Black Boys With Dyslexia Need Love and Learning, Not Shame and Prison
As a young boy, I wasn’t a bad person. I feared going into the classroom because I couldn’t read. Had someone intervened in third or fourth grade, I would never have gone to prison.
Today, by the grace of God, I’m proud to be an Emmy-nominated actor and outspoken advocate for dyslexics like me. But as a child, in New Orleans’ toughest housing project, my reality was very different.
My older brother and sister excelled in school. They would tease me because I couldn’t read. My mother scolded me, calling me “dumb” and “stupid” when I was unable to read well and succeed in school like them.