My son Carson has a dragon. He likely inherited his dragon from me, and there’s a good chance I inherited my dragon from my father.
We each carry scars from our battles with our dragons, but more remarkably, we carry our stories, especially our inability to defeat our dragons, as banners rather than shame.
My wife and I had to go meet with counselors at Carson’s high school this week. He’s a freshmen, attending a new school in a different state for the fifth time in his academic life.
Carson’s ability to reason, his affability and an enviable dose of empathy caused his early teachers to miss his dragon completely.
He wasn’t diagnosed until a specialized test caught the discrepancy between his reading comprehension and math scores in Alaska. Continue reading A dragon of our own