He dials his mother, his phone on speaker.He’s yet to sit down, instead pacing around my apartment.
"Oh, Tyler, to what do I owe this pleasure?Do you need something?I’ll be down tomorrow to grab your laundry.You know I always get it on the Tuesday after an away game."
"Ma, when I was little, did you have me tested for dyslexia?"
There’s silence on the line.Tyler looks at me before repeating, "Did you have me tested for dyslexia?"
"Well—"
"Jesus, Ma.Rachel told me about dyslexia.I just looked it up.Reading a paragraph and forgetting what I’ve read.Having trouble decoding.Remembering words and sounds.Letters jumping around on the page or in the word.All of it.It sounds like me."
"Yes, we had you tested."
I suck in a gasp, hoping she doesn’t hear.
"Ma, how could you not tell me?Didn’t you see me struggling?"
"Of course, we knew it was hard, but we figured you’d be okay, and you were.They said that your IQ was normal."
With those words, Tyler melts onto the couch, his knees giving way, and stares at the phone.Utter devastation washes over his face.
"Actually," his mother continues, totally unaware of the bomb she’s dropped on her son, "if I remember correctly, your IQ was a little higher than the average.About the same as Nicky.Higher than Joey, but don’t tell him that.So we figured you’d be okay.You just had to work a little harder.It was good preparation for the rest of your life.If everything comes easy, you never learn to push through."
"I’m not stupid?"His face is breaking in pain.I sit down next to him.I’m tempted to slide my arm around his shoulders and hug him to me, like they do in movies.But this isn’t a movie.This is real life, and his entire sense of being has just been shattered open, and I don’t know what to do for him.
"No, of course not, honey," his mom coos."Why would you say such a thing?"
"Um, maybe because Joey and Nicky are constantly telling me I am."
"You know your brothers are just picking on you.That’s how boys are.They think it’s funny."
His face is so hard right now."Well, it’s not.I gotta go."
"Tyler, don’t hang up.We need to talk."The desperation in his mother’s voice is evident.
"No, Ma, I gotta process this.It’s a lot.I … I’ll talk to you later."
He disconnects, and we sit there for a moment.I’m not sure what to say or do.I try to think of how Gram would help me when I’d start to spiral.Quietly, I admit, "This is a lot to deal with."
He looks over at me, his eyes red-rimmed."Did my mother just use the ‘boys will be boys’ excuse for my brothers?"
I nod.
"And did she just admit that she and Dad knew I had … dyslexia," he stumbles over the word, "but kept it from me to make me tougher?"
I could offer a hundred excuses.I’m sure they’re out there if I tried to find them.But the truth is, I have no idea what his parents were thinking.It’s not my place to say.So I say the only perspective I’m qualified to share."It’s obvious that your parents love you and your brothers so much.I don’t know them that well, but I would bet that everything they’ve done, they did to protect you, to help you, and to nurture you.It might not have been the right thing, but the intention was right.That’s got to count for something."
"So I’m dyslexic?"he asks.I don’t think he’s looking to me for an answer.I have none to give.He runs his hands through his hair again.Then, he unleashes.
He’s ranting and raving, pacing back and forth.There are enough curse words coming out of his mouth to make a sailor blush.He’s carrying on, and I half expect him to either start throwing things or drop to the floor, kicking his feet like a toddler.He finishes with, "God, a simple diagnosis and … now what?How do I deal with this?How can a few words about my brain change my whole life?"
His words, though innocent in intention, are a punch to my gut.He’s not thinking about me, which is understandable.This isn’t about me or my sister.Yet, when you’re struggling to put one foot in front of the other, it’s hard not to view the world around you in relation to yourself.
With the flip of a switch, he’s been thrown into the grieving process.What no one tells you is that moving through the five stages isn’t linear.I’ve spent most of the year in the depression phase.Through meeting Tyler and his friendship, I’d finally moved on to acceptance.Yet here I am, with the mere utterance of thoughtless words, back in the anger phase.
I’m angry for Tyler and at Tyler all at the same time.He doesn’t know how good he has it.Yes, his parents messed up big with this one, but they care.They care so much.That is such a gift.Not all parents care.They messed up, but they tried their best.And yes, he’s been told his brain is different, and his life will change from it.But dyslexia isn’t terminal.It’s not going to put him in the grave in eight short months.
He’ll continue to be alive and kicking, and my sister will still be dead.
