Peace Easy

This short story is written as a memorial to our grandson Holden Yates, who was in a fatal auto accident at the age of sixteen, Sunday, 18 April, 2004.  Holden was a very special member of our family and had been diagnosed with Dyslexia and Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD).  On numerous nights, I watched my wife
Donna, who was an outstanding high school, chemistry, physics, and biology teacher, work with Holden who tried his hardest to learn his lessons and do his homework.  I had a complete understanding of what Holden was going through and so often I wanted to hug him and tell him not to get discouraged and not to give up.  He may have felt discouragement on several occasions,  but not once did he ever give up.
     I feel that ADD was also a problem for me in my younger years although the condition did not receive much attention in the late 1940’s and 50’s.  It would be my guess that most teachers were not aware of these conditions, and I was looked upon as just a “slow learner” or one of those who was not very smart.  The purpose of this manuscript is not to bring attention to Holden and me but to help those youngsters who are ADD, and to help those parents and grandparents as they struggle in their efforts to help their children and grandchildren learn.  Additionally, it may be of some benefit to teachers who have problems working with their “slow learners”.  You know the ones who are just not able to pay close attention, who often day dream, have difficulty spelling, adding, subtracting, dividing, and ever so often disturb your class and interfere with other students who have the capability to learn at a faster rate.  And, I guess administrators should not be left out since they often have to solve/manage problems of discipline with some of these students.
     I assume, for the most part, the general public does not notice this type of person.  Often the ADD, Dyslexic individual just blends in and hopes he/she will not attract too much attention and the secret is not revealed.  In my opinion it is something like being a member of a private club, and you are the only member.
     It is also my desire to pay tribute to Holden who was always upbeat, happy, and more than willing to help others along the way.  He was never argumentative or disagreeable, and if people were about to have a confrontation he tried to head it off.  He was often heard to say “Peace easy” in his attempt to neutralize an argument.  There is a memorial on the front lawn of his high school that has his name, dates, and “Peace Easy” inscribed on its face.  God bless you Holden, this is for you.
     And, to all those ADD, Dyslexic people out there, please allow me to advise you not to give up.  You have a place, a purpose, and you do have a gift or gifts, that will be of much use to others.  Keep it simple, pay attention, and never give up.  Peace Easy.
  Grammar School
Believe me when I say I know what it is like to feel you have no place to fit.  I am without a niche and often feel I do not belong or maybe not even wanted.  I listen, but I just do not understand.  It seemed that I could not hear fast enough.  I know that sounds odd, but that was the feeling.  What was that word she said?  I wish they would not talk so fast.  I can hear, but I am not able to understand.  I learned later in life that I did not, and still do not, hear syllables very well.  Also, when several people are talking, I don’t understand anybody.  When my wife and I were dating and we would go to a movie, she usually spent much of the time telling me what was being said.  I could hear the words, but could not understand them.  I remember wondering how was it I could hear a duck quack in the distance, or hear the splash of a fish jumping in the bayou but not hear and understand what was being said in a movie.
     In the first grade I was able to read, but much too slowly.  Often I was asked to sit at another table and try to read at that table, by myself or with the student teacher.  The first grade room was large with high ceilings and tall windows.  I don’t remember very much about the first grade except it was not much fun when reading period came around and I was asked to read out loud.  I loved my first grade teacher who was a very kind and gentle lady, and I know she did all she possible could to help me learn.
     By the time I reached the third grade I began to realize that something was wrong with my ability to learn.  The third grade was probably when I began to know that school was going to be difficult for me.  I feel sure my parents were greatly concerned with my poor grades and my inability to master books.  And, I am sure the teachers were looking at me and wondering how James White would ever get a formal education.  
    By the eighth grade I think it became obvious to all the teachers that James White was at the bottom of his class.  I was one of the few who had to attend summer school in the afternoons.  I do not remember any other of my classmates who had to do that, although I am sure there were a few others.  It seemed to be a most difficult time for me.  My arithmetic skills were virtually zero.  I remember the large arithmetic book with all the lessons and in the front a bar graph that illustrated how well the student did with each lesson.  A bar that went to the top indicated a perfect score for that lesson.  It was all I could do to get my bars a third of the way up.  I remember how embarrassed it made me feel to open the book to that page.  Every effort was made in order to hide it from fellow classmates.
     But, I must admit not one single classmate or teacher ever made me feel dumb or that I did not belong.  Those feelings I gave to myself.  Nobody ever teased me about how slow I was at learning.  I can remember thinking how smart all the girls were and for many years thought that all girls were smarter than all boys.  And, I remember wondering how was it that many of my buddies could do math and spell and read at a rapid rate.
     I guess the best part of my grammar school days was recess.  I can still hear the bell ring for all of us to return to class.  The boys often played a game called “hat ball” which was as much fun as baseball, football, or soccer.  Each boy would dig a hole big enough for a tennis ball to fall into.  Then we would all stand in a circle around the holes while a fellow player would roll the ball toward the holes.  If the ball ended up in your hole all the players would scatter while you retrieved the ball and chased somebody down and hit him with the ball.  If you missed, then a peg of wood was placed in your hole.