Evoking Some Hope

Bryan Lewis just sort of shrugs off his lifelong troubles with literacy skills. From Bryan's perspective, his learning disability is no more or less important than other traits that characterize him—his brown skin, his tall frame, his long hair, which he sometimes twists, strand-by-strand, into a dramatic mane. No more significant than his artistry with pencils and brushes—the way he sketches objects that pop off the page with 3-D realism or paints bold abstracts with unflinching colors. Or his steady gaze as he speaks of things that matter in a tone of quiet surety.

"The disability doesn't play much of a role in my life," the Cleveland High School junior class co-president says matter-of-factly. "I've kind of surpassed it. It's not something I think about."

To look at the nine-page résumé of Bryan's school and community accomplishments, you'd never guess that anything was amiss. From the Portland Public Schools arts magnets he attended in elementary and middle school, he went on to tackle one of the district's most demanding high school programs—the international baccalaureate. And, following a family tradition of activism, he has dived deeply into local social and political causes. Nearly every night of the week, he wedges some kind of civic meeting into his schedule. He's on the coordinating committee for the Multnomah County Youth Commission and on the steering committee for the county's Take the Time youth-enhancement project funded by the Commission on Children, Families, and Communities. He volunteers for the Portland Art Museum and writes for The Oregonian newspaper through its Minority High School Journalism Program. In 2001, when the city named Bryan "Youth Volunteer of the Year," the mayor herself was on hand to present him with the prestigious Spirit of Portland award. In response, The Skanner, a respected newspaper serving Portland's minority community, ran a big, front-page photo of Bryan posed in front of City Hall: The headline read "Local Hero."

Despite a struggle with language skills that led to a second-grade placement in special ed, Bryan managed to escape the emotional trauma and self-esteem pummeling that so many LD kids experience. The little boy was inoculated, it seems, by a solid pyramid of support. At the base of the pyramid were his mom Juanita and his dad Mark—Willamette University graduates who fell in love in grammar school and have been in love ever since. Mark—a teacher at Portland's Ockley Green Middle School—and Juanita—a tireless school advocate and volunteer who serves on the district's Special Education Advisory Council—insisted from Day One that being LD was only a small bump in the road, not a barrier. They made sure Bryan got appropriate accommodations—more time for assignments, a quiet space apart for high-stakes tests, small-group remediation once a day. They joined the Reversals support group at Lewis & Clark College (for more on Reversals, see the sidebar below). Perhaps most significantly, they taught Bryan to advocate for himself—to speak up, to make sure he was clear on assignments, to seek out help when he needed it. Says Juanita: "The disability has made him stronger, given him the confidence to say, 'This is how I am.' I have said to him many times over the years, 'Your brain takes in information differently and processes it differently. It has nothing to do with your intelligence or your abilities.'"

The arts magnet schools he attended—Buckman Elementary School and DaVinci Middle School—were ideal places for nurturing a gangly, gentle, creative kid whose inner drum beat out a unique cadence. "Buckman promoted individuality," says Juanita, who has been clearing away the last of the Christmas trim in the family's cozy Portland home on a drizzly January afternoon. "It was OK to be as you are. Because of the nature of the arts-infused curriculum—music, dance, drama, and art—those students felt very comfortable with each other and they felt very comfortable to take risks with each other. And they had wonderful, loving teachers."

The special ed teachers, in particular, have been standouts in Juanita's estimation. "Bryan has been very fortunate since second grade to have outstanding special ed teachers—teachers who are wonderful human beings that bring strong values and work ethic and love for children to their jobs," Juanita says.

Whether from nature or nurture, at Bryan's center rests a calm core of unshakable confidence. Being learning disabled causes him no shame. His current special ed teacher, whom he sees once a week for consultation, recently told Juanita that when her other students pass her in the hall, they look uncomfortable and avoid her gaze. "They don't want their friends to know they're receiving services," Juanita relates. Bryan, on the other hand, "never flinches" when she approaches him, always greeting her cordially. He treats her as a partner, not a pariah.

You can do whatever you want, be whatever you want, even with this learning disability.

Recently, Bryan shared his views and experiences with Northwest Education. Below are some excerpts from that discussion.

BRYAN LEWIS: We live in the Alameda district, near the ridge. It's a quiet community, pretty peaceful, pretty nonviolent. My younger sister is in the pre-law program at Franklin High School. My dad is a PE and health teacher who spends a lot of time trying to build community, talking about the necessity of education, bringing parents into the school, trying to be a role model and a father figure to the students. My mother focuses mainly on my sister's and my existence. She regularly attends the Reversals support group. It's been a driving force for her to understand what's going on with me and how to overcome stereotypes about students with disabilities and academics and going to college.

LEWIS: Usually, I was goofing around or spacing out. At the beginning, I didn't see a reason for learning. I didn't really pay much attention because I didn't understand that I needed to. When I was paying attention, when I was taking the information in, it was gone the next day.

