Loz · Thu Apr 6, 21:17 by Eleri Straker
I’d known Loz for a long time. I’d met him first when he was a babe in arms, then again when he turned eleven and arrived at school. My alter ego for a long time worked in the special needs department of the school, when I wasn’t teaching the English syllabus, and it was in this department that I met Loz again.
Loz was different. He had a very odd learning difficulty part of which meant that he could barely write and when he did, it was almost completely illegible and indecipherable. He was a pleasant, polite boy who was clearly totally miserable in lessons as without his helpers he couldn’t access the information.
For three years I had little to do with Loz, as he wasn’t in my charge, he was just someone I knew and said “Hello” to when I passed him in the corridor. Then year ten came and looking down my list of new students, there was Loz. Knowing of his literacy problems, my heart quailed. English is difficult for most students who lack the aptitude – but for Loz, for whom writing, and possibly understanding, was an insurmountable problem, it seemed an impossible task.
The year began with Loz showing little interest. He sat quietly at the front of the class with his helper, apparently listening, but seemingly not really understanding. His predicted grades were depressingly low and I began to feel that we were not going to get anywhere with him.
Then one day during a class debate (something I do regularly to encourage the class to speak and get less self conscious in public speaking), in response to a question, Loz’s hand went up. It was tentative and shy, almost as if he didn’t want me to notice. “Yes Loz,” I said, “what’s your opinion?” There was a moment’s silence as the class waited, intrigued, as Loz so rarely spoke, then he began, “Well,” he said, “I think…”and then he was off. And I couldn’t shut him up! It was brilliant!
And from then on, I could count on Loz for comments or views on any subject.
But class debates are one thing, comprehending and writing about literature is something else. I needn’t have worried.
Once Loz had grasped the principles of film analysis, he was away. Orally he couldn’t be faulted. His ideas were shrewd and informed. Writing was another matter. I felt sorry for him as I began to believe that despite his oral ability and his undoubted ability, Loz’s final exam grades wouldn’t amount to much.
Then we read JB Priestley’s “An Inspector Calls.” I enjoy teaching this play as I like the ideas in it. It’s great fun to do with a high ability group, as they understand the arguments Priestly presents. Doing it with a less able group is something else. It’s generally fairly successful, as Priestly doesn’t believe in subtlety, so most people get it. Loz seemed fascinated by it. His knowledge of the history and politics of the era is encyclopaedic, as he apparently watches endless documentaries. When I asked the class questions about either the point Priestley was making or the social conditions of the time. Loz’s hand was the first up. Then the writing bit came. The coursework bit.
I was worried about Loz with this. How could he transfer what he knew and understood onto paper without a considerable amount of ‘help’?
His essay was the first in. My heart sank when I saw it. Five pages of A4. Hand written in Loz’s inimitable, indecipherable scrawl. Oh God! So I started.
It took me almost an hour to read. Ploughing through handwriting that makes mine look legible and spelling that is so ‘interesting’ it would make you weep. But after the first frustrating five minutes, it began to make sense. The spelling was oddly phonetic, and once you read the whole sentence, individual words became obvious. Then there was the content. It was interesting. Very interesting. Full of understanding, analysis and thought. For a worrying few moments I actually thought that it wasn’t his work. So I spoke to his helper, read bits to her, after which she said, “That’s what you said in class. The information is what he’s got from listening properly…tweaked in a way that is pure Loz.”
And she was right. This was all his own work. He’s listened and understood and made it his own.
For a student without learning difficulties, this would be a good essay; from Loz, with all his problems, it was brilliant.
I sat Loz down and told him how impressed I was and what I liked about his essay and was tickled to see the slow grin light up his face. Then I told him to go away and type it up. The look on his face was a picture! “But I took ages writing that!” he cried in dismay.
“Yes, I can tell that. It’s a brilliant essay,” I said, then added that it had taken me an hour to decipher (he grinned broadly at that, little sod!). “If your coursework gets selected for moderation,” I explained, “no one will spend the time I did in trying to find out what you’re saying and that would be a real pity as what you say is fantastic.” He gave me a long stare then said that he would do as I ask, as long as he could take it home first to show his mum!
Now when I look at Loz, I no longer feel that sinking sense of despair, because Loz can do it. It will take him more time than most people, but he will do it. And he will probably do it well.
So it was nice to be reminded once again why I do this job. People like Loz make it worthwhile.
Satan, Frankenstein and the Thinker Killer and English Guy: the return!
