Adaptive Learning
ISSUE 9
It Took Me Too Long To Decode My Daughter’s Dyslexia
By: Tami Mount
A mother describes the warning signs for dyslexia in her daughter that she didn’t see clearly. She also shares the life-changing resources that helped her understand what dyslexia is and how to get her daughter the support she needed to thrive.
It took me too long to decode my daughter’s dyslexia. In retrospect, the signs are clear as a bell. But no one in my daughter’s school connected the dots – while compassionate and dedicated, her teachers just didn’t know the signs to look for either. In fact, they couldn’t explain why a sweet child with a good intellect and strong work ethic couldn’t read with more fluency. Thus despite the additional instruction she received, she never emerged as a successful reader from first, second, third, or fourth grade.
Throughout this time, I searched and asked for help from so many people, yet I would have never looked at a site or source with “dyslexia” in the title because that wasn’t on my radar as a possibility. I totally misunderstood what it is. If I had interpreted the following signs correctly, I could have advocated for my daughter earlier.
1. To begin, dyslexia runs in families. If you or your spouse struggled to learn how to read, and your child also struggles, take this to heart. I wish someone had told me that my
observations of my daughter were not a projection of my own experiences in learning to read, but typical of an individual with dyslexia. Although environmental factors can also be responsible, 40 to 60% of cases of dyslexia can be attributed to heredity. (Scarborough, 1990; Snowling, Gallagher, & Frith, 2003; Scerri & Schulte-Körne, 2010)
2. My daughter LOVES books but she NEVER chose to read a book on her own for pleasure. Every night from the time she was an infant, we read aloud before bed. Whether we read a stack of picture books or a chapter from an adventure novel, she would hang on our every word. In a way, her appetite for stories and ability to audibly absorb meaning, gave me insights of her ability to comprehend and develop vocabulary while listening for pleasure.
3. In first grade, she couldn’t keep pace with her class work. Her folder of “unfinished work” piled up on her desk to an overwhelming mountain of reminders of how far she kept falling behind the other children at her table. She told me, “Mommy, I hope I don’t have stacks of unfinished work when I’m in 2nd grade.”
4. Homework took over an hour some nights to complete. Tears of frustration frequently consumed our family dinner table as she labored through math word problems and vocabulary worksheets.
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My daughter’s disinterest in picking up a book or procrastinating over homework might strike one as being lazy. But I knew in my heart that she was a hard worker, curious about so many things, and totally in love with school and her friends. I knew she wanted it to be different – better – and that was frustrating and sad for all of us.
5. When I talked to her first grade teacher about her reading, she wasn’t alarmed but observed that she was memorizing the shapes of common words such as like, and, this, the, walk, and it, not reading them. She said, “I wish I could see what is going on inside her head when she’s trying to read.”
6. By the end of second grade, we noticed that my daughter tended to skip, guess, or substitute words that made sense for the words that she couldn’t automatically read. And the more complex the text, the more she would avoid it, especially in front of her friends.
7. Then one day, after two years of tutoring at home and “special reading help” at school, I was sitting at a conference table with the special education teacher and the school psychologist who had given my daughter a test to see if she had any signs of a learning disability. The conversation went something like this:
Teacher said, “[Your daughter] learns everything you teach her. She uses meaning beyond what is expected at her age.”
I asked, “Then why is she not learning how to read?”
“She has issues with phonological processing,” answered the teacher.
8. About six months later, I was given a copy of Overcoming Dyslexia by the author, Dr. Sally Shaywitz whom I had met
through a project at work. Dr. Shaywitz gave me the book because I had told her that my daughter was a struggling reader. When I opened the book, I recognized my daughter’s behavior in almost every case study of her patients. For decades, Dr. Shaywitz, who is both a pediatrician and educator, has been leading new research on how the brain works in relation to reading problems at the Yale University School of Medicine. Her book explains that “Dyslexic children and adults struggle to read fluently, spell words correctly and learn a second language, among other challenges. But these difficulties have no connection to their overall intelligence. In fact, dyslexia is an unexpected difficulty in reading in an individual who has the intelligence to be a much better reader. While people with dyslexia are slow readers, they often, paradoxically, are very fast and creative thinkers with strong reasoning abilities.” (Shaywitz, Overcoming Dyslexia, pp.13- 24.)
Furthermore, Shaywitz writes, “Over the past two decades a model of dyslexia has emerged that is based on phonological processing—processing distinctive sounds of language.” (Shaywitz, Overcoming Dyslexia, pp.40.)
BINGO! Reading that book was like getting the decoder ring. I quickly connected the dots and learned that with direct and explicit instruction using a proven science-based approach called Orton Gillingham, my daughter could get the RIGHT reading instruction for her specific reading disability.
