Dyscalculia

Dyscalculia 

As I get older, I find myself getting lost more often—lost in the mall, lost while driving, and sometimes, lost in life. That last aspect is worth exploring in a separate piece because it's quite significant. The truth is, I don’t like being lost; it makes me feel foolish. 

By the way, there’s a term for people who frequently get lost: Dyscalculia. I love that word. First of all, you know it’s a disorder because of the prefix "dys." "Dys" is never a label someone would willingly claim for themselves. There are too many negative words in that category: disturbed, disliked, distinction, disease, disgusting. Discovering you have a "dys" is rarely a good thing. 

Then, the second part of the word, "calculia," sounds too much like calculus, which was a major disappointment for me in high school. 

Speaking of high school, there’s a story I want to share. One day, when I was a freshman, my friend John and I took a bus downtown after school. We were set to meet his father in his high-rise office. Everything went as planned until it was time to leave. John told me he would stay with his father, while I could go home.

I was fine with that until I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the high-rise. Suddenly, everything felt unfamiliar. I remembered we took a bus from school to get there, but which bus do I need to take to get home? I let three buses pass by because I didn’t recognize the street names posted on the front. Then I thought, I live in the ghetto, just outside of downtown—how far could it be? That’s a good question if you knew which direction to head in. I was surrounded by skyscrapers that all looked the same, so I began walking—no sense of direction, just aimlessly wandering.

I felt like I was making progress until I spotted the Renaissance Center by the Detroit River. Unfortunately, I realized I had been walking in the wrong direction. But then, land ho! I found Woodward Street. I knew Woodward ran right past my house, so with a sense of relief, I waited at the bus stop. Disaster averted!

When the bus finally arrived, I boarded and paid my fare. Hallelujah, I was on my way! The only problem was that the bus was full, and there were no seats available. After being instructed to move to the back, I found a handle to hold on to and stood. Standing, after everything I had gone through, felt like a luxury. As long as I was heading home, I was content—trying not to eye anyone suspicious, though they all seemed suspicious to me.

Then, I accidentally locked eyes with a man who looked like he had just been paroled from prison. Just as I looked away, I heard him say, “Do you want to have relations?” (But not in those exact words.) I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt regarding a possible mispronunciation, but he repeated it. Well, I wasn’t about to ignore the request from my imaginary serial killer, so I looked at him sincerely and said, “No, thank you.” Fortunately, he took the hint and wandered to another part of the bus, probably searching for another willing participant.

You can’t imagine how relieved I felt when I started seeing signs of my neighborhood. The first one I spotted was a Big Boy restaurant, just a mile from my house, and I promptly exited the bus. The remainder of the walk went smoothly. 

What an experience, all because of my Dyscalculia! 

Looking back, that whole experience taught me something about myself. Dyscalculia may mess with my ability to find my way around, but it doesn’t break me. I can get lost, even spectacularly so, but I always find my way back—eventually. And, sometimes, with a story worth telling.