“Morning, son. Let’s go.” I picked him up out of bed and led him by the hand down the stairs, reminding him to keep his voice down so his mother and sister could still sleep. The lights in the den sprang on once we entered the room.
“Whoa!” Kyle exclaimed.
I looked around at the walls.
“What happened?” he questioned, confused.
“I made some changes.” During the night, I’d done some work in my office, researching techniques on helping young children with dyslexia. I printed out tons of charts and graphs that had phonetic alphabet on them, basic words, and more. After laminating the charts, I did some rearranging of the gym equipment, clearing a space to hang the charts on the wall, creating a small reading nook, complete with a child-sized table and chair.
“This is for you,” I explained.
Kyle’s face scrunched up. “I don’t like reading, Daddy.”
I squatted low next to him and turned him to face me. “I know. I hated reading when I was your age.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “It was hard. I got made fun of a lot so I stopped even trying for a long time. Got into lots of trouble at school, beating up kids, yelling at teachers.”
“You yelled at your teacher?” His eyebrows rose high.
“I did. All because I didn’t want them to make fun of me.”
“You still don’t know how to read?”
“I know how to read today. When I was eight, I came to live with your grandma and grandpa Townsend. They took me to some special people who told me the problem wasn’t that I was stupid but I had a learning disability. They promised me that if I worked really hard, I could learn to read like everybody else.”
“Did you do it?”
“Yup. I still have trouble sometimes but I’m a much better reader.” I sighed, feeling a relief having explained all of this to my son. I never wanted him to feel like I had as a child. To that day, only a handful of people in the world knew about my dyslexia. I’d thought I’d moved past the shame my father had drilled into me as a kid but not until Patience told me about Kyle’s condition did I understand that I still carried some of it with me.
“You think I can learn to read, Daddy?” Kyle looked from the wall to me, turning those hazel eyes that were the spitting image of my own on me. “Like Kennedy and Mommy?”
“Not only can you, but you will because I’m going to help you. You’re a Townsend. We don’t give up…on anything.” I held his chin in my hand to keep his gaze on me. “Understood?”
He nodded.
“Good. Let’s start with a workout.” I had Kyle assist me in a series of exercises. Some of them were designed to help stabilize and strengthen the core. Those I had him do along side of me. I’d learned years prior that strange as it may sound, a strong core was great for balance and coordination, which aided eye muscles to work in sync. That was important for tracking, or reading in a much more fluid manner. I’d never shared that one of the reasons I was so rigorous about my daily workouts was to assist in my overall reading ability, among other things.
After the workout, Kyle and I moved to the area that I’d set up for him. We began with the basics, starting at the alphabet and identifying each letter and their sounds. I lost track of time until Patience came down stairs and saw us in the middle of me reading out loud to Kyle. The expression on her face alone was worth every lost minute of sleep the previous night.
Chapter Eighteen
Patience
If it’s not one thing, it’s another.Those were my exact thoughts as I rushed out of the park where I’d gone for a stroll during lunch. Unfortunately, I was already on edge, having had that creepy feeling that I was being watched. As I was scouring my surroundings, but finding no one even paying me any attention, my phone rang. It was my father, I thought. But nope. It was his friend, Wilhelmina, again. My father had had another heart attack.
“Daniel, I need to get to Williamsport General,” I told my driver over the phone, again hating that I didn’t have my own car for times like this. While waiting for Daniel, I went in and told Moira of the issue with my father and that I needed to leave. She insisted that I go. On the way to the hospital, I checked the time and realized I had a few hours before the kids were out of school. Maybe I would know what was going on by then.
I raced through the hospital doors, grabbing the first nurse I could find to tell me about my father’s condition. She wasn’t much help but she did lead me to where Wilhemina was.
“Wilhelmina,” I stated, getting her attention. I stopped short when I saw the tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Patience.” She lunged at me, pulling me in for a hug. “He’s not doing well.”
I pulled back, shaking my head, confused. “How can that be? I just saw him this weekend. He was doing well, laughing and playing with the kids.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The doctors aren’t saying anything except that it happens sometimes. But go in, he’s been asking for you.” She pushed me toward the closed, wooden door of the hospital room.
