With all due respect, may I ask you something? Does your child have a learning disability? Would you be willing to bet your child's love of learning on that they don't? This week, in our ongoing series on education and learning, we're going to take a brief look into the nature of "learning disabilities." Including that we all, to some degree, have them. I'll also show you a more accurate way to identify learning disabilities; brain learning paths. Otherwise known as the Four Emergence Decision Trees. Ready for some more fractals?

Will the Normal Learners Please Stand Up
Years ago, I remember seeing a cartoon, an annual meeting for the "children of normal parents." Seated in the auditorium, there were maybe three or four people. Can you picture this? Three or four "children of normal parents." That's it. Three or four.

I expect we'll soon see a similar cartoon for the "parents of normal learning kids."

My point. There are no normal learners. Not even kids with excellent grades are "normal learners." In truth then, we all have our troubles with learning. Kids and parents alike. Not just minor struggles, mind you. Full blown, whale sized, wrestle with the devil struggles. At least, in one or two major subjects.

Of course, most of today's parents did not themselves get diagnosed with a learning disability back when they were in school. And when we hear stories today about mercury and learning disabilities, we cringe with potential regret. Imagine? With "potential" regret. We're guilty even when we're not sure something happened. What a world we live in! We feel guilty for things which may never have occurred.

So can we tell, with certainty, if a kid has a learning disability? And if we all struggle with learning, does this mean learning disabilities are the norm? If so, is there a fractal with which we can clearly identify the nature of these learning disabilities? Something more compassionate than asking a scared little kindergartner five hundred questions?

The good news. As we spoke about in Week 21, there are, indeed, fractals for identifying learning disabilities; the Four Social Priority fractals. Each offers us a detailed and recognizable visual pattern which describes what may distract a child (or an adult). They also show us the approximate time during childhood wherein this learning disability would have occurred. As well pointing us to how we might best reach this child.

This week we'll look at a second group of learning related fractals. I call these fractals, the Four Decision Trees. With them, we get a visual model for the paths children's minds follow when they process data. The four brain learning paths young minds take whenever they try to understand something. Especially something new.

Before we start though, I need to offer you some gentle advice. My advice. Read this column slowly. Why? Because this week's drawing is far more complex than previous drawings. Certainly too complex to be grasped in a casual read. And perhaps too complex to be grasped in several serious reads.

Please know, I am not trying to discourage you here. My intention is merely to help you to get as much out of this week's fractals as you possibly can.

Know too that I am in the same state as you are in here. In other words, it will probably take me years to realize the implications of how these fractals combine. As well as to discover how best use them to help our children.

Why show you this diagram then? Because if you are still reading this, then there is something special inside you. Something our children need. Hope.

I also feel that offering you something new is better than tweaking something old. You know. The "polishing a turd" cliche which so applies to making symptom reduction the primary approach to learning disabilities.

More important, who knows. Some of you may feel so inspired, you may do your own research. God knows our kids could use your help. If so, please remember I welcome your questions. And your input. After all, finding a way to help kids learn is my thing. Remember?

Finally, know there is an up side to the complexity I am presenting here. The up side? If you can find it in you to stay with what you feel, then you'll get to experience, first hand, what many kids feel on a daily basis. You see, most students feel intimidated by complex learning. If this includes you, then know that what you're feeling here could lead you to many aha's. Including that even geniuses struggle to learn.

Have you ever thought about this then? That even geniuses struggle to learn. No? This lack of awareness in even smart folks always amazes me. Especially since all normal births result in baby geniuses.

Perhaps what happens then is that those who grow up to become geniuses are somehow born, not more intelligent, but more stubborn than most. Maybe these kids intuitively do what I've been urging you to do here. Maybe they simply do not give up in the face of complex learning.

If this is true, then where is our genius? I believe this week's fractals hold the clue to our rediscovering it. How? By showing us where in the learning process we get lost. Are you at all curious as to where you yourself get lost? If so, then please stay with me just a bit longer. I promise you'll be amazed at how simple these fractals actually are. Once you learn to recognize them for yourself, that is.

Okay. Big breath now. Ready? Okay.

