Post by Rithmaticked on Mar 3, 2005 16:57:31 GMT -5
How old are you, where are you from?
I'm 56 and am Canadian. I was born in Winnipeg. As an adult I lived in Winnipeg, Brandon, Calgary, and now Toronto.
When did you find out that you couldn’t do what others could?
Grade 2, so that would be 1955 (I took off my socks to figure that out.) As well as the regular arithmetic text books, there were arithmetic "work books," large, printed soft-cover, spine-stapled horrors that presented the day's lessons in "problem" form, and which left room for the student to write his/her calculations and magically deduce the answers.
The first time the great mystery hit -- and I remember it like yesterday -- was having to put four out-of-sequence statements in order. I couldn't understand the question, never mind the basis behind it. So I marked the boxes in order: 1, 2, 3, 4, this being logical, though the question -- even to a seven-year-old -- seemed ridiculous. Because the answer was wrong of course, I had to stay after school and fill pages of my scribbler with lines about paying attention, like Bart Simpson at the start of every show. It was the beginning of my hatred for that old battle-axe teacher, her many successors and school in general.
Grade 3, though, turned a couple of minor battles into war. Long division was rocket science. It still is, and everything more complicated is particle physics. As an adult in Calgary, I took a two- or three-hour test at a school for kids with learning disabilities to see whether my self-diagnosis of being dyscalculic was correct. It was. The school could do nothing for me because it's for children, but they wanted the fee and I wanted the diagnosis. The test shows my my arithmetic skills remain at a grade 3 level.
What is/was school like?
Hell on Earth. In grade 7, despite scoring 80s and 90s in literature, English, "social studies" and everything else not connected with math, geometry, algebra -- and art -- I was put into an ungraded class peopled with an aging student gang, congenital criminals whose proudest possessions were switchblades, bicycle chains and the cars they stole the night before. Soap was an unknown commodity, probably because it was so cheap it wasn't worth stealing.
This was a prison cell cleverly disguised as a suburban public-school classroom, whose guard was a "teacher" wearing a suit of medieval armour (or wanted to) and who backed out the door rather than take his eyes off Canada's richest resource and promise for the future. I was in the same predicament but unlike the teacher still bear physical scars.
The next year, after someone in that school's administration realized that I wouldn't set fire to the police station simply because I couldn't understand the meaning of hypotenuse, never mind its square, I was back in a regular class. But the main problem was in no way relieved, and because I had been put into that daycare for psychopaths, I was labelled with that as well as being labelled stupid.
When and where did you hear about dyscalculia for the first time, and did your life change after that? How?
On a Saturday in the 1980s, on a two-hour drive to Winnipeg from Brandon and listening to CBC radio's Quirks and Quarks science program (still on the air). I heard a woman telling my life story with my problems. Then I heard the name: dyscalculia. The revelation was liberating -- I'm not stupid! But it didn't take long to realize that the struggle of dealing with the reality of an indifferent, sometimes malicious world, always would remain the same.
What symptoms do you have?
Sometimes I cannot decide whether I have to add or subtract, or multiply or divide. I cannot make change. I was 12 before I realized why, when boarding a bus (back when bus drivers made change and a ride cost a kid 15 cents) I had to drop the 15 cents into the fare box after getting two dimes and a nickel from the driver, after giving him a quarter and saying "change, please"). There was no connection between the quarter and the same amount of money in dimes and a nickel.
Thinking about it during one particular bus ride home from another frustrating music lesson, and after the driver told me to pay the fare when I had asked for change and walked to a seat, the reason hit like a very slow bolt from the blue.
It went something like this and took about 20 blocks on the bus -- but had all the exclamation points formed in my head: He cheated me! (I was very angry because the driver stole my quarter.) I gave him (the driver) a quarter! He gave me two dimes and a nickel . . . Oh! Wait a minute! . . . two dimes and a nickel . . . must be the same as a quarter . . . a quarter is 25 cents. Two dimes and a nickel are 25 cents! (I knew that, but again, there was a disconnect between the objects and the numbers they represent.) I asked for change because it (the ride) costs 15 cents! A quarter is too much! That's why I have a dime left! (I counted from 15 to 25 using my fingers.) I have to pay 15 cents out of a quarter! Quarters are big. Nickels are smaller, dimes even smaller . . . so a quarter is worth more than two dimes and a nickel. No, that's wrong! Hey, he didn't steal my quarter!
It was like discovering the meaning of life.
What irritates you the most about your disability?
• Counting change.
• Failing to remember instructions and items.
• Understanding, let alone following a budget.
• Figuring out my bank balance.
• Having to take on faith my pay stub is correct.
• Never being able to do my income-tax returns; I'd cheat myself for far more than it costs to have it done.
• Remembering my phone number. It's hopeless.
• Constantly getting lost in Calgary because of its numbered streets and avenues and address numbers on top of those. There are four of each numbered street and avenue because the city is divided into quadrants. Pure chaos. Edmonton is as bad because the addresses on the numbered streets and avenues climb into six or more digits.
• Forgetting the date, especially after the 9th when two numbers kick in.
• Lottery numbers. For all I know I'm a zillionaire but read the winning numbers wrong.
What do you work with or want to work with?
I have to use Windows at work. Windows -- any version -- is like math. It's right or it isn't, and usually isn't. I wish I could use a Mac. Apple could make a mint by targeting dyslexics and dyscalculics.
And for me; what is missing on this page about dyscalculia? And what could I do better?
A link to Magic Wand Dyscalculia Fixeruppers and Fountain of Youth Inc. But right now, discovering this forum is wonder enough.
What I could do better: Have the patience to learn arithmetic using Roman numerals. Maybe VIII uses a different part of the brain than 8. And what about hypnosis? Would that help? Never make another novel-length posting.
