Tag Archives: adult learning

From The Sublime to the Ridiculous

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

This blog post is brought to you courtesy of 2 iPads, an iPhone and 2 add-on keyboards.

Well, where do I start? Possibly with my so called support worker blaspheming about the 2nd keyboard I’ve dug out of my bag this morning. Yes, that’s right folks I have 2 of them! My trusty iPad 2 3G state of the art about 4.5 years ago, recently joined by the iPad Mini, (mostly because it has Siri, Apple’s voice recognition software that is built into the iPad’s operating system) aimed to reduce my reliance on fellow human beings. This is all very well in theory, until you find yourself in a technological void and the batteries have gone in the 1st of your ‘qwerty’ keyboards. Such is my life. Parts of each appliance works, but no singular tool will complete a task for me.

This situation prompted several memories of similar technological faux pas. Some months ago I attended the British Sociological Association’s (BSA) annual conference in the lovely surroundings of Glasgow Caledonian University. This involved a mammoth train journey, the usual pre-booking of assistance a week in advance and the finding of an accessible hotel room, all of which was going swimmingly until I found my way to the taxi rank. A very pleasant man asked if I could get out of my chair and into his taxi, to which I responded, “No, I need the ramp.” It is worth pointing out here that there was a beautiful fleet of white hackney carriages, relative bliss compared to where I live. The man dutifully got out with a perplexed look on his face brandishing a large key to open up the floor to unfold the ramp. He had never done this before and I was developing a sense of impending doom as he couldn’t do it now.

The ramp made an unhealthy, creaking noise sounding rather like a badly worn, octogenarian hip joint. The result had a definite contracture in the middle of it that should not have been there. The whole car looked as supple as me on a good day. He was able to manhandle me up this undulating ramp into the back of his vehicle, then came the need to fold the ramp back up into the floor. Well that just was not happening. I suggested he wedged of the 3 sections against my wheel, so he could shut his door and take me to my destination. Having got in there, I was not about to give up.

We did this and I arrived at my hotel in 1 piece. He unloaded me in the same, ungainly manner and I left him to the problem of folding his ramp back up into 3 and into the floor. I was sitting in the hotel reception, when I heard banging followed by a string of expletives. Rather embarrassed, I said to the receptionist and queue at large, “Terribly sorry, I seem to have broken his car.”

However, this was all nothing compared to what I had to do to get into my support worker’s grass-green, 3 door, Vauxhall Corsa. To embark on a journey in this vehicle I would stand, bodily hanging over the passenger door whilst my colleague folded my chair and slotted it behind the seats, I would then sit in the seat, bring my knees up to my chest, while my support worker lifted my feet into the car (sometimes having to force the issue a little). Once the seatbelt was on, I was comfortably situated with my knees rammed against the dashboard and my nose practically on the windscreen. On reaching our destination, the above description was applied in reverse. This was done on a weekly basis for around 4 years; ‘needs must when the devil drives’ and drive me he did! In fact, I think this qualified as suffering for one’s art.

I got into my university library this week in the most unique manner possible. There is something about universities where, at the end of term, they become building sites. At least ours does anyway. Every year around this time I begin to get a feeling of dread; my well-practiced routines will inevitably be disrupted by this maintenance work. This time my usual place of study is being renovated to become a teaching area, gone are the comfy sofas, coffee lounge and TV with rolling news. For years my only access to the news as it happened was in this coffee lounge. I have had to find a new haunt.

There are tables and a reading area in the library itself, no cups of tea and cake, but you can’t have everything. Disaster struck this week when I arrived to find a group of workmen busily digging up the tarmac and roping off my usual entrance with tape. Ever intrepid I found the side door and made my way to the lift that allows you to access the main counter; I found it, presenting in the 1st floor position i.e. above my head, with the buttons flashing different coloured lights. I have to say, more in hope than expectation, I depressed the button that should make the lift descend, no response. I prodded a few other buttons just for good measure, then asked a passing member of staff what to do. “Does it have a plug you can turn on and off?” I asked, thinking of the many times my digital TV box had done a similar thing. We found a switch, but nothing seemed to change except perhaps the noise it was making became subtlely different. Ever helpful n the face of my adversity, a staff member went to ring the maintenance department, apparently to turn it on and off required a special key. I sloped off for a cup of tea while he and the key were found and put to use.