I’m proud to say that my daughter is in the fifth grade at The Windward School learning to read, write, and engage with all subjects under the tutelage of expertly trained Orton Gillingham teachers. She has read 25 chapter books in her Language Arts class this year and reads aloud with me every single night.
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What School Could Be If It Were Designed for Kids With Autism
Tracy Murray’s kindergarten classroom in New York City has a unique approach to supporting students on the spectrum.
By: Kristina Rizga
Editor’s Note: In 1988, a teacher most commonly had 15 years of experience. In recent years, that number is closer to just three years leading a classroom. The “On Teaching” series focuses on the wisdom of veteran teachers.
A charming, bright 5-year-old stands out in his classroom at Maurice Wollin elementary school, on Staten Island, as an extremely social, kind, and curious child. He remembers more about his peers—names, significant events, likes and dislikes—than almost any other kindergartner at his school does.
But despite his genuine interest in his classmates and their well-being, he often struggles with interpreting their feelings and intentions—he has been diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder (ASD). (This 5-year-old and the other students mentioned in this article have been granted anonymity to protect their privacy.) One morning last month, in the middle of a math lesson, a soft-spoken classmate accidentally bumped into his shoulder, and quickly apologized with a
big, friendly smile. But the sociable child concluded that his classmate was being mean, and punched him in the shoulder, then dropped to the floor, crying, his arms flailing and his voice growing louder.
In many classrooms, a teacher’s aide might have pulled him aside, attempted to help him calm down, and encouraged him to be quiet. If he didn’t comply, and continued to disrupt other students’ learning, he might have been sent to a counselor’s office or the principal’s office, or have been sent home for the day. (Across the nation, students with disabilities are suspended at twice the rate of students without them.)
Instead, within seconds of his dropping to the floor, his teacher, Tracy Murray, raised a laminated sign with an image of her classroom’s “clubhouse,” a special stress-relief area where kids who feel emotionally overwhelmed can take a break and use relaxation techniques that their teachers and therapists have recommended for them personally. There, he sank into a black beanbag chair and started slowly squeezing
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a pink ball in order to soothe himself.
Once he looked more relaxed, Murray, a 26-year veteran of special education, sat down next to him while her co-teacher, Elizabeth Garber, continued with the lesson. Because many children with autism learn better with visual aids , Murray drew a simple comic strip—with stick figures and dialogue balloons—to represent what had happened with the student and his classmate. Once he saw that the encounter was an accident and that he could make “smart guesses” about his peers’ intentions in the future by observing their facial expressions and listening to what they say, he calmed down and returned to the math lesson.
The scene in Murray’s classroom unfolded as it did because the kindergartner is part of a program called ASD Nest , which places students like him alongside neurotypical students in classrooms led by specially trained teachers. ASD Nest, which is named after its goal of giving kids with ASD a nurturing place to learn and grow, is a collaboration between the New York City Department of Education and NYU. It launched in 2003 with four teachers and has since expanded to 54 elementary, middle, and high schools in New York City.
Read: How to keep teachers from leaving the profession
Nationwide, more than half of students with autism ages 6 to 21 spend more than 40 percent of their school day in a majority-neurotypical classroom, with about two-thirds of this group spending 80 percent of their day in one. In general, the rest spend most of their school day in a special-education class or at a school where all students have one or more disabilities.
When a student on the spectrum is present, majorityneurotypical classrooms typically have one certified teacher— many without special-education training—and one or more teacher’s aides, who help students with special needs follow teachers’ directions and complete academic tasks. ASD Nest, meanwhile, places two certified and specially trained teachers in each participating classroom, which allows one of them to provide one-on-one social, emotional, or academic support whenever the need arises, without disrupting the lesson or pulling a student out of the classroom. On top of that, each classroom’s two co-teachers meet weekly with occupational, speech, and physical therapists to discuss each student’s progress and share observations about what’s working and what isn’t.
Murray, who was one of the inaugural Nest teachers, thinks that the program is effective because of its focus on collaboration among the ASD Nest teachers, school therapists, and university researchers, which results in frequent adjustments in the classroom activities and strategies tailored to every student. “We don’t expect students to learn the way we teach—we teach them the way they learn,” Murray told me at her school, sitting next to bookshelves covered by curtains in order to minimize visual stimulation, which can overwhelm some of her students on the spectrum, much like clutter, bright lights, and loud noises can.
Throughout the day, Murray and other teachers in the Nest program provide explicit guidance about emotional cues and social norms—information that can be elusive and invisible to children with autism. By the age of 5, many children can deduce that a smiling, friendly classmate is not looking to start a physical fight. Children with autism can struggle to reach that conclusion, but many special-education teachers, including Murray, believe that the ability to pick up on social cues can be taught in a classroom setting. ASD Nest is one of the few academic programs in the country that implements this approach in the classroom.
