It is said that everybody gets their fifteen minutes of fame, but I would never have guessed the spotlight would have pointed to me in a sixth-grade English class. Ms. Andrews recommended I read a personal poem I had written about being dyslexic entitled “Only I Can Understand.” Although it made me nervous, I realized if I were to mess up, people couldn’t quite laugh at me: the very point of the poem was how hard it was for me to read.
Reading, at this point in time, was my nemesis. My palms were sweaty, and my heart was racing; I was reluctant to start, but I felt intensely focused, and the words began to flow: Only I can understand how it feels to read in front of my classmates and be terrified to make a mistake. As I read the poem, stumbling over words, having to reread, it was warmly received -- overwhelmed with relief; my breath escaped me with a sigh.
The next day, my mom was glued to her computer, scrolling through Facebook comments, and started to read them out loud. Comments like: “As a teacher of dyslexic students for over 30 years, I can empathize with, but only imagine, what a mixed blessing this is… beautifully written!” from Joey in New Mexico; and “It’s written for me. Thank you Benny! I needed to know that someone else understands.” from Cheryl in England.
Little did I know, my mom posted my poem in a dyslexia Facebook group. My poem had gone around the world overnight and reached thousands. The nervousness and anxiety I had felt before reading it disappeared, knowing that my writing -- even if it was spelled wrong -- had resonated with people I’d never met.
As a result of the Facebook post, some professors and psychologists reached out to my parents, and soon, the Yale Center for Dyslexia & Creativity published my poem on their website.
Frankly, I was more proud about the moment I read it instead of it becoming “famous”. However, I’m glad it became famous because it was the start of my advocacy -- for myself and others. This was my first in public speaking. And not just speaking, but speaking up. I have since spoken at many dyslexia and disability awareness events about assistive technology andmydyslexic advantage. My story -- my words of encouragement were being used to inspire others. Like the end of my poem, I can understand a lot of things that only I can understand.
Upon entering high school, I was advised not to take a foreign language even though students at my ability level are encouraged to complete a two-year language requirement. Some even insist that a student like me, self-taught and eager to learn, would succeed in a foreign language class because they don’t understand my dyslexia. But poetry feels like another language to me. Poetry doesn’t have a set of rules. It’s how you speak it that matters. I recently felt the desire to write a more sophisticated version of my poem which reflects how I have evolved. It has a sense of comedy and confidence to it, much more than when I was twelve.
As I stand tall, with my shoulders wide, I read my poem aloud with pride -- I crack jokes, like: “Because I’m an intellect, I love to play games and babble, Monopoly, Chess... but just not Scrabble.”The act of writing another poem is meaningful. My poem ends like this: “So, I keep my glass half full, and my head held high, because I am dyslexic, and it’s spelled with a Y...”