The Winston School of San Antonio.

Winston School holds a chapter of my life that shaped me, protected me, and helped me find my voice at a time when my world felt confusing, overwhelming, and lonely.
It was the place where the letters finally stopped spinning long enough for me to breathe.

Before Winston, I was a little girl sitting in public school classrooms where no one understood what dyslexia was.
I wasn’t seen.
I wasn’t understood.
And I wasn’t taught in a way that matched how my mind worked.
Back then, dyslexia was barely talked about — and hardly anyone knew what to do with a child like me.

But Winston… Winston was different.

When I walked through those doors, everything changed.
The Winston School used teaching methods that public schools did not use or even consider in the 1980s.
They were decades ahead — using multi-sensory learning, patient teachers, small classrooms, and a gentle structure that made learning feel possible.

 What Winston School Likely Did Daily in the 1980s

Back then, private schools for learning differences were already doing things public schools wouldn’t start doing for many, many years.

Here’s what Winston likely did every single day to help kids like me:

• Multi-sensory reading lessons — tracing letters with fingers, using sand trays, saying sounds aloud, seeing, hearing, and writing all at once
• Structured phonics — breaking words into sounds, blending slowly, teaching step by step instead of rushing
• Small group or 1:1 instruction — no more getting lost in a room of 25+ kids
• Daily typing practice — teaching muscle memory before the brain fully caught up
• Hands-on learning — blocks, color-coded letters, manipulatives, real objects
• Quiet, low-pressure classrooms — no being called out or embarrassed
• Teachers trained specifically for dyslexia — something public schools didn’t have back then
• Encouragement and confidence-building — celebrating small wins instead of punishing mistakes

Public schools in the 80s didn’t offer any of this.
Winston did — and it changed my whole life.

 Typing: The Memory I Hold Closest

One of the clearest memories I have is learning how to type.
It wasn’t fancy and nothing like computers now…
but it was powerful.

My fingers learned the letters before my brain did.
Typing gave me confidence.
It gave me a chance to keep up without feeling embarrassed.
It gave me hope.

And Winston gave me something even bigger —
teachers who believed in me.

I will never forget them.
I will never forget their kindness.
I will never forget how they taught me gently, with patience, when I needed it the most.

But Winston wasn’t the only blessing during that time.

Every single morning, my dad woke up before the sun.
Quietly.
Faithfully.
With no complaints.

He drove me 35 minutes or more from our hometown to San Antonio —
just so I could go to the school that understood me.
He did it because he believed in me before I had the words to believe in myself.

And every afternoon after school, he picked me up and we had our tradition:
a sub sandwich with pickle chips.
We would sit and talk about my day.
He let me speak freely, without rushing me, without judgment.
Those small moments were big healing for me.

Dad,
if you ever read this —
thank you.
Not the quick thank-you kids say,
but the deep one.
The real one.
Thank you for loving me enough to wake up early,
to drive those miles,
to give me a chance I wouldn’t have had without you.
I hope you know how much that meant to me.

The Winston School changed my life, and I will never forget it.
I will never forget the teachers who gave me their patience, their gentleness, and their belief in me.

But I also know the truth:
private school today is expensive.
My parents could barely afford it back then.
I couldn’t afford it for my own son today.
Everything is out of reach for so many families.

And that’s why my hope is this:

Why not let public schools learn from private schools like Winston?
Why not bring their methods into classrooms everywhere?
Why not use what works — for every child, not just the ones who can afford it?

It wouldn’t hurt anyone.
But it would help so many.

Winston changed my life.
My mom and dad carried me through it.
And now I write so other parents and children don’t feel alone in their journey.

Because when the letters danced, Winston steadied them for me.

 Final Thoughts

As I close this chapter of my story, I find myself thinking about the little girl I used to be — the one who tried so hard to keep up, who kept her struggles quiet, and who just wanted someone to understand her. I wish she could have known sooner that her brain wasn’t a problem to fix, but a different way of seeing the world. Winston School helped me realize that, but it took me years to truly believe it.

If there’s one thing I carry with me now, it’s this:
Children don’t need perfection. They need understanding. They need someone to fight for them long enough for them to learn how to fight for themselves.

My journey wasn’t easy, but it taught me that the right environment can turn fear into confidence, confusion into clarity, and embarrassment into pride. It taught me that learning differently isn’t something to hide — it’s something to support, nurture, and honor. And it taught me that sometimes the greatest change comes from the small, quiet moments that no one else sees.

I share my story not for sympathy, but for awareness. Because somewhere out there is another child whose letters dance just like mine did, another parent searching for answers, or another teacher trying to understand what they’ve never been trained to see.

If my words reach even one of them, then every struggle, every mile driven, and every tear shed along the way has meaning.

This is only one chapter of my life — but it’s the chapter that showed me who I was becoming.

And now, I finally get to write the rest of the story in my own way.
With honesty.
With hope.
And with a heart that learned how to believe again.

— Brandy Lawhon
When the Letters Danced