A Safe Place for Joey

by Mary MacCracken

  “How exact does it have to be?” Ralph Aylesworth cut in. “I know it was well before he was a year old. He was standing up, walking around in that rabbit costume you made him for Halloween, and his birthday’s not till November. I remember your mother telling everyone about it at Christmas.”

  “So eleven months?” I said. “Okay. Fine. Now about talking. When did he say his first words?”

  “That was later,” Mrs. Aylesworth said, seemingly encouraged by the fact that she wasn’t expected to remember an exact date. “He made lots of noises, but we couldn’t understand any of them. Remember, Ralph, how we used to say he’d made up a language of his own?”

  Ralph Aylesworth ground out his cigarette with his left hand and glanced at his watch.

  “It’s after seven. We’ve been here over an hour, and I’m still not sure what’s the matter with Ben or what we’re supposed to do about it.”

  “I did tell you that I believe Ben has specific problems that make it difficult for him to learn by ordinary classroom methods,” I said. “But I also need to know what he was like before I knew him. I need you to tell me that. Did he have any high fevers, broken bones?”

  “No, he was a very healthy baby,” Mr. Aylesworth said. “In fact, one thing I’ve got to be thankful for is that the whole family is healthy. Never had to call a doctor in our lives – only see them for checkups.”

  Mrs. Aylesworth nodded. “That’s right. The only time was when we were first married – and I got so sick you had to call Dr. Johnstone, and he put me in the hospital because my fever was so high and I was vomiting so much that he worried about dehydration. But then,” she stopped and smiled, “it turned out to be nothing. Well, nothing more than being pregnant with Ben.”

  I sighed. “Look. I know it’s late. And learning disabilities is a vague term – I realize that. And it’s vague because a child’s brain is not an easy place to explore. Until recently, the only means for internal examinations of the brain have been painful and dangerous. Certainly you can have Ben examined by a neurologist, and I can give you the names of two excellent pediatric neurologists and, in fact, would suggest you see one. I would also recommend an examination by a pediatric audiologist, just to cover all bases. I would also recommend that Ben see someone twice a week who understands children with learning disabilities and knows how to teach him techniques to improve his reading and spelling. Ben badly needs to catch up and start having some success in school.”

  Ralph Aylesworth stood up. I thought perhaps he was leaving, but instead he lit another cigarette and walked across the room.

  “Learning disabilities? What the hell does that mean?” He picked up a pad of white paper from a corner of the desk and tossed it in front of me. “Here – draw me a picture in black and white of what’s wrong with Ben’s brain.”

  I pulled the pad toward me and stared at Ralph Aylesworth. Who did this man think he was to order me around in my own office? I started to say this, but then Ben’s pale, handsome face imposed itself on the pad, and I forced myself to be quiet. Ben needed his father. I had to help Ralph Aylesworth understand that it wasn’t just a question of making Ben try harder. Well, I couldn’t draw a picture of Ben’s brain, but maybe I could make some lists. I wrote:

  Overall Possible Causes

  Genetic.

  Organic.

  Environmental.

  Specific Signs of Ben’s Learning Disabilities

  Mismatch between intelligence and academic performance.

  Difficulty or delay in acquiring language – slight stutter.

  Mixes up or can’t remember words.

  Reversals – writes d for b – reads “was” as “saw.”

  Poor auditory memory.

  Poor sound-symbol relationship.

  Mixed dominance.

  Poor perceptual and organizational skills.

  Poor graphomotor skills.

  Large gap between excellent spatial knowledge and poor verbal and written expression.

  Additional information

  More males than females have these kinds of learning problems.

  45 per cent have close relatives who have learning disabilities.

  What to Do

  Examination by a pediatric neurologist.

  Examination by a pediatric audiologist.

  Supply educational therapy.

  Supply emotional support.

  This took about five minutes. Mrs. Aylesworth sat folding and unfolding her hands; Mr. Aylesworth paced back and forth across the room, stopping by the desk only to snuff out his cigarette and light another.