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Have you ever struggled to understand what a teacher was saying? Have you ever asked them if they could say it in a different way? This week, in our ongoing series on education and learning, we're going to explore yet another aspect of how children learn. As well as another fractal. The one which most affects childrens' ability to learn language. Including how they voice what they learn. Sound intriguing? "It certainly is, Ollie."

Fussy and Fuzzy Ran a Race. Fussy Fell Down and . . .
When I was a boy, girls jumping rope sang things like, "Skinny and fatty ran a race. Skinny fell down and broke his face." And, "Step on a crack. Break your mother's back." Now most of you know I have Asperger's. So can you guess how I interpreted these words?

Of course, me being me, I took these words literally. Can you imagine? Laughing little eight year old girls singing, "break your mother's back!" Whoa! Was I confused. And try as I might, I could not, for the life of me, understand what would make them say such things. No less laugh while they said them.

Fast forward to August 2004. I start working with a little eight year old boy. A boy who, like me, has Asperger's. And as I watched his struggles, especially with his dad, I realized why I had struggled so to understood those childhood sayings. You see, he, too, understood only the literal meanings of peoples' words. And none of the social content.

Fortunately for this boy, his dad was the most patient father I have ever seen. Which explained why week after week, he patiently battled what I eventually came to call, his son's "fussy word disease."

What the heck is "fussy word disease?" Start with that it's not exactly a disease. I call it this merely to bring to peoples' attention that having this condition is painful. Both for the parents and for the child.

What is it though? It's when a child takes every thing you say as if you chose your words perfectly. Straight from a dictionary. With no non verbal meaning. Which then means, if you want to say something to one of these kids, you had better say it exactly as you mean it. Otherwise, you're going to hear about it.

This in fact is how this boy responded to most of his father's words. Thus if his dad said something like that they were leaving in ten minutes, at precisely ten minutes, they had better be leaving. No if's and's or but's. If not, the boy would blurt things out like, "you never do what you say!" "You promised!" Or "You lied!"

Worst case he might even call him, "stupid!" Can you imagine?

Being his dad was such a patient man, whenever this happened, he would calmly try to explain how he hadn't meant exactly ten minutes, that what he said was simply a figure of speech.

Of course, the boy would totally blow off these efforts, then rudely argue, "You're wrong! That's not what you meant!" Which would usually result in his father reluctantly getting firm with him.

At times, watching this happen made me well up with tears. This dad so obviously loved his son. And the boy so obviously loved his father. Despite this love though, week after week, they could not find a way to understand each other. Nor to stop their ever present arguing.

Finally, one day it hit me that the problem had nothing to do with this boy's social skills. Not directly, anyway. Nor was it rooted in his poor impulse control and outbursts of disrespect. What was happening was simply that when the boy said to his father, "you're wrong," he was simply trying to make him speak in a way in which he, the boy, could understand. In the boy's own language. And when this didn't happen, his frustration overwhelmed him and he blurted out insults.

Shortly after that, I began to call the boy's language, "fussy." And his father's language, "fuzzy." At which point, I explained this idea, the idea of "two languages," to the family. Then whenever this father spoke "fuzzy," I would gently remind him that "fuzzy" language confused his son. And whenever the boy felt compelled to make his speak "fussy," I reminded the boy that "fuzzy" was his and my language, not his father's.

These reminders also helped me as well. They reminded me that in no way did the boy intend to hurt his father. In fact, whenever I managed to get him to see he had hurt his father, he'd burst into tears. Partly from this realization. And partly from the sheer frustration of having to work so hard to be understood.

Here then was the opening I had been looking for. The boy's problem was that he had no sense of the personal meaning of his father's words. A meaning I was calling, the "fuzzy" meaning as in, the "warm fuzzy" meaning. And the father, while he could logically grasp the words his son was saying, had no idea his son could not interpret words in other than dictionary meanings.

Today, when I think about how most of today's therapists refer to Asperger's as a social impairment, I feel sad. They're missing the point. Moreover, treating these kids as if the main problem is a social problem only makes them worse.

