My family and I never talked about school as the ticket to a future. I was in the classrooms, but I wasn't there to learn to write, read or even speak. When it was my turn to read, I wanted to hide. I was 13 years old, but I already hated being who I was.
I had an English teacher, Mr. Creech, who knew I couldn't read. In one of my first lessons the teacher said that anyone who had a reading age below six had to stand up. I felt so embarrassed. But at the same time, it made me realize that I needed to change the situation. I was determined it wouldn't happen again. Later that day, Mr. Creech encouraged me and promised he would try his best to help me learn to read. From then on, I never gave up practicing reading.
Then when I was 41 years old, one day, I planned to fly back to Texas to visit my friends and family. On my way from the airport, I saw Mr. Creech buying himself a drink. I rushed over and reached into my pocket to pay for him. "Do I know you?" he asked. "Yes, sir, you do know me," I answered excitedly. "My name is Anthony Hamilton. You taught me English." The look on his face told me that he remembered the boy he'd once encouraged.
"I'm so glad I had a chance to see you," I said. "And Mr. Creech, I have great news to share." I told him I had learned to read. But that wasn't all. I had become a published author and an active speaker. "The next time you get another Anthony Hamilton in your classroom, please encourage him to read as well," I added.
The experts say what once worried me has a name: dyslexia (诵读困难症). But I can tell you it was a lack of desire for education.