  When I’d finished I put the pad back on the desk and pushed it to the other side.

  “Maybe this will help.”

  Mr. Aylesworth glanced at the pad briefly, but never missed a stride. Mrs. Aylesworth leaned forward and looked at the list.

  “Well, read it,” he barked, pacing to the far side of the room.

  Mrs. Aylesworth cleared her throat and read: “Causes: one – genetic; two – organic; three – environmental …”

  Mr. Aylesworth put out his cigarette and sat down, shading his eyes, looking at the pad.

  When Carol Aylesworth had finished reading the page, he coughed and said, “Causes? Genetic? What do you mean by that?”

  “Well,” I said. “There have been a number of studies done that show there is a tendency for dyslexia – or learning disabilities – to run in families.” I hesitated and then added, “And that it occurs more often in the males of those families.”

  The room was absolutely silent until Mr. Aylesworth spoke. His voice was steady, but very low. “Are you trying to tell me that I gave this damn thing to my son? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “No,” I answered. “I said it was one of the possible –”

  I stopped. Tears were running down Mr. Aylesworth’s face. He sat without moving, without sound, without expression, while tears flooded his eyes and poured down his cheeks. I couldn’t believe it. This assured, successful, dominant, demanding man was crying in my office.

  Mrs. Aylesworth fumbled in her purse and proffered a tissue. He pushed it away and stood up and took a pristine, folded handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his cheeks and eyes. He unfolded it, turned away, and blew his nose. He sat back down and bent toward me, the handkerchief still between his hands, his voice unsteady now.

  “Did you know I couldn’t read? Is that why you made that list instead of drawing? To prove it?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I just didn’t know how to draw a picture of what you were asking. I was trying to be as clear as I could be.”

  “Well, now you know. I can’t read more than five or ten words on that whole page. I’ve never been able to. But I can talk. Unlike Ben, I guess. Although almost everything else you said about him you could say about me.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand. How can you be president of –”

  Mr. Aylesworth interrupted. “I just told you. Because I can talk. I talked myself a high school degree, although I never finished. I talked myself a college degree and an MBA besides. Nobody ever checked. And it has been a living hell, wondering if, when, somebody will find out and call me on it.

  “But, besides being able to talk, I can sell and I can make money. I made more sales my first year out than anybody had ever made in that company, and after that it was easy. I just climbed the ladder, moving from one company to another, and finally to president of Zyloc. I had my résumé, my sales record, recommendations, and increasing money and power, and I had Helen.

  “Helen is my secretary. She was an English major at college. I hired her the day she graduated, and she’s been with me ever since. When I moved, Helen moved with me. She never married. Zyloc, Inc., is her life. Everywhere I go, Helen goes. In fact, until a couple of months ago, she was the only one who knew I could hardly read and couldn’t write even a simple letter. Helen reads to me and I dictate to her.

  “But when all this damn bus
iness about Ben came to a head, Carol began to fuss about my being home more, spending more time with Ben. Of course, there was no point to that, because I didn’t know what to do with Ben. He was acting crazy. Did you know he actually had my pajama top on up there on the roof? He wouldn’t talk to me, and it seemed to me that Carol was contributing to the problem by babying him, doing his work for him. He was enough of a sissy as it was.”

  Carol Aylesworth and I watched silently as Ralph began his steady pacing once again.

  “So then,” he continued, “Carol got it into her head that I was having an affair with Helen.” He shook his head. “Helen has about as much sex appeal as Grandma Moses.”

  “Well, you did take her every single place you went. Chicago. Los Angeles. London. Brussels. What was I supposed to think?” Carol Aylesworth said defensively, her voice whiny, the way Ben’s had been in the beginning.