The social difficulties in Asperger's are not the main problem. I say this knowing full well how disruptive kids with Asperger's can be. Even so, beneath this behavior is a far more basic problem. The thing which actually provokes their antisocial behavior. Their inability to navigate the range of specificity within normal folks' language. The degree to which we do, and do not, include the meaning in our words.

What I'm saying is, Asperger's is first and foremost a language problem, not a socialization problem. And whether these kids' brains are wired differently or not simply does not matter. Whatever the case, they, and I, simply speak a different language. Fussy. And because the majority of the world speaks fuzzy, we get told we have a disability.

Why all this talk about Asperger's? Because discovering fussy and fussy as the root problem in Asperger's lead me to an equally important realization. That ADD is better seen as, "fuzzy word disease." If I am right then and I believe I am, then this is why we are seeing so many kids with ADD. Why? Because fuzzy is the majority language. The way at least fifty percent of kids naturally speak. Unfortunately, teachers, when they teach, must lean toward fussy as the way in which to get what they are teaching across. This then creates in classroom a major mismatch. A mismatch similar to the one I've been telling you about between the boy and his father.

ADD and Asperger's. According to many, they are the two current scourges of education. Sadly, by failing to recognize the lingual specificity problems inherent in these conditions, we treat these kids as defective learners or social misfits rather than "strangers is a strange land."

So what about medication? Doesn't it help? At times, yes, and at times, it's even necessary. Especially when the the problem has gone on for years. However, as a permanent solution, I would ask we look for more. Why? Because the single most common complaint in these children is that no one understands them. Moreover, no medication in the world is going to remedy this situation.

"The Continuum of Lingual Specificity" offers us a non medical alternative. With this knowledge, we can design pragmatic tools with which to matching kids to teachers who speak their language.

This, then, is what we'll be exploring this week. What I see as probably the most important change we could make to our kids educations. What change? Putting them in classrooms where teachers speak their language. By column's end, I hope you'll see the wonderful possibilities this could lead us to. Possibilities which are easily within our reach. Today, not tomorrow. Don't our kids deserve this?

Now let's take a more fussy look at the fractal to which I've been referring. Including how I could be calling this circle, a "fractal."

To read the rest of this article, click here.

This week, in our ongoing series on education and learning, we're going to take an imaginary journey though a child's education. Starting with how fractals might alter her or his entire educational experience even before entering school. More important, we're going to take a brief look at how, in one school, parts of this new education are already changing children's lives. Their reading lives. Their writing live. And their lives in general.

Week Thirty - February 19
No More Teachers . . .
"No more teachers. No more books. No more teacher's dirty looks . . ." ( "We don't need no education . . . ?" )

It's the last day of fractal school. No more new fractals this time. I promise. And to be honest, I've shown you more than enough fractals already; the face fractal; the personality fractal; the dropping out of school fractal; the boring teacher fractal. Fractals, fractals, and more fractals. Most definitely, a lot to take in.

At this point then, my only wish is that I somehow manage to leave you with something useful to you. Not merely something to parrot to your friends but rather, something you can use to help your child. As well as yourself.

So if I could leave you with only one thing, what would it be? If I had a magic wand, this would be easy; I would have you spend a day with my friend, Laura, the English teacher, in her class on conscious reading. No other thing could change your love of learning more than doing this. Even once.

Unfortunately, I do not have my wand yet. I ordered one. But it never arrived. Which means, I guess, I'll have to rely on good old fashioned words from the heart. Hopefully, my supply won't run out at the finish line (smile).

So what can we talk about this time?

For one thing, I want to give you a brief look at how a conscious education might begin. The first day of school before the first day of school. The preface to a life wherein a child could love learning, so to speak.

For another, I want to say a bit about my friend Laura's English classes. And about her as a teacher. You see, if I could have chosen someone to have been my child's teacher, without a doubt, it would have been Laura. Why would I have chosen her? What makes her such a good teacher? This is what I'd like to show you.

Finally, I want to tell you a story I've never told anyone before. Something that happened to me when I was six years old. The first time I saw a boy lose his love of learning. No surprise I can still picture it as if it's happening to me now, even though it happened to me over fifty years ago. In a way, that's because it is happening to me now. As well as to a lot of little boys and girls. Which makes this story an important one to tell. If only to remember what we are trying to make better.

