A few years ago I received a call from a mother of a Legasthenic boy who was failing Spanish in high school. It was his first year with Spanish.
Although years ago I remember the day I met him very well.
The boy was holding his failed Schularbeit in his hand, about to burst into tears, almost crying, saying that his teacher had told him that he would “never learn Spanish”.
“Very pedagogical,” I thought to myself, and said, “We’ll see about that.”
Yes, he obviously had problems with writing and would have to work harder than others to write correctly because of his legastenia but what I told him was that in oral comprehension he was fabulous and that “fixing” the rest was easier. So began our relationship, little by little he brought more people from his class and in the end we formed a small group of teenagers who would arrive at the academy at least two hours before their class time, sit in a classroom, do their homework, play memory games in Spanish on the digital boards, eat something and water the plants, by the way.
This year we said goodbye to this group. They have finished and have all passed with grades between 2 and 3. One of them has even taken the Matura and got a 2.
From now on we will only see each other from time to time, at a picnic, or maybe at the Spanish cinema, but the memory of the group and the pride in the result remains.