However, being a dyslexic Marine does have its drawbacks, too. This story is a humorous, adventurous, and emotional account of my experiences as a Marine. But, it also tells what happens when things are not so honorable. I talk about being pulled from basic training, and shipped to the dark side of Parris Island, a place no Marine talks about.
I talk of my horrible family tragedy, and the effect it had on me and the ones I loved. You'll read what it's really like to travel around the world on a Navy ship, seeing ports of call. The story is nothing like one told before. I tell of my accomplishments as a Marine, and also write of my long list of criminal activity. I wrote about the criminal underworld of the Marines, a few good criminals, but most were not that good.
I talk about the thieves, loan sharks, and drug dealers living among us at our barracks and on the open seas. I told of stories about drinking, drugging, and fighting. I spoke of many honorable Marines and some pretty despicable characters. The interviewer asked, "Where can readers find more information about this book or perhaps purchase it?
The author Richard "Dick" W. Kraemer said, "I'm glad you asked that! Both books are available in paperback and E-book versions. Fight not just for the Americans with Disabilities Act, and all the myriad things it entails, but for something better. Fight for a world in which having wheelchair ramps and functional elevators feels like a total duh obvs moment.
Fight for a world where our assistive technologies are understood and accepted. Fight for a world that includes all of us. We have always been here, and we deserve a world that sees us as human, and allows us the same rights to participate as anyone else.
Dick Smith (entrepreneur) - Wikipedia
It celebrates representations of disability in kidlit, and its winners and honor books deserve to be read and celebrated, everywhere. And the seal is just gorgeous. In early May, however, I completed my first full academic year as a full-time academic librarian and liaison to like half the school , and, as anyone in academe knows, the academic year is really the way we measure the world.
Panic sucks. It is nice not to have quite so much of it relating to my job. The worst is a bit more multifaceted. One facet is simple: librarianship is half job, half calling—and that latter part can make it rife for underpaid, misunderstood, undervalued labor. But here we are, in our world rife with exploitation of labor, particularly that of women and of men of color. This year, for the first time, I spent like a bazillion extra dollars on blue light filters for my glasses. Maybe it was a moment of blatant and unfamiliar optimism? But whatever it was, I was wrong. I wrote about it back in February, and hoped it would get better.
I was wrong there, too. I thought I had this under control, I thought I could deal with living with no accommodations; I thought I knew what I was doing. Similarly, I live now. There are even, occasionally, people whose minds are similar to mine in the books I pick up. I no longer have panic attacks before an instruction session. Toxic workplaces can take a hell of a toll. I have a chance to work with students striving for something better, and help them learn to locate and work with data and information—and how to assess their sources and read responsibly, which will never be a fait accompli but rather a work in progress.
When I write about my childhood literacies which were usually a lot stronger in visual areas than in print ones, since I was functionally illiterate for a long time , I generally talk about Shakespeare: what his words meant and mean to me, what it was like learning to read on the index to our copy of the Complete Works , and then on Much Ado About Nothing. A rough equivalent here in Illinois would be the Caudill , except we also have the Monarch , the Bluestem , and—of course—the Lincoln.
Oh, and Creepy Pair of Underwear! My mother, an excellent driver presumably since she first picked up keys, drove her all over the state of Wisconsin for her research. My grandmother was a very sweet woman, and one who identified my learning disability when I was a toddler, giving my mother advanced warning and, thus, extra time—but, for all her sweetness and love, the polar opposite, as it were, of my paternal grandmother, hard and angry, whose stories centered around blood and vengeance, my maternal grandmother casts a long shadow. It is, perforce, the perfect time to reflect on some of what literature written for young people meant and means to me.
Maud Hart Lovelace , born in Mankato, Minnesota, wrote an incredible series of books known today as the Betsy-Tacy books. I wanted to be like Julia Ray, suave and a heart-breaker, but I probably fell a lot closer to Emily. We Need Diverse Books to fight for representative books for our young folks. I want other kids—other adults —to see themselves on their pages, to know that they are known, and seen, and celebrated.
I want those simple joys which are, I guess, not simple at all.
Richard and Judy Introduce The Butterfly Room by Lucinda Riley
Shakespeare and the writers of the early modern catapulted me into my teen years and then my life as an adult: they are, I think, the mark of Caitlin as a woman, more than the piles of Haymarket books or the depressing sociologies and histories and gender studies. Oscar Wilde was right, I guess. My mother read aloud to me, endlessly, diligently, despite whatever despair she must have felt at my equally endless illiteracy: now, despite my own occasional stumbles with literacy, I love reading aloud to others.
Poetry is best, I think, but picture books are also wonderful.
She read Bunnicula , which is now turning 40 : I loved it! Chester was a maniac genius! Jane-Emily , on the other hand, scared the hell out of me.source url
Paddling One of the Most Hazardous, Remote Rivers in the World
Ghost stories get me. I went to Boston once!
And I picked a lot of blueberries , but I never saw any damn bears there! Picture books and a lot of early readers, like Meet Yasmin! I love sharing them so much that pretty much every friend of mine who has a child is guaranteed a shipment of carefully selected representative books, including one or two to grow on. Read them to yourself—they are beautiful things, and sometimes very funny—and share them with a small person, if you have any handy.
Enjoy the young adult novels, where so much is happening; check out the middle grade, also happening. I think I do pretty well, most of the time, as a severely dyslexic adult hiding in plain sight without the paperwork that could get me accommodations. I managed pretty well in college, although it took me longer to get through than it takes most. I also graduated with a 4. I made it, without accommodations, without sleep, unknown and unseen even in a group.
I made it. I thought that was a very real possibility when I was reading pages a day for my exams, but, I mean, I passed! I guess I thought that working would be, you know, better. I was—obvs, I guess—wrong. But I sure do. I mean, do I even have to worry about that? I really have no clue. Is this the point at which I finally go for testing again to see if I can get accommodations? At first, I assumed that I was bollocksing up my words because I was tired, or stressed, or something.
It flavors every word I write and every character I forge. It reminds me to pick and choose my words with great care , so I can better advocate for others and so I can, in a pinch, hide myself. I am still rather bad at accommodating myself, and still good at advocating for others —and, for all I know, this is really about my need to advocate for myself, which is not really a thing I know how to do.
Related Dyslexic Dick: True Adventures of My World
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