Last year, before the student Murray sat with in the clubhouse was enrolled in the program, he frequently struggled to make sense of social interactions and often stormed out of his preschool classroom in a panic, unable to return to class and missing out on learning. Two months into kindergarten, he hadn’t excused himself from his classroom once.
“We have a permission to prioritize social goals over academic lessons if we see an opportunity,” Murray said. That contrasts with the traditional approach to integrating students on the spectrum into majority-neurotypical classes, which prioritizes academic development, often without addressing the social and emotional challenges that can make classroom engagement difficult. The Nest approach, in the long run, can help give kids on the spectrum skills that they need in order to live with some degree of independence as adults.
Each Nest kindergarten class typically includes four students with autism and eight neurotypical students, and Murray maintains that the Nest approach benefits all students, not just those with developmental disorders. “Learning how to perceive the intentions and feelings of others and manage your own emotions is good for all students, not just autistic children,” she said.
Stephen Shore, a special-education professor at Adelphi University who has autism, thinks that Nest is effective because it focuses on addressing students’ strengths rather than their weaknesses. Too often, he says, programs for students on the spectrum dwell on their deficits, such as their inability to pay attention for long periods of time. Nest teachers, meanwhile, get to know the strengths and interests of each student, and then extend them to the academic domain.
For instance, one pink-cheeked, shy student at Maurice Wollin excels in reading but recently failed a math test. Teachers noticed that many of the books he read were about dinosaurs, so they changed some of the math questions to include dinosaurs. His engagement and confidence soared.
ASD Nest represents a big philosophical shift for Murray, who grew up in the 1970s attending schools that made few accommodations for students with diverse needs. She remembers when, in fifth grade at her Catholic school, a teacher reacted harshly to a friend of hers who she now guesses was on the spectrum. After the student asked for help multiple times, Murray recalled, the teacher slapped his textbook out of his hands and yelled, “How dare you keep
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interrupting while others are thinking!” The student returned to his desk in tears and, overwhelmed, threw his chair against the wall. (Murray long ago lost touch with him, and never learned his backstory.)
When, as a child, Murray would ask her mother what she could do to help her struggling friend at school, her mother would tell her that she could become a teacher. Eventually, she did. After graduating from college in the early ’90s with a degree in general and special education (and after a brief stint at a Catholic kindergarten that she disliked because she found it too similar to her own schooling experiences), Murray began working for the Guild for Exceptional Children, a nonprofit school and day-care center for children and adults with developmental disabilities based in Brooklyn. Seven years later, she enrolled in a special-education master’s program and then accepted an invitation from a mentor to teach for ASD Nest.
Murray said that in the 16 years since she joined the program, she has come to focus less on exclusively academic goals and more on her students’ needs and desires, including their wishes to form relationships and be recognized for their individual strengths and contributions. “I’m not trying to change my students, eradicate their intense interests, or teach them compliance,” she said. “I’m helping them become the most successful they can be in ways that are meaningful to them.”
The shift in her thinking mirrors a larger, society-wide one. The animal-behavior professor and author Temple Grandin’s 1995 memoir, Thinking in Pictures , has been credited as the first narrative of autism by a person on the spectrum. It helped establish the idea that autism, as Steve Silberman put it in NeuroTribes: The Legacy of Autism and the Future of Neurodiversity, is “both a disability and a gift.” The contributions of Grandin and other public figures on the spectrum—including the actor and writer Dan Aykroyd and the climate activist Greta Thunberg—have promoted the notion that autism isn’t something to be “cured” or eradicated, and that it is the result of natural variations in human genes.
ASD Nest was formed in the early days of this neurodiversity movement, and since the beginning, it has focused on helping students become more independent. One recent morning, a counselor brought a student back to Murray’s kindergarten class from a speech-therapy session. He scores well on tests, but panics when faced with anything unexpected, such as a slightly different daily schedule or a stranger entering a classroom. His therapist has been working with him on detecting visual markers in the classroom so that he can make inferences about what’s going on. Today, instead of having a meltdown upon returning to class in the middle of a lesson, he scans the room and quietly walks to his seat, pulling out his school supplies.
Every day, Nest students with autism also attend “social clubs,” which are intended to help demystify unstated norms, such as whispering in libraries and not talking to strangers in bathroom stalls. In social clubs, students read fiction, look at photographs, watch movie clips, and play games, trying to glean what the characters in the films and books, as well as their peers in the group, are feeling and thinking based on their facial expressions, body language, and tone of voice.
