|
He started school in first grade because they didn’t have kindergarten in that district. There weren’t any toys… no TV… there wasn’t even electricity or indoor plumbing at the Taylor house! It was 1936. Those luxuries were available in town, sure, but not fifteen miles from Seibert.
His name is Robert Wayne, but most folks call him Bob. To some, he’s Cowboy Bob. He was born in eastern Colorado, raised on a half-section of dryland farm, seventh in a family of 13 children. The farm was worked with teams of horses, which Bob loved. As a seven year old, he’d drive a four-up team of horses to town to sell the grain they’d raised. His dad drove one wagon, and Bob followed in the second. There were always cows to milk and chickens from which to gather eggs. Sometimes, there was a sow with a litter of pigs to look after as well.
His early school years were not happy ones for Bob, and before long they went from bad to worse. Bob couldn’t read. Oh, he could open the book and look at the words, but He couldn’t learn to read. He could speak. He could hear. He was of average intelligence. But those words on the page seemed to be written in some foreign language.
Trying to read silently was frustrating. Trying to read aloud was the purest form of torture, not to his body, of course, but to his spirit… to his soul. Children have an uncanny ability to detect a wound in another. Like sharks when they smell blood, children sometimes go into a feeding-frenzy of bloodletting when they discern weakness in another child. So it was, that Bob was labeled STUPID.
STUPID. It was not just a label that was attached and ignored. It was a corkscrew that the children turned with each repetition of the word, driving the weapon deeper and deeper into the wound. The songs on the playground had nothing to do with Mary and her lamb. The songs were about Stupid Bob. Bob couldn’t read. He was dumb, for sure. Stupid Bob.
By third grade, when asked to read aloud, Bob’s head would pound. His heart would race, looking for a way, any way to escape. There wasn’t any. He was told to spell each word before trying to pronounce it, but he was not taught any decoding skills… no phonics. He was not given the tools He needed to become successful. Soon the teachers joined the chorus. STUPID! DUMB! The teachers did not know what to do with this kid. He couldn’t even read a first grade storybook without tremendous effort, and then, not fluently.
Now, when we think of laughter, we tend to think of joy… happiness. However, when the laughter is directed toward you, when it is pointed at you, it becomes, instead, a weapon. The venom on the arrow called laughter can paralyze. And so it was that Bob was poisoned by the laughter and taunts of his peers. He would stutter and stumble over the words, and would then freeze and be unable to do any more. He would be sent back to his seat in disgrace. The laughter rang in his ears, but try as he might, he could not shut it out.
When he went home, those wounds that he had received at school were not dressed and cared for. He was not encouraged. He was not tutored. He was not helped. The notes that followed him home, and the report cards, spread the news: Bob is stupid.
And he bought the lie. His little boy heart had no one to tell him it was not true… there was no one to say, “Let’s try another way.” He began to believe that what they said must be true…he was stupid.
“I am stupid.”
The very ones whose highest priority should have been to nurture and protect their child fell short. No need to place blame. There were trained professionals, as well as poorly educated farmers, who missed their opportunity to be a hero, a champion to one little boy.
The school years progressed, although not on schedule. Bob repeated third grade, then fifth grade. STUPID. STUPID. STUPID. STUPID. STUPID. STUPID. It echoed and rolled in a child’s heart. It never went away. It never let up. When autumn rolled around signaling the start of Bob’s 6th grade year, he went back to school. The principal, upon seeing him, greeted him with, “What are you doing here? You’d just as well go back home. You’re too dumb to learn.”
In hearing those words, in believing them, the wounding was complete. It must be true. Bob left school in the sixth grade.
In a large family on a farm, there was work to do every day. There was no time for coddling someone who was stupid. Forty-five cows needed to be milked by hand twice daily. Teams of horses must be fed and harnessed. Fields needed to be plowed, disked, harrowed, and seeded. No. There was no time for coddling anyone.
By the 1950’s farming was changing. Tractors were becoming popular. When Bob’s dad sold the last beloved team, Bob left home. He found a job in Kansas. He was fourteen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That was 60 years ago. This year, Bob will turn 74. He has served his country honorably in the U.S. Army, both stateside and in Korea. He has worked in construction, and on several ranches over the
years. He has battled with alcohol, and won. He has battled demons in his mind, and won. His love for harness horses has remained.
As I write, I’m so pleased to tell you that recently things have begun to change for Bob. I’ve been privileged to be a part of this journey. I’m Bob’s wife of 27 years. At long last, Bob is learning that that thing about him being stupid… that was a lie! That thing about him not being able to learn… that was a lie! There’s a new confidence awakening in Bob, a new eagerness. There’s a courage that has taken 60 years to take root and grow, but it’s there, and it’s growing! This year, it’s time. Bob wants to learn to read.
After sixty years of believing a lie, Bob is beginning to know that he’s not stupid. The burden of that label has been weighty. Who knows what opportunities may have been missed because he thought he couldn’t learn? Who knows what business ventures might have provided income and intrinsic rewards? We’ll never know, but that’s all past. No one can change what’s past. What we can do is take that lumber from which life would build a gallows, and build instead a springboard. This year, it’s time. Bob wants to learn to read!
There are two hurdles that must be cleared as Bob prepares to begin his journey anew. Now, at 73 years of age, Bob needs hearing aids so that he can maximize his learning. He has partial hearing loss in both ears, due to his military service. Operating a 105 Hauser without hearing protection has taken a toll. Cost for the equipment best suited to his particular needs is about $6,000.00.
The second hurdle is the cost of training… teaching Bob to learn. Bob has learned that he has a condition called dyslexia, which simply means difficulty reading. Modern technology, including brain scans, has provided new information about just what goes on inside a person’s brain as he is learning. He’s already completed an evaluation at LearningRx in Fort Collins, CO. The professionally
trained staff at LearningRx are certain that they will be able to help Bob learn to learn. Using scientific methods that have been proven effective in over fifteen thousand students, Bob’s cognitive skills can
be strengthened and improved, thereby reducing or eliminating learning and reading problems.
As I prepared to complete this article, I asked Bob, ” What do you want to leave with people? What do you want to give them that will help someone else?”
Tears welled up in his eyes. Even after all this time, the wound is tender.
“Encourage them. Build them up. Don’t discourage… and NEVER CALL THEM STUPID.”
When he served in the Army, Bob put his life on the line for you, just as thousands of soldiers are still doing today. If you’d like to thank him and show your support for Bob, you may donate to a special account that has been set up for this purpose. Your contributions will be accepted at any Fort Collins, CO First National Bank location for the Robert W. Taylor Donation Account.
For more information on solutions available at LearningRx, call 970-672-2020 and ask to speak to Mike or Jenni. You may email Bob & Charlie at: briarpatch.gsd@juno.com .
There is hope!
|