Here we are then. Almost ready to say goodbye. Are you ready to say goodbye? Me neither. Let's make this time worthwhile.

To read the rest of this article, click here.

Have you ever gone to a therapist, then been asked, "is it helping?" If yes then what made you say this? And what made you go into therapy in the first place? How about referring to a therapist. Has a friend ever asked you to do this? If so, what made you make the referral; "I really liked him?" "She really helped me?" "I heard she was good?" "He called me on my stuff?" In truth, most people enter therapy either not knowing what to expect or expecting something like what they saw on television. What does make people go to therapy then? The week, in a new thirty week series on Learning as The Therapy, we'll explore this question.

Learning as The Therapy - a New Series
Here we are, beginning a new column and already we're getting personal. Don't you think we should be "going slow?"

For many folks, this last sentence has at some point been the bane of their existence. Or at least, the harbinger of a great and painful failure. In truth, who do you know who can fall in love and go slow? Anyone? Honestly? No one I know. So let me ask you. Did your therapist ever teach you that no one in love can go slow? Or that the most revered of all Islamic poets, Rumi, once encouraged the very opposite option when he advised, "Risk everything for love . . ."?

What makes people go to therapy anyway? And does therapy really help? In the next thirty weeks, we'll explore these and many similar questions in ways not normally spoken about. In normal language. For normal people. With real, pragmatic answers.

This, in fact, is one of my personal pet peeves about talk therapy. A service people pay for, in hopes they'll get better at talking to others, is taught to and spoken by therapists in words most normal people cannot grasp. Let alone, relate to. Or at best, it's conducted in words so easy to misconstrue as to do more harm than good. Which is why we're about to start this column with one of these very words; the word, "therapy." Or actually, with it's big sister word; "psychotherapy."

"Psychotherapy." What a word! Let's begin by dissembling these two post 16th century conjoined words into their two basic elements; "psycho," and "therapy."

"Therapy." Everything we call a therapy stems from two Greek words. "Therapeusis." Which roughly translated means, "healing," and "therapeuen," which roughly translated means, "to tend to (and hopefully heal) a sick person." (source, The OED, 1991)

The "psycho" part then tells us which part of the person we're trying to heal. No, we're not talking about what Tony Perkins had in the Hitchcock movie of the same name. In this case, we're talking about two more Greek words, "psyche," meaning "breath," and "psychen," meaning "to breathe." (again, The OED, 1991)

So what does all this mean? It means that talk therapy; psychotherapy, is supposed to heal peoples' inability to breathe properly. Imagine! This simple idea probably explains more to us normal folk about talk therapy than fifty of the best volumes on psychological theories. Why? Because the simplest way to locate any psychological problem is by talking about it while at the same time, watching for when the person stops breathing. Literally.

Unfortunately, most therapists never get taught this technique. Nor do their clients. At least, not with the emphasis it duly deserves. And yet this single observation tells therapists more about their clients than many hours worth of profession words and hard fought for insights.

As such, I find it amazing that most therapists don't practice this skill more let alone teach this skill to their clients. Certainly as an everyday life skill. And definitely as what they could and should be watching for while they sit in the therapist's room.

Why isn't this being taught more then, meaning, why don't therapists teach people that when they stop breathing, they just re experienced an injury of some kind? My guess? Because who would pay someone to teach them to notice something as simple as when they stop breathing? Doesn't sound very scientific, does it? Nor professionally impressive. Kind of New Agey, in fact. Whew. Don't want to go there.

The odd thing is, I know quite a few good therapists who do know this and do use this information. Sadly, even these therapists rarely teach this skill to the folks who come to them, let alone that this skill can be used to exactly locate the entry point of injury.

More significant still, do you realize that by restoring this breath, the person's injury heals? Admittedly, this is easier said than done. Still, my point is that when this breath returns, most folks, therapists and clients alike, rarely note the significance of this returning breath. Which brings us to this week's question. What makes people go to therapy? Or go back into therapy? Do you think you know?

Let's look together.

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