I was only diagnosed with Dyslexia a decade or so ago,  no one knew what it was back then, when I flunked 4th grade math four times. I remember overhearing my pediatrician telling my worried mother, “I don’t know, Eve, he seems like a bright boy to me.”

I am sorry I didn’t know about it earlier. It would have explained many of the problems I faced in my life with school, and which have altered the course of my life. I struggle to navigate even the simplest mechanical or dextrous things – opening packages and bottles, car hoods and gas caps, handling batteries.

I couldn’t learn the things other kids knew – grammar, state capitols, subjunctive clauses.

When I was in school, they just assumed you were stupid if you couldn’t learn, and the teachers who guessed I wasn’t stupid were helpless or frustrated by the system. Of course, the other kids laughed at me, and my father told me I was not living up to my potential.  He suggested I was either lazy or dumb.

I deal with Dyslexia every day. I still can’t do multiplication or long division, I have trouble  seeing spelling errors and other things most people learn early on in school. I cannot handle any kind of machinery. Or any kind of math.

One thing I have never been able to do is replace the windshield washer on my car, I can’t manipulate the hood to open it, or find where the fluid goes or manipulate the caps.

Maria can testify as to what happens when I even try to open a package from Amazon or follow the simplest instructions for assembling anything. I love Apple products, because there is nothing to assemble. God Bless Steve Jobs, I was no longer the only one.

At its most elemental Dyslexia can be a crippling learning disorder.  Life is different for us.

I have learned how to read, thanks to some wonderful teachers. And I have learned how to write, something I am quite proud of.

Yesterday, a breakthrough, a shocking thing to have to admit.

It was raining and sleeting, the car windshield was covered in grit and mud spewed by trucks and cars. and the windshield washer ran out of fluid. There was no fluid coming out. The window was soon clogged and smeared with stuff.

I had to get out of the car every few minutes to wipe the windshield with tissues and I had to get to my radio broadcast.

Something stirred inside of me, something snapped. I thought about getting help, but enough was enough.

I’m 71 years old, and I ought to be able to figure out how to get washer into my car. Some things I just had to fight to learn.

I pulled over at a convenience store, and went inside and bought some windshield washer. I was almost in a panic, I yearned for the days when mechanics ran gas stations and were available to help people like me.

I bought this jug of washer, and went out in the ice and snow. I tried open the hood with my fingers, but I couldn’t find any latch to pull inside of the car. One symptom of my Dyslexia is that I can’t recall any kind of instructions. I must have seen somebody pour fluid in the car a thousand times, I didn’t recall a second of it.

I got out the manual in the glove compartment and saw there was a hood latch under the dashboard. It was in plain sight, I just didn’t see it.

I pulled it and I saw the hood bump up a half-inch or so.

But there was some sort of latch-guard under the hood that I had to find, and I couldn’t find it. The rain and ice were pouring down on me and down my neck, my fingers were cold and freezing up. My clothes were soaked. I was chattering by now, all I had on was a sweater.

I wasn’t going to give up.

I decided I would keep at it until I froze, there had to be a release latch, I’ve seen other people raise my hood, no on ever said there was no latch.

I moved my fingers back and fort, there was mud all over the grill, until I found a lever.  I pulled on it, and then the hood came up. A miracle. I knew I could do it now.

I’ve seen other people do this in seconds, I was at it for 10 minutes before I got the hood up. But I did it. Then I had to find the pole that holds the hood up. I did find that quickly but I had trouble pulling it up. It seemed stuck.

I pulled and pulled and got it up and the hood was securely open.

Then, I had to look for the place to pour the washer. The engine looked like dark moonscape to me.

I spotted the oil container but it wasn’t marked, and I started to unscrew it to pour the fluid in. A bell went off in my head and I went back to the manual and saw that this was for oil, not fluid. This is how Dyslexics learn, this is how they must train themselves to think and be careful, to not guess or make assumptions.

Mistakes are easy to make, and there are plenty of people out there waiting to laugh at people like us and make us feel stupid. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many times people suggested I was stupid. I think this is at the core of my resentment over unwanted advice- there is so much I don’t know, I hate it when people tell me things I do know. Do they think I am stupid?

I saw some men watching me through the glass window, I could see they were laughing at me. They could have done this is seconds, I was lucky if I did it in a half hour.

No matter. I went over every part of the engine, and I found a dirt covered nozzle, when I scraped it off, it said “windshield washer fluid,” I was overjoyed. I got the jug open – not easy – and poured a half bottle down into the plastic fluid tank. I was on the way.

I got the cap back on and went back through the process of removing the guard stick and lowering the hood. It went down with a slam, and I was excited beyond all reason. How can you explain to someone the thrill of doing so elemental and simple and commonplace a task for the first time in your life?

I got into the car and drove off, I waved to the men in the window drinking their coffee. I am sure I gave them something to talk aobut. I got confused about turning on the washer, as often happens. It probably took some time for the fluid to get through the tube. I’ve done this a million times while driving, I couldn’t remember how I did it.

I figured it out, using the manual once again.

The it started squirting onto the windshield and I could see clearly again. I was very proud of myself.

I called Maria. “Guess what?,” I said. “I replaced the washer fluid in my car for the first time in my life!” She understood how important this was for me. She was as excited as I was. I love that woman.

I got to the radio station and told Thomas Toscano what had happened. He looked at me strangely. “Why didn’t you ask me?,” he wondered.

I just smiled.

Such a small thing in terms of the world. Such a big thing in terms of my life.