Growing Up

I remember distinctly the first time my mother left me home alone.  I was eight, and Mom went to the post office and back, which took about twenty minutes.  Before she left, she locked and double-locked every window and door.  She forbade me to answer the phone or the door under any circumstances.  “I don’t even care if it’s Grandma,” she said.  “You don’t answer the door!”  Then, she waited until I was absorbed in an episode of Full House, reminded me about the phone and the door one last time, and drove away.

She came back before the closing credits, but I recall feeling Quite Grown Up, being at home on my own.  Still, it was years before I was home alone after dark, and only when I was sixteen did I spend a night entirely by myself.  (Even then, it was an unexpected emergency, not a plan.)

In the later chapters of Waiting for Normal, Addie spends more and more time alone – sometimes even for several nights.  As modern day readers, we find it horrifying that Mommers would leave her twelve-year-old uncared for.  The thing is, in centuries past, a twelve-year-old was often considered entirely grown up.  In some cultures even today, a twelve-year-old female might be married and starting her own family.

Why do we all think of twelve-year-old Addie as being a child?  I wouldn’t argue against her being a child; at this point in the story, I desperately want her to have a secure home and a strong parent, the most likely candidate being Dwight.  But when is the time when we know a person is truly an adult?  What marks the moment when someone is entirely “grown up” and ready to be independent?

NOT Stupid.

In chapter thirty-five – in the scene where Dwight explains to her that she has a learning disability called dyslexia – I made what is definitely my most personal connection to the book.  I felt so relieved for Addie!  Maybe it sounds kind of funny that I felt relieved for her, but I’ve actually had a very similar experience to Addie’s.  I’m not dyslexic, but I do have a learning disability.

Even since I can remember, it’s been very hard for me to recognize people.  Someone will walk up to me and start talking like we know each other, and I’ll have no idea who that person is.  I usually have to meet someone five or six times at least before I know them on sight.  I don’t forget meeting the person; I just forget what they look like, so the next time I meet them, even if it’s only half an hour later, I don’t know who they are.

This always seemed really weird to me.  I thought I must be the only person in the world that it happened to, and I was embarrassed because no one understood.  Sometimes, even now, I find myself in really awkward situations, and sometimes, people even get angry with me.

The moment of revelation came when I was twenty-two.  My mom saw something on television about prosopagnosia.  She called me right away to tell me about it, and I can’t begin to tell you how excited I was when I realized I wasn’t the only one who had this problem, and it wasn’t my fault, and it didn’t mean I was stupid or not trying hard enough.  It turns out there’s a special place in your brain that is designed specifically to remember people’s faces, like a filing cabinet full of photographs, and in some people’s brains – like mine, for example – there’s no “filing cabinet” there, so nothing ever gets stored.

I hope Dwight will make sure that Addie hears more about dyslexia, so that she can really understand what it is and what it means for her.  It’s especially important that she knows she is not stupid, because dyslexia has nothing to do with being or not being smart.  Also, the more Addie knows about dyslexia, the more she can use the strategies that help, like her notecards to “hold the words still” and skipping lines as she writes.

(I know I use a lot of coping strategies.  For example, when I only have to remember someone for a little while, I try to memorize what they’re wearing.  Sometimes, if I’m learning a lot of people very fast, I can do it by where they’re sitting or by how tall they are.  Eventually, I get to know people’s posture and movement and way of speaking, and that’s enough that I can always recognize them after that – but it takes me several meetings to absorb those things!)

Learning disabilities are quite common.  Think about how complex our brains are!  It’s no wonder they occasionally malfunction.  I’ve learned that as much as 2% of the population may be prosopagnosic, and dyslexia is even more common – around 5%!

Do you have a learning disability, or do you know anyone who does?  Do you think you can tell just by hanging out with a person?  One of my problems is that people occasionally get so frustrated me for not recognizing them that they don’t even want to let me explain.  I wish more people knew what “prosopagnosic” means!  Have you had any experiences with learning to use “coping strategies” – ways of managing to do something when, for some reason, you’re not able to do it in the same way that most people do?

Gifts . . . and Responsibility

Happy New Year, everyone!  I hope all of you had a wonderful holiday season – I did! – and I also hope we haven’t all forgotten where we left off.

This evening, I find I’m thinking about Addie and her flute.  I can understand entirely why Addie chooses to return the flute to her old school, and I can definitely understand why she runs away from the concert.  What’s harder for me to grasp is why she turns down Ms. Rivera’s offer for a new flute, especially when Ms. Rivera is being so understanding.

Here’s what Addie has to say on the subject (at the beginning of chapter thirty-two):

“You know what, Ms. Rivera?  I appreciate [the offer].  I really do.  And I’d like to play the flute again someday.  But to tell you the truth, it’s been like a huge weight off my back ever since I returned that instrument.  I . . . I can’t be responsible.  I don’t want another school flute.  Really, I don’t.”

This passage puzzled me at first because Addie seems like the kind of person who has a reasonable amount of self-confidence, despite the fact that a lot has gone wrong in her life.  Also, she says she “can’t be responsible,” but I think the rest of the book shows us that Addie is an exceptionally responsible kid.

I wonder if the answer to this might be in the very next passage.  Addie’s on her way home with Helena, and a fireman dressed as Santa Claus offers her a box of chocolate.  In the narration, Addie says:

“I hesitated.  It’s a gift, I told myself.“

Then she goes ahead and takes the chocolate, with a “thank you.”

So, here’s what I’m wondering . . . and it’s honest wondering, not English-teacher-wondering, where I pretend not to know the answer but I really do.  Why do you think Addie hesitates to take the chocolate?  Do you think it’s connected to her turning down the flute?  Why do you think Leslie Connor put these two incidents together in the story?  And why would Addie say that she “can’t be responsible”?  Do you think that’s a true thing for her to say?