“Dorothea, not Dorothy. Please show respect for your subjects by getting their names right! – Paul Bettsy

Her name is still spelled wrong throughout the piece—you only fixed it in the title. God is in the details! – Eileen McGinley”

“Forgive them, for they know not what they do…” – Jesus Christ.

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It’s an inevitable trait of the often mindless correctors of the Internet that they never content on any piece or its meaning; they troll only for mistakes and pounce. It somehow makes them feel good about themselves or superior to me.

In this sense, they are the true parasites of social media. They literally feed off the difficulties of other people.

As I’ve mentioned before, when the issue of typos comes up, I am Dyslexic. After I was finally diagnosed later in life, the shrinks warned me that I could never write on a blog several times a day. I am happy to see they were wrong. But it is never simple.

It embarrasses me that at my age – 76 – this issue of mistakes still hurts, although not as much and for not nearly as long. The good news is that I can speak up for myself and work to regain the power that was taken from me. That’s why I need to answer them. I must tell them I am not lazy, stupid, or indifferent.

Most of my readers have accepted this in my work over the years, they just groan or even smile and roll their eyes, and many newcomers don’t like it. The retired English teachers I drove mad for years either retired or went away or died. The truth is, I never really cared about grammar, even when I could understand it.

This posting and the circumstances that created it bring me back to a darker time in my life. I am learning to accept it and reap the benefits of a learning disorder. They are many. We understand a lot because we have no choice.

There is great value in writing about it. It is healing for me.  And it might be helpful to others.  If I can persuade even one Dyslexic that they are not stupid and lazy, then the post will be more than worth the time. If I can get even one self-righteous corrector to think before they send, that will also be worth it.

The Internet is a gift and a poison, and balancing one thing against the other has been a creative challenge in my life. Sometimes I succeed; sometimes, I fail. I try to make anything difficult a fresh way to learn because I couldn’t learn when I was supposed to.

I got another painful but also meaningful lesson about my Dyslexia yesterday.

I ought to say that I have learned to live well with my disorder; it has not stopped me from doing anything I wanted in my life, except not being shamed or made to feel dumb now and then because I didn’t and don’t always see the same things other people see.

Dyslexia was not something teachers or parents in my childhood understood or knew about. I am learning repeatedly that this is a deep wound in me I have not yet worked through or acknowledged. I’m working on it now.

Dyslexia shaped my life in positive and negative ways as I grew older and got help learning how to handle it. It was a gift. I knew who not to be and who I wanted to be.

This week, the famed photo documentarian Dorothea Lange entered the story, as many things do without meaning to.

Lange was a legendary feminist pioneer in using photography as a documentary device for capturing truth during difficult times.

She was one of the people I always wanted to be. Her brilliant work during the Great Depression inspired me and lit my first photographic fire.

I couldn’t take good pictures until much later. I was frightened; the jeerers and taunters of my youth turned into ghosts that still haunt me. Deep down, I never thought I could be either creative or intelligent.

The psychiatrist who diagnosed me told me that children treated in the way I was treated carry these scars for the rest of my life. I’m very happy in my life, but there are still scards and wounds and painful spots.

Lange was another gift. She inspired my imagination in understanding creativity, truth, and justice and shaped who I am and wish to be. I admire every single thing I know about her work and her life.

Dorothea Lange was an enemy of small minds and a warrior for truth and compassion. I wrote yesterday about the influence she has had on me. Even my flower pictures reflect her genius. Words complement photography; she taught; one helps and enriches the other.

My piece about her was adoring, respectful, admiring, and emotional for me. I’ve never written about her, but she was a big deal. It was sad to be assaulted by people who never had a clue as to what her life was about, or what I had written.

It did not take long for the toxic people among us to sniff out a mistake – a chance to be cruel and superior; this was familiar to me and brought back the darkest memories of my early life. The correctors have noses better than a Lab. They sniff them out all over the Internet and jump.

