My kids have never been what one might call "normal." I suppose that has something to do with the fact that my husband and I have never been what one might call "normal." My husband learned to read very early, mostly on his own, and achieved reading fluency long before his classmates. I learned to read very late, despite help from my Dad, my teachers, and special programs at my school. Sometimes, children need time to grow in their own way and in their own time.
One of mine has decided he hates reading, and nothing I say or do can change that. He likes drawing and making books. Every picture has an unwritten caption. He tells me the stories, using the same words every time he shows me his books. The words are there in his imagination, but he does not know how to spell them. I picked up our children's dictionary, and helped him find the words from his imagination, and he wrote captions for his book. He is learning to read by translating his imagination into reality.
"A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, but whenever he came looking for fruit on it, he found none. Therefore, he said to his vinedresser, 'For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree and have never found any. Cut it down! Why should it continue to use up the soil? But the vinedresser replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year while I dig around it and fertilize it. Perhaps it will bear fruit next year...'" Luke 13: 6-9
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