This all has been working well for the student who was practicing making inferences based on what he saw in the classroom. Last year, when he went to preschool each day, his mother had to fight with him to get him on the school bus. “This year has been such a change,” she told me. “Every day, he is talking about teachers, his friends, what he is learning.” He even teaches his family members about the appropriate voice levels in different settings and about notions of private space—information he learned in his social club this year. He has two friends he can name—a major milestone for him. It’s one of many that ASD Nest has helped him and other students reach.
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ADHD in the Classroom: How to Support Students with AttentionDeficit/Hyperactivity Disorder
A survey of educators found that most feel they don’t have enough information and classroom management strategies for students with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD).[2] Because children with ADHD need the right resources to thrive in the classroom, this can seriously inhibit their ability to reach their academic potential
As a teacher, you know how important it is to provide support and guidance to these students. The more familiar you are with recognizing and helping students with ADHD, the more likely they are to reach their academic potential and exhibit positive classroom behavior.
In this article, we will define ADHD and list a few symptoms to watch for in your students. Then we’ll discuss helpful classroom management strategies.
What is ADHD and How Does It Affect Students?
Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder is a chronic condition that usually manifests in childhood and affects a child throughout their life.[16] While symptoms vary based on a child’s personality, characteristics of ADHD usually involve difficulties staying focused, keeping organized, and controlling impulses.[17]
Of course, definitions can only go so far. Talking to someone with ADHD is the best way to learn what it is and how it feels to live with it. If you don’t have anyone to ask in real life, this video from the How to ADHD channel is a great primer for educators on what ADHD is and how it affects academics.
Is ADHD a Disability? What Educators Need to Know
As a teacher, you may not feel qualified to help children with ADHD in the classroom—especially if you don’t have much experience with it. But classroom interventions can be as simple as slight modifications your instruction or providing small accommodations for your ADHD students.[2] You could, for example, give them extra time to complete homework or give them a folder to organize all of their assignments.[13]
For issues that are beyond your expertise, you can always refer the student to your school counselor or an in-school ADHD specialist, depending on the resources available. Get to know your school counselors or psychologists so if you have a student with ADHD, you know who can help them.[5] If you don’t have an ADHD specialist at your school, you could also discuss your concerns with a school administrator. They may be able to get in touch with a specialist within your district or provide accommodations in another form.
If school accommodations are sparse, and the family has not yet looked into professional treatment (such as therapy) for their child, it can be helpful to refer parents to ADHD specialists outside of your school.[8] Additionally, try to involve parents in the process of helping or disciplining a child with ADHD in school.[10] Parents will be more familiar with their child’s symptoms and may be able to suggest tactics to help their child focus in class.
Signs of ADHD: What Teachers Should Look For
Remember that as a teacher, you are not qualified to officially diagnose a student, but you can advise a specialist as needed. If you suspect that a child might have ADHD, it is best to discuss this concern with their family and with your school administrators. After speaking to the child’s family, and if the child has not been diagnosed with ADHD, you may want to encourage that family to visit a pediatrician or other specialist.
Symptoms of ADHD may vary depending on the child’s age and how much support they’ve received. For elementary school teachers, here are a few early signs of ADHD to look for:[14]
• Low self-control
• Difficulty staying focused on lessons
• Hyperactivity that interferes with a child’s ability to pay attention
• Trouble organizing assignments and belongings
• Excessive talking with peers and difficulty staying quiet while working
To learn more about ADHD signs and how these might present in the classroom—along with common misconceptions—use this video from ADDitude Magazine as a guide.
7 Teaching Tips and Classroom Accommodations for Students with ADHD
While students who have ADHD may have additional needs, these students are just as capable of succeeding in school as are their peers. Classroom strategies designed to help students with ADHD are the best way to reduce disruptive behavior and help students reach their academic potential.[7]
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These seven tips for teaching students with ADHD can help them stay focused and feel comfortable in class:
• Try to follow a regular classroom routine every day; this helps students with a range of learning disorders by limiting confusion or distraction.[12]
• Provide students with organization tools, such as a three-pocket notebook or binder, to help them keep their assignments together.[11]
• Because children with ADHD often have trouble staying focused, schedule in short breaks for students to recharge throughout the day.[19]
• Offer positive feedback regularly so they trust you and know that you have their best interests in mind.[12]
• Check out this list of children’s books about ADHD from Verywell Mind, and add a few to your classroom library to normalize discussions about ADHD.
• Students with ADHD often struggle in test-taking environments. Give these students extra time and help them find a space that is distraction free (like the school library) to take tests.[18]
• Remember, a student’s needs may exceed what you’re able to provide. In this case, refer the child to a counselor or ADHD specialist.
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KES Curriculum Support Team
For more information about anything covered in the magazine, or general information about learning support, please contact:
King Edward VI School SENDCO
Mrs Ramshaw
znr@kes.hants.sch.uk