The good news is that I have learned to spin toxic straw into gold, even when the process stings. I spelled her name wrong: I wrote “Dorothy” instead of “Dorothea,” because I saw it as “Dorothy” and not as “Dorothea,” even though a book with the correct spelling all over the cover was inches from my face. That’s Dyslexia for you.

Even while writing this, I misspelled it again. But I was on the alert today.

The  misspelling was complicated by a power shortage just as I finished the Lange piece and on and off later. I fixed the spelling in the headline but couldn’t get to the work to fix it until later.

There are many subcultures on social media, some fun, some interesting, some friendly,  some toxic.

Lately, I have noticed that many trolls have taken up correcting people as a way to be superior and harmful at the same time. They give themselves away as they never component on the piece’s content, only something they can correct and sneer apart; they speak in the voices of those who found me stupid and made sure to tell me.

Above all things, trolls hate sincerity; it makes them feel uncomfortable. When I am being sincere, I can count on some nasty messages. It never fails. This is how this bizarre practice makes me better. I’m not going to change for them.

The first was from Paul Bettsy: “Dorothea, not Dorothy. Please show respect for your subjects by getting their names right! – Paul Bettsy.

Paul had nothing to say about Dorothea Lange, he didn’t just tell me I’d made a mistake, as well meaning people often do. He had to throw in his lecture about my description of someone I admire and had just written a long and profoundly respectful piece about, a piece which he didn’t appear to notice or care about.

I got help learning how to deal with my Dyslexia by using humor and openness and then discovered that this could be fun.  I do have some power here. You can tell that Paul struck a deep nerve in me, but I was taught to speak up for myself, never to run or hide. It would build my confidence. It has. I wrote him back:

“Paul, I thank you for the correction. It fascinates me how correcting people brings out the worst in the correctors on social media. We all make mistakes, me more than most and social media has taught me not to correct other people, or if I do, to try not to shame them, which is nothing a power- superiority thing. To me, that’s much worse than a mistake which can be corrected. I suspect you will be an asshole for the rest of your life.” (me)

When I woke up this morning, Eileen had made it a point to scour the piece for the error. Caught again. The lights were still out.

“Her name is still spelled wrong throughout the piece—you only fixed it in the title. God is in the details! – Eileen McGinley”

Thanks so much, Eileen. Now I had  upset God as well.

Lectures often are part of corrector work.  God had  now entered the equation. I think I was supposed to be ashamed as well as disrespectful and sacrilegeous.

I wrote Eileeen a message on my blog posts as well. I was on a roll:

“God is in the details, Eileen. I don’t see him in your snarky message. God would understand my Dyslexia and the power outage we had last night that kept me from correcting the spelling then. I’ll get to it when I feel like it. God would be gentle and understanding. Empathy is essential to the piece (as in Dorothea Lange’s compassion and empathy), you never mentioned it or practiced it. Try meditating and thinking about the meaning of God before you send out uncaring messages in his name. My Dyslexia was a gift to me. It taught me not to be you.”

Honestly, I don’t care to be writing messages like this. I want to be above it and in a better place.

I was sorry in my early years to never be able to speak up for myself and tell those teachers and bullies and others that I was not stupid, I was not disrespectful, or that God had nothing to do with my troubles and Dyslexia. And if he did, why didn’t he cure it?

So now, years later, I have this blog, and I can finally understand that I am not to blame for my Dyslexia, and I maybe be obnoxious and difficult, but I am not stupid, and I  must challenge the correctors; they do more damage than they know. Someone does have to speak up for the vulnerable.

I’ve learned to think about it when I feel superior to others or am tempted to ridicule them for the mistakes and troubles they have. I just mind my own business.

I am working hard to let all of this go. There are damaged parts of me that can never really be fixed. There are broken parts of me that can be improved. I understand that people like this still have the power to hurt me, and I am working steadily and purposefully to regain the power they took from me.

It might seem strange to you, but it was very good for me to answer Paul and Eileen.  It’s a release for me.