  “I took her, for Christ’s sake, because she had to cover for me. Anyway, I hadn’t told Carol before,” Ralph Aylesworth continued. “I knew a hundred tricks with Carol. I told her I had poor eyesight, so she had to read the street signs if we were going someplace new. Money – she took care of all the bills. The finest restaurants – the captain attended to our order personally, I never used a menu. And every day I sat behind a newspaper and turned the pages for at least a half hour.

  “Well, she knows now. In fact, there are three of you who know now. You, Helen, and Carol.

  “In some ways it’s a relief. And I suppose I knew all along that Ben was having some of the same troubles I did, but I didn’t want to admit it.

  “You talk about scared,” Ralph Aylesworth said. “I can remember screaming at Ben when he first mispronounced ‘spaghetti.’ How was he ever going to learn to read if he couldn’t even get his words straight?”

  I nodded. I could see how terrifying it would be to this man who had acquired so much surface success at such cost to think that the same kind of tortured life awaited his son.

  “Well, there’s no way of being positive that Ben’s problems are only genetic.” I turned toward Mrs. Aylesworth. “Your high fever and nausea during your pregnancy may have had something to do with it, too. That’s one of the frustrating things – no one is sure about causes.”

  “Is it like a disease?” Mrs. Aylesworth asked. “Can it be cured?”

  I shook my head. “No. A learning disability is not a disease. It’s a kind of neurological dysfunction. Some very brilliant, famous people have had similar problems – Winston Churchill, Charles Darwin, General George Patton, and John Kennedy among them. You don’t cure it, but you can learn how to compensate. And Ben can learn to read and write. I can guarantee that. I also think Ben has a lot of sorting out of his emotions to do, and he should see Dr. Golden by himself for a while. I think you both should continue seeing Dr. Golden, too. It’s not easy to bring up a child who has learning disabilities, particularly when there’s so much emotion involved.

  “It’s true that it’s not good to baby him. It’s also true that it’s not a good idea to put too much pressure on him.”

  I turned toward Mr. Aylesworth. “Dr. Golden will be a help on all this – how much is too much, things like that.

  “The last thing I want to say is that Ben is at a very vulnerable time right now, and he badly needs a good male model. He needs to start moving away from his mother, becoming less dependent, more independent. And you can be such help.” I nodded to Mr. Aylesworth. “You, more than anyone, can understand how he feels. Your problems sound as though they were more severe than Ben’s, and yet you’ve been enormously successful.”

  “Do you know what that success has cost me?” Ralph Aylesworth replied. “I live in a cold sweat all day, all night, counting the days till I can retire. Move away. Do something else.

  “Well, at least Carol knows now. I don’t have to pretend in front of her anymore.” He reached for his wife’s hand, and they stood up together. “I suppose in a way I have Ben to thank for that.”

  I smiled at him, liking this man who suffered so many of the difficulties that my children did. “Just try to spend time with Ben,” I said. “Don’t feel you have to teach him anything – just listen to him. Let him know that you value him for being who he is and what he thinks. Do whatever is fun for you to do together.”

  It was after eight o’clock, and we were all tired and cramped from tension and sitting too long.

  “You will be working with Ben, won’t you? You do think you can help him?” Mr. Aylesworth asked.

  “I think we can help him,” I said, emphasizing the “we.” “Yes. I’d like to try. I’d also like to speak to his teacher. If she’s agreeable, I’d like to talk to her on a weekly basis so we can coordinate what we do.”

  “Wait now. Don’t go too fast,” Ralph Aylesworth said. “I’m not sure just how much I want the school to know.”

  We had reached the front door. I put out my hand. “Well, we can talk about it and then decide, and please call me whenever you have questions, particularly if there’s anything you don’t understand when you get the report. And I’ll call you tomorrow, Mrs. Aylesworth, about setting up Ben’s appointments. I want to go over the test results with him, too, before we start working together.”