Anyway as I said at the beginning, this post may have taken 5 appliances to produce along with a good old dollop of ingenuity, but we got there in the end. What can I say? The world loves a trier. We just have to make this thing go live now, see you in a day or two.

Dyslexic, Uncovered

Last week I attended the Annual Conference of The British Socological Assocation (BSA), an event that brings together individuals from all areas of sociology. This proved to be a time of reflection upon my own journey to becoming a sociologist and the issues and barriers facing others that find themselves in a similar situation to me.

It has now been some ten years since I graduated with my degree in Crime Deviance and Society and ten years since I gained my Masters in Social and Cultural Theory, things could have been very different. I was never considered to be particularly academic as a child. I was the one who sat at the back of the class with a vacant expression. Well, I must have looked vacant anyway as I spent my formative years being told off for daydreaming.

Many of my regular followers know my background but here is a quick refresh or introduction for those of you new to my e-world. I have Cerebral Palsy, use a wheelchair and went to special school from which I made my escape aged 16 with no qualifications to speak of. I enrolled in a mainstream college and was diagnosed with dyslexia at 18. University followed. I am passionate about education, for me it is both the gift of, and key to, personal development and social stability. I often get accused of being more than a little obsessed with the education topic, such that when two close friends announced they were pregnant I was plotting their due date against the English academic calendar.

I am an August birthday, us summer-borns are something of a scourge on the educational landscape. My teacher friends tell me that “you really don’t want a class full kids like you.” We are you might say on the back foot academically speaking, invariably not quite ready for the work we are doing. We are the cake that would have been so much better with another five minutes in the oven. If you add dyslexia to the equasion, you can really feel up against it.

These days we are used to the ideas of inclusion and disability awareness. Last week I even came past my local primary school and noticed the school sign had a wheelchair using child prominently displayed. It has become the norm, no big deal, to have a child who uses a wheelchair or a walking frame in mainstream school and there would be an outcry if adjustments were not made to accommodate their obviously differing needs, and rightly so.

However, there is one disability that, even in the inclusive atmosphere we see today, often continues to go unrecognised and therefore unsupported. Dyslexia is a condition that has been subject to a great deal of misconception and is much of the time on the margins of educational discourse. We see periodic surges of interest in the condition, debates over causes and even whether it exists at all. Dyslexia is all too often discussed only in the context of academic learning and something that is only relevant to childhood, a problem that disappears with the end of compulsory education.

So what is it like to be dyslexic? In what ways does it affect the individual? It is something that is different for each person. Every dyslexic I have met has their own, sometimes seemingly unique, problem areas. Many have some amazing strengths as well.

When I was a child dyslexia felt like being in my own world. It always felt like I was missing something that was obvious to everyone else. At my best as a child I felt like I was 30 seconds behind the others in the room. In school, classroom activities are structured around how the majority learn. This can lead to the classroom becoming a very bewildering place for dyslexic people. In my life I have seen very intelligent people who are disinterested in learning, have little self worth and feel like they have nothing to offer, purely because the current system at its best puts some of those in it at a disadvantage, and at its worst condemns them to fail from the outset.

Of the multiple diagnoses I have I find physical disability frustrating, depression frightening and dyslexia embarrassing and loaded with social stigma. If I had the choice to remove one of my disabilities dyslexia would be the one I would choose without a second thought. There are some I know that think having dyslexia is a gift giving them creative flair and problem solving skills. For me it was like being in a cage. Before the dyslexic label was applied to me and I got appropriate help I used to think I would die in my own mind. In my more wry moments I have thought that my being dyslexic is living proof that God has a sense of irony. Writing is the one thing I am good at, but I need help to do it. I was having a bad time in hospital a few years ago that resulted in my having a long-term urinary catheter. While it was being fitted, something I had resisted for years, I remarked to the consultant, that if I were to find myself in hell for me it would not be fire or ice I would just be catheterised while simultaneously being made to play scrabble.

Dyslexia with the correct support does not have to be a barrier to achievement. It is not all that you are. Whether you are diagnosed as a child or as an adult, there is help available and improvements can be made at any age. However to enable this, dyslexia has to be recognised as something that affects people across the board, making it not just an issue for educators but one for other walks of life too.