Uncaged

The results sat open on the kitchen counter once more. I placed my book away and walked toward my doom. I didn’t think my parents wanted me to find them, but they shouldn’t have left them out in the open. I looked over my shoulder and began to read.

The testing listed my weaknesses again: abstract and concrete verbal reasoning, short‑term visual memory, psychomotor speed, visual‑motor and spatial integration—and the list kept going. I had no idea what any of that meant, but one line hit me hard: “In comparison to his individual subtest scores, Paul displays no significant strengths.” (Ouch—again.)

They had also measured my IQ once more. According to the WISC III, I was an 84—low average. It was everything I expected: below average, behind, no strengths. The dodo.

I flipped to the tutoring results expecting the same. Instead, it explained my struggles but acknowledged growth. I only needed encouragement. And then the line that stunned me: “It is not recommended that Paul return for tutoring in the spring.”

Before me were two conflicting studies—one filled with condemnation, the other with hope. I sat with both that day. My grades were improving… and the short story.

My eyes drifted to the front cover. The memories of that day came flooding back. If the first test results were true, then why were my friends enjoying my writing? There was too much evidence now to keep believing I was a dodo. I didn’t feel dumb. Why believe them?

I continued studying with my grandmother as the work slowly became easier. The hours shortened, and my grades dramatically improved. Seasons changed, and business called her to Albuquerque. Before she left, she told me, “You’ve done well. Keep doing well or we’ll continue after school.” I was thrilled—the freedom! I smiled, but I swallowed hard. I was entering high school and unsure if I could continue alone.

“He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and broke their chains in pieces.”

Psalm 107:14