“World full of words” is hard for people who can’t read

Ode to Peter

It was a coincidence that I started literacy tutor training the same week that Peter Gzowski died. As a fan of his writing, it has become somewhat poignant to me that I, like him, have become involved in helping people learn to read.

I can't give Peter all the credit; there were two incidents here in my own community that encouraged me to become involved with my local Literacy Centre. The first incident involved a sixty-year-old acquaintance of my husband. We had run into him at a local restaurant, and as he and his wife sat down across the room from us, my husband mentioned that the gentleman was unable to read. I tried not to stare, but was drawn to the couple as I watched her reading the menu to him. I had never considered the ramifications of not being able to read, and the incident saddened me.

The other incident was the plight of a young man that I came into contact with through my work place. Part of my job as a customer service representative at the bank where I work is to demonstrate bank machine functions to customers.

My client one morning told me that his wife was in hospital, and asked if I could help him use the bank machine. As I showed him where and how to put his card into the machine, I went on auto-pilot, the repetition of my spiel embedding in my head. I explained to him the procedure of reading and responding to what the screen was requesting. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn't keeping up, and I re-read the instructions as they were displayed.

"OK, so you can see it tells you here that you need to pick which account you would like to deposit into."

My comments were greeted by silence as he continued to stare at the screen.

"So you would press this button here." I said pointing, "Your chequing account."

"Right?" I questioned.

He kept his eyes down.

I continued. "Okay, now you need to tell the computer what amount you are depositing." He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a cheque. "OK" I said encouragingly. "Punch in the amount you want to deposit, it will come up on the screen and not to worry, you can change it if it is wrong."

Still silence. I could tell by this time that he was uncomfortable. When I looked at him, I was alarmed at the expression on his face. He glanced at me then, and my hand shot out and took his elbow, responding to an unexpected need to reach out to him.

"What?" I asked.

"I can't read it." he said simply.

"Oh, oh," I replied inadequately. "That's okay; it's okay, I can do it for you."

"I'm sorry..." he said quietly, looking down.

We both spoke at once then, me fumbling over my own apology, he explaining, in his defense, that he had grown up on a fishing boat and had missed a lot of school.

That conversation has stayed with me over the years, and I have thought about that young man often. What must his life be like, covering this secret? How many people does he have on board, helping him to function, and survive in a world full of words?

I am fairly sure that had I asked him, he would not have known who Peter Gzowski was. But perhaps, one day this young man will find the time and courage to drop into a Literacy Centre somewhere and say "I need help. I can't read."

I hope so. Peter and I would be pleased about that.

-Lorraine Holden