No wonder my mother always mispronounced the word loins for lions. It tickled me, I did pick at her, corrected her dyslexia. My mother was clearly dyslexic! She never knew, could never identify the left from the right. I always laughed at her. She didn't seem to mind.
I too am dyslexic. I remember my "white" teacher being very patient with me, showing me over and over, demonstrating how to turn my letters around. For years I wrote my name with the G facing backwards.
I am blessed that no one slammed my head in a wall or called me names like my mother did when she claimed to be teaching me to tell time.
There is one thing that I know I will never understand. How did my mother derive so much joy and pleasure from inflicting so much excruciating pain in secret? Was she angry, insane with self-loathing and hatred to be found with flaws, because she was not perfect, because she was secretly bi-polar, because she could not control her "nature"? because she was confused and conflicted but demanded to be in charge? Did Martha ever hate or regret such an evil life?
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