My child is struggling 
Now that my child has 
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The Trouble with "Learning"
The term "learning disabilities" is itself a source of some controversy. Many experts and prominent educational specialists dislike the word "disabilities" and replace it with "differences." To them, saying that people have a disability means the same as saying they are flawed or that something is truly wrong with them, whereas saying that people learn differently means simply that -- they learn things in a way that is different from that of most others. I understand the thinking behind this, though I still favor the word "disability," more for practical than for personal reasons. Through my work with the National Center for Learning Disabilities and its advocacy efforts in Washington, D.C., I have learned that government agencies in charge of funding and changes in the law are only interested in disabilities -- not differences.
Now that my daughter is out of school and I am focused on the difficulties faced by adults with LD, I often find that of the two words in "learning disability," the first one causes the most problems when trying to explain what LD is.
The issue of disabilities vs. differences doesn't matter so much when talking about an adult, but the word "learning" is so tied to the classroom and images of homework, textbooks, chalk, and blackboards that you can't help but imagine rows of children seated at their desks, frustrated by their inability to solve a math problem. Few of us associate "learning" with the adult sitting in the front seat of his own car, frustrated by his inability to read a road map or figure out which direction to take.
I've never seen a survey or conducted a poll about this, but I would be willing to bet that most people when asked about learning disabilities assume they are a childhood issue, maybe one involving teenagers too, but soon after graduating from high school things settle down, and the issue is no longer relevant. Wrong. Oh, wrong, wrong, wrong.
"All right," they may say. "College, then. Sure, I suppose LD could cause some trouble in college, but after that...? No."
Wrong again.
There is no cut-off point. No statute of limitations. What caused trouble in second grade in school can still cause trouble on the second shift at work.
“Learning” may in the end be the only word that encompasses enough of the various manifestations of the disability to give some idea of what we're talking about, but even so, it is inadequate, especially when trying to explain or define the problem.
Another difficulty I have experienced, especially when it comes to those whose LD is severe, is that usually there are no outward signs of LD, no physical characteristics one can point to that give an immediate understanding of the situation. There are no wheelchairs, no crutches or braces. We have no way to tell if someone has LD until we are faced with a situation influenced by the LD, and this often comes as such a surprise or source of confusion and frustration that we meet the situation with something verging on total incomprehension. "Why would she say that?" we might think after a coworker has just uttered a completely inappropriate remark, or "Why on earth can't he understand this?" we wonder after explaining something five times.
During a phone conversation with a mother going through an unbelievable series of frustrations involving financial aid for her son's college education, I casually said, "Sometimes it seems like it would all be so much easier if they looked disabled." She gasped and fell silent, and I thought, "Uh-oh, maybe I shouldn't have said that," but she wasn't shocked or upset at all.
"I hate to say this," she whispered, "and I never, never imagined I'd tell anyone again, but I sometimes wish he was worse than he is. I said it to my sister once, and she thought I had gone crazy, but it's true. If he was worse than he is, things would be so much easier."
There is no need to feel guilty when such feelings arise. It's natural, especially when so much in life depends on outward appearances. I read an article in the New York Times in which a mother in Connecticut with two sons, one with physical disabilities and the other with LD, told how much easier things were with the physically disabled son.
Think about it: How many people do you know who would look at a young man in a wheelchair and say, "Come on, stand up. I know you can do it if you just try"?
No one would dream of saying such a thing to a person in a wheelchair, but that's exactly the sort of thing a child or adult with LD hears every day.
Purchase a copy of On Their Own: Creating an Independent Future for Your Adult Child with Learning Disabilities and ADHD: A Family Guide
today!About the authors of On their Own:Anne Ford served as Chairman of the Board of the National Center for Learning Disabilities (NCLD) from 1989 to 2001. During her term as Chair, Mrs. Ford led the reorganization and broad expansion of NCLD, including establishing a presence in Washington, D.C., and organizing educational summits on learning disabilities in several regions of the United States. She was appointed to the Department of Health and Human Services Commission on Childhood Disabilities, as the representative for learning disabilities and was a member of the New York State Board of Regents Select Committee on Disabilities.John-Richard Thompson is an award-winning playwright and novelist. His play Indigo Rat, set in Berlin, Germany, during World War II, ran for a year in New York City and received a MAC Award from the Manhattan Association of Cabarets and Clubs. His other plays include Rain House, Water Sheerie, Fruit Bat Safari Camp, and The Glass Bird. He currently lives in New York City. He is the co-author of Laughing Allegra.Excerpted from Laughing Allegra: The Inspiring Story of a Mother's Struggle and Triumph Raising a Daughter with Learning Disabilities, by Anne Ford with John-Richard Thompson. Copyright © 2003 by Anne Ford. Reprinted by permission of Newmarket Press, 18 East 48 Street, New York, NY 10017, (212) 832-3575, www.newmarketpress.com.
