My most significant educational experience came years after I’d left my formal schooling. It wasn’t until my own children were school aged that I learned the most significant fact about my own career as a student: I was a ‘learning disabled’ kid. As an early reader and an articulate child, my parents expected that school would be no trouble for me. And, for the first few years, things went smoothly. My grades were good and, except for math, I had no real difficulties. I made up for social awkwardness by seeking out the company of adults, who were impressed by my vocabulary and more disposed to adjust to my quirks than were my peers. In middle school, however, I began to have difficulty staying organized and managing my time. My desk was a mess, prompting one teacher to dump it on the floor in front of the class as an object lesson. My handwriting was atrocious and my performance was uneven. Math got worse and worse with every year. My teachers bemoaned my unmet potential and my parents despaired of my lack of academic discipline. They all made it seem like a simple matter of applying myself and ‘getting on with it.’ Throughout