning what I missed in school, people come to me to see if things are spelled correctly and if the grammar is okay. I am a published fantasy author.
N. R. Williams
That is pretty amazing, Nancy. I am always in awe of the challenges people face and overcome. Congratulations on your books. And thank you for reading my post.