I'm 56 and am Canadian. I was born in Winnipeg. As an adult I lived in Winnipeg, Brandon, Calgary, and now Toronto.
When did you find out that you couldn’t do what others could?
Grade 2, so that would be 1955 (I took off my socks to figure that out.) As well as the regular arithmetic text books, there were arithmetic "work books," large, printed soft-cover, spine-stapled horrors that presented the day's lessons in "problem" form, and which left room for the student to write his/her calculations and magically deduce the answers.
The first time the great mystery hit -- and I remember it like yesterday -- was having to put four out-of-sequence statements in order. I couldn't understand the question, never mind the basis behind it. So I marked the boxes in order: 1, 2, 3, 4, this being logical, though the question -- even to a seven-year-old -- seemed ridiculous. Because the answer was wrong of course, I had to stay after school and fill pages of my scribbler with lines about paying attention, like Bart Simpson at the start of every show. It was the beginning of my hatred for that old battle-axe teacher, her many successors and school in general.
Grade 3, though, turned a couple of minor battles into war. Long division was rocket science. It still is, and everything more complicated is particle physics. As an adult in Calgary, I took a two- or three-hour test at a school for kids with learning disabilities to see whether my self-diagnosis of being dyscalculic was correct. It was. The school could do nothing for me because it's for children, but they wanted the fee and I wanted the diagnosis. The test shows my my arithmetic skills remain at a grade 3 level.
What is/was school like?
Hell on Earth. In grade 7, despite scoring 80s and 90s in literature, English, "social studies" and everything else not connected with math, geometry, algebra -- and art -- I was put into an ungraded class peopled with an aging student gang, congenital criminals whose proudest possessions were switchblades, bicycle chains and the cars they stole the night before. Soap was an unknown commodity, probably because it was so cheap it wasn't worth stealing.
This was a prison cell cleverly disguised as a suburban public-school classroom, whose guard was a "teacher" wearing a suit of medieval armour (or wanted to) and who backed out the door rather than take his eyes off Canada's richest resource and promise for the future. I was in the same predicament but unlike the teacher still bear physical scars.
The next year, after someone in that school's administration realized that I wouldn't set fire to the police station simply because I couldn't understand the meaning of hypotenuse, never mind its square, I was back in a regular class. But the main problem was in no way relieved, and because I had been put into that daycare for psychopaths, I was labelled with that as well as being labelled stupid.
When and where did you hear about dyscalculia for the first time, and did your life change after that? How?
On a Saturday in the 1980s, on a two-hour drive to Winnipeg from Brandon and listening to CBC radio's Quirks and Quarks science program (still on the air). I heard a woman telling my life story with my problems. Then I heard the name: dyscalculia. The revelation was liberating -- I'm not stupid! But it didn't take long to realize that the struggle of dealing with the reality of an indifferent, sometimes malicious world, always would remain the same.
What symptoms do you have?
Sometimes I cannot decide whether I have to add or subtract, or multiply or divide. I cannot make change. I was 12 before I realized why, when boarding a bus (back when bus drivers made change and a ride cost a kid 15 cents) I had to drop the 15 cents into the fare box after getting two dimes and a nickel from the driver, after giving him a quarter and saying "change, please"). There was no connection between the quarter and the same amount of money in dimes and a nickel.
Thinking about it during one particular bus ride home from another frustrating music lesson, and after the driver told me to pay the fare when I had asked for change and walked to a seat, the reason hit like a very slow bolt from the blue.
It went something like this and took about 20 blocks on the bus -- but had all the exclamation points formed in my head: He cheated me! (I was very angry because the driver stole my quarter.) I gave him (the driver) a quarter! He gave me two dimes and a nickel . . . Oh! Wait a minute! . . . two dimes and a nickel . . . must be the same as a quarter . . . a quarter is 25 cents. Two dimes and a nickel are 25 cents! (I knew that, but again, there was a disconnect between the objects and the numbers they represent.) I asked for change because it (the ride) costs 15 cents! A quarter is too much! That's why I have a dime left! (I counted from 15 to 25 using my fingers.) I have to pay 15 cents out of a quarter! Quarters are big. Nickels are smaller, dimes even smaller . . . so a quarter is worth more than two dimes and a nickel. No, that's wrong! Hey, he didn't steal my quarter!
It was like discovering the meaning of life.
What irritates you the most about your disability?
• Counting change.
• Failing to remember instructions and items.
• Understanding, let alone following a budget.
• Figuring out my bank balance.
• Having to take on faith my pay stub is correct.
• Never being able to do my income-tax returns; I'd cheat myself for far more than it costs to have it done.
• Remembering my phone number. It's hopeless.
• Constantly getting lost in Calgary because of its numbered streets and avenues and address numbers on top of those. There are four of each numbered street and avenue because the city is divided into quadrants. Pure chaos. Edmonton is as bad because the addresses on the numbered streets and avenues climb into six or more digits.
• Forgetting the date, especially after the 9th when two numbers kick in.
• Lottery numbers. For all I know I'm a zillionaire but read the winning numbers wrong.
What do you work with or want to work with?
I have to use Windows at work. Windows -- any version -- is like math. It's right or it isn't, and usually isn't. I wish I could use a Mac. Apple could make a mint by targeting dyslexics and dyscalculics.
And for me; what is missing on this page about dyscalculia? And what could I do better?
A link to Magic Wand Dyscalculia Fixeruppers and Fountain of Youth Inc. But right now, discovering this forum is wonder enough.
What I could do better: Have the patience to learn arithmetic using Roman numerals. Maybe VIII uses a different part of the brain than 8. And what about hypnosis? Would that help? Never make another novel-length posting.