Kiara Boey Boey 1

Professor Agee
Composition 1010
September 14, 2014
Lessons from Lonell
Disabled. Hearing that word, people generally think of the person as someone needing pity,
sympathy, and extra care. I had always assumed that people with disabilities would live a life much
harder than the rest of us lucky enough to live a normal one, and that anyone with a disability would
never be able to achieve skills the rest of us so easily could. It was not until my senior year of high
school, and my year of working as a student assistant under the ancillary staff, that I learned how much I
had underestimated those with cognitive disabilities. Over the course of a year, one student, Lonell,
taught me that having a disability is definitely not a deal-breaker; with hard work and dedication, one
can overcome any obstacle.
Of all the classes on my senior course load, Community Service was by far the most highly
anticipated. My brother, as well as many friends, having worked in the program prior, I had heard
nothing but the best reviews. My high school boasted a Franklin Transition Program, also known as
FTP. It was the only one of its kind in the district, and was designed to create a fun and engaging learning
environment for cognitively impaired students across the metro-Detroit area. As an additional measure
to enhance the FTP students education, other students at Franklin High had the opportunity to work in
the FTP classrooms via the Community Service class. I was excited to have this opportunity, and
extremely determined to do my very best for these FTP students. Within the first couple of days, I was
assigned to serve as the Student Assistant to the ancillary staff, which consisted of two occupational
therapists, a physical therapist, and a speech/language pathologist. The first few weeks of Community

Boey 2
Service flew by, with me loving every minute of working with the FTP students. Then one day, Ms.
Magdowski, my favorite OT, came to me with a proposal.
Kiara, weve been looking for someone to do a special task. We need someone dedicated,
helpful, and willing to work with Lonell on something, and I think youd be just the person were looking
for, she announced, smiling at me. She proceeded to explain that Lonell desperately wanted a cell
phone, but his sister (also his legal guardian) insisted that he must be able to use one properly before
she would give him his wish. Ms. Magdowski told me that it would be my job, given that I say yes, to
practice dialing his sisters phone number with Lonell on a cell phone. Once he mastered this skill, the
task would be fulfilled. Immediately, I agreed. How hard could it be? All I had to do was help him
memorize ten numbers and then punch them into an old, battery-less cell phone. Easy-peasy, I thought
to myself. Ms. Magdowski and I decided that I would practice with Lonell every Wednesday, and with
that agreement, spent the rest of the day prepping all the materials I would need to make Lonells
dream a success.
The following Wednesday, I promptly arrived outside Lonells classroom at the beginning of
class, holding a blank progress chart, worksheets the OT and I designed, an old cell phone, and a head
brimming with confidence. When the tall, lanky teenager emerged, I led Lonell to a small workroom,
where I began to teach him his sisters number. We spent a good ten minutes chanting 7-3-4, 7-7-5, 3-
5-8-5 until I was satisfied he could say it to me, completely memorized. I demonstrated how to type it
into the old black EnV2, and then handed over the phone, positive that he would nail it. I gave him one
number at a time, instructing him to hit the right button as I said it.

Boey 3
Seven I began, watching his hands closely. Lonell slid his thumb carefully across the keyboard
before pressing the correct button. Awesome, I thought to myself. I told him the next number-three-and
watched eagerly as he took his time, a confused look on his face, before oh-so-slowly pressing the
number four key. I stared, perplexed. What happened?
No Lonell, the three is over here, see? Try it again, I encouraged. This time, he managed to
press the right key, and we moved on to the next number, four. This time, he pressed the number three
button. Perturbed, I once again showed him the correct key, and we continued with the rest of the
phone number, him consistently getting ahead of the number I had just told him and hitting the wrong
keys. We practiced for a while longer before I decided to be done for the day. I walked him back to class,
putting on a cheery smile as I promised to meet him next week, and then headed back to the ancillary
office, completely discouraged. I slumped down in a chair, tucking Lonells worksheets into a file and
marking the progress sheet.
So? Howd it go? Ms. Magdowski inquired, sitting down across from me. I shrugged, and,
hearing the disappointment in my own voice, explained the difficulties Lonell and I had getting through
the exercises. She listened thoughtfully, nodding, before responding.
I was wondering if this might happen, she admitted. Lonell has dyscalculia. She went on to
tell me that dyscalculia is a condition similar to dyslexia, the difference being that people with
dyscalculia have trouble with numbers, generally in regards to math. She informed me that this was the
cause for his struggling to use the cell phone, nothing to do with his other cognitive impairments.
Why didnt you tell me this before? I questioned, finally comprehending the whole situation.

Boey 4
I didnt know if his dyscalculia would affect this aspect of his learning, she replied. I thought
wed wait and see first, before we tried a different approach. I nodded, understanding, my newfound
realizations fueling my determination to help Lonell accomplish his goals. It did not matter that the
dyscalculia would make it even harder for him; both Lonell and I were going to keep working until we
succeeded.
And so it continued over the course of the next two semesters. We formed a routine, Lonell and
I. Every Wednesday, hed be eagerly awaiting my arrival to his classroom. From there, we would find a
quiet spot in the school to practice. Every week it was the same; he would fill out one of the worksheets
detailing his personal information, we would practice the crazy eight method the occupational
therapists recommended, and chant his sisters phone number together before taking out the phone. I
taught him to dial the number from hearing me say it, by reading it off a paper, and finally, from
memory. It took a lot of work, and the varied results each week left me and Lonell, too, with varied
feelings. There would be the days of success, when he could fight past his dyscalculia and use the
techniques I taught him, when feelings of euphoria would follow me for the rest of the day. Those days, I
would be filled with pride, knowing that our hard work and commitment were truly paying off. There
would be the days Lonell struggled, too, days when our session would end in frustration and
exasperation on both our parts. A cloud of gloom clung to me on those days, filling me with doubt,
wondering if I ever, ever, would be able to help Lonell achieve his goal. Slowly but surely, as Lonells and
my senior year drew to a close, the successful days grew more plentiful and the number of difficult days
faded until they were far and few between, and then by mid-May, finally, extinct.
The amount of joy and pride I felt that warm morning in May when Lonell proudly showed off
his new cell phone was insurmountable. All the time spent, all the hard work, all the dedication had
Boey 5
finally paid off. Working with Lonell changed all my former misgivings about disabilities. Yes, being born
with a disability means that you will face greater challenges, greater tests to your strength and
willpower; but it also does not have to be a life sentence. If we were to give up after that first painful
session, we never would have been able to accomplish his goal. The phrase practice makes perfect
truly came into effect in this situation. Lonell showed me that with sincere commitment and hard work,
no disability, or anything else, can hold someone back from overcoming any obstacle.