LEWIS: The paragraphs on the page, the text, didn't really form letters—they formed shapes. They were whatever my imagination made them.

NW: You mean that you experienced the blocks of text as visual patterns on the page, rather than seeing discrete letters and words with meaning?

LEWIS: It was my choice, but my parents supported me in it. I was good at art, and it was fun—pleasing. I felt I was accomplishing something. Art was the one way that I understood to express myself.

LEWIS: They teased me, but it didn't really have anything to do with my concept of myself, with my self-worth. My parents helped me to understand that teasing was just how those kids got out their aggression.

NW: It sounds like you kind of sailed through school without many storms. Does your experience match the experiences of other LD kids you know?

LEWIS: No. They had very different experiences. They have told me very distraught stories. I know many LD kids who are just now, in high school, understanding their self-worth, understanding how they fit into the big picture.

NW: In your early years, you were pulled out of your core classroom once a day for remedial work in a resource room. Do you think that approach was helpful to you?

LEWIS: It took a lot of time out of the class, out of the curriculum, and I think I actually suffered a little because of that. Some would say, 'What's the point of taking a student out of the curriculum to catch them up to it?' I would tend to agree with that.

NW: But you're doing well now. You made the honor roll your first semester in high school. So clearly, you have caught up.

LEWIS: A lot of the catching up that has been done has been done by me. I realized that I'm going to need to take care of myself and provide for myself. There are things I care about, and if I want to do those things, I'll have to get a job and have an income. I'll need an education to do that. So I basically started paying attention.

NW: Why did you choose the international baccalaureate program, knowing that it would be pretty tough?

LEWIS: For the intensity—I knew it would prepare me for college. Initially, there was some skepticism about whether or not I could perform because of my disability. But my first year in high school proved to anyone who doubted that I could certainly do it. My GPA was a 3.7, and I made many friends and contacts. I did what I was called upon to do.

LEWIS: Most of my time is consumed with activism. Sometimes it isn't a lot of fun—long meetings, rallies, organizing, canvassing. But I do it not only because no one else is going to do it, but because it's the right thing. There's a meeting tonight for planning how to rally voters and youth for Measure 28 to try to save the schools. [EDITOR'S NOTE: Oregon Ballot Measure 28, which would have raised income taxes temporarily to address a statewide funding crisis, was defeated by voters in January.]

LEWIS: One of my goals is to start an international activist network, where those who are heavily involved in activism have a place to go and rally with others. It would be a starting point for those who are just becoming enlightened about what's going on in the world of government and politics.

LEWIS: I have standards for where I want to go to college, but I haven't chosen any particular place. I'm looking at Stanford, Evergreen State College, Lewis & Clark, Willamette, and Seattle Pacific. I'm looking for a college that has room for me to grow, room for me to decide what I'm going to do. I'm looking for a true environment, a real environment, and a bustling city with culture and politics.

LEWIS: I really think that if kids understood that you can do whatever you want, be whatever you want, even with this learning disability, it would evoke some hope.

"I've Seen It Work Magic"

When Juanita Lewis found out that her son Bryan's struggles in school stemmed from a learning disability, she discovered a haven of hope in the Reversals parent support group, sponsored by the Oregon branch of the International Dyslexia Association. It was there—through lectures, discussions, and video presentations—that she came to better understand the nature of Bryan's special way of processing information.

"Reversals is very comforting," Juanita Lewis says. "It's wonderful to talk to other parents and get their perspective."

Through the group, she also got to know LD students who have made it to the university despite their learning problems. They gave her heart. She saw that all doors were open for her child's future.

"I knew that at some point along his journey, someone was going to tell him that he's not measuring up—that he can't go to college, that he won't make it," Juanita says. "I've said to myself, 'Thank God for Reversals,' because maybe I'd have believed that."

On Saturday afternoons once a month, the "fearless leaders" (teacher education students from Lewis & Clark College, many of them learning disabled) meet with younger LD kids for age-appropriate activities. At the same time, the group's coordinator Dale Holloway meets with parents to share resources, strategies, and support.

Holloway, Coordinator of Student Support Services at the college, sets out the program's guiding philosophy as follows:

People who learn differently are not in any way "inferior" to others
They are at an advantage when they learn about and accept their learning differences
They benefit when they learn to take responsibility for their own learning
They benefit when they use their unique ways of looking at the world in positive and productive ways

Bryan, now a towering high school junior who stands 6-feet, 5-inches tall, has been involved in Reversals since he was just a little guy. He knows its power firsthand. "I've seen it work magic," he says.

For more information on the Reversals groups, call (503) 228-4455 or 1-800-530-2234, or visit the Welcome to Reversals Web site at www.lclark.edu/~reversal/.

By his example, student Bryan Lewis demonstrates that the sky's the limit for LD kids

"I've Seen It Work Magic"