  I saw Ben twice a week for two years, and Phil Golden worked with both Ben and his family. Ben’s reading improved quickly. His visual memory was so strong that he acquired new sight words relatively easily and learned to use techniques to speed up his reading without losing concentration. His testing scores rose because of this and because he no longer was frozen with fear, sure of his stupidity. We worked on phonetic skills, using specific techniques developed for children with Ben’s kinds of learning problems. And when he was taught in short-sequenced segments, he slowly learned to decode unknown words and also to improve his spelling.

  Most importantly, he was no longer alone. We all worked with him, making it clear that while we wouldn’t do the work for him, he didn’t have to do it alone.

  It made a difference. Enough of a difference so that “Banana Brain” faded from the school picture as Ben emerged.

  At the beginning of eighth grade, Ben went off to a New England prep school experienced in providing individualized education for bright adolescents with learning disabilities, and I’m certain he will go on to college.

  And now, Ralph Aylesworth comes to my office every week, determined that he, too, will learn to read and write as well as his son. He arrives early in the morning, before he goes to work and when there’s no chance of being seen. He wears his hand-tailored pinstripe suits; I wear my jeans.

  He cancels often – when he’s out of town (with Helen, of course) or at a board meeting. His problems are far more severe than Ben’s, and more deeply entrenched, but he is learning to read. His last test showed his silent reading comprehension at a fifth-grade level. He works hard, sweat pouring down his face, swearing as he sweats. He’s defensive and manipulative, but he’s also intelligent and courageous, and I’m as proud of Ralph Aylesworth as I am of his son.

  Alice

  “I hate her,” Alice sobbed. “Hate her! Hate her! Hate her!”

  She was sitting sideways on the couch in my office over our garage, knees pulled up under her chin. Now she put her head on her knees, and her long, straight, light-brown hair fell forward around her face so that tears dripped from an invisible source, making dark blotches on her long, grey flannel skirt.

  “Oh, Alice,” I said, sitting down beside her, handing her the box of tissues. “What’s wrong? Who do you hate?”

  Alice sobbed on. “Both of them, that’s who. My stupid mother and my stupid teacher. I don’t even know which one I hate the most.”

  I was surprised at the depth of Alice’s emotion. On her first visit she had sat as still and silent as a rock for most of the time. But, I loved having Alice in my office. While I enjoyed my boys, there was something special about having a girl there.

  I lifted Alice’s feet into my lap (she
had shed her shoes on the way in the door) and waited. There was no need to ask questions. Since the first visit, words had tumbled out of Alice – there was no language problem here. For a fifth grader she was more than verbal; she was a veritable fountain.

  “Nobody ever asks me what I want,” she said, mopping her face. “They just run my life as if I wasn’t even here. Just because that doctor said I should take Ritalin, Mom assumes she has the right to stick it in my sandwich in my lunchbox. Well, I hate it – never knowing which bite it will be in, having the other kids stare, waiting for me to choke on the pill. She says I’d forget to take it if it wasn’t in the sandwich. Maybe I would. But it’s my life, not hers. Anyway, I just throw my sandwich out – I’m not that hungry, anyway, and that was fine till stupid Mrs. Robinson decides it’s her ‘duty to tell your mother.’ She called Mom into school, and now there’s a whole big hassle and I’m supposed to show stupid Robinson my empty sandwich baggie and swear I’ve eaten the sandwich and the pill.

  “Well, I won’t. I’m not some kindergarten baby. I don’t care what they do. I don’t even want to go to the dumb school anyway.”

  “I know,” I said. And I did. Dr. Volpe had sent me a copy of Alice’s copious file before he sent me Alice, and there was a detailed family history along with reports from various doctors and teachers.

  The Martins had arrived from Kansas during the previous summer. Mr. Martin had been promoted and transferred to the New York home office of a large insurance company.

  The Martins were reportedly thrilled by the “move up the ladder” and delighted with their picture-book pretty home in a nearby affluent community.

  However, it was immediately evident to everyone that Alice’s previous schooling had in no way prepared her for the highly academic program of this achievement-oriented town, which prided itself on its standards of education and high national ranking.