“Mama?” Sherrill asked as I closed her bedtime book, the book of 365 stories, “Do you think I can also live in a castle one day?”

“Hmm,” I said, “I’m not so sure you can. After all, you're not a genuine princess, and princes don’t subsist right here as they do in other countries.”

“Why aren’t there any princes and princesses here?”

“You’ll understand better when you’re older, but you’ll always be my princess.”

Sherrill giggled, “And this house will always be my castle, and daddy’s the king, you’re the queen, and I’m the princess.”

“Yes, now come on time to shut those eyes and go to sleep. You can dream of your castle, okay?”

“Okay. Good night Mama.”

“Good night Cherry.”

The next day I woke up earlier than usual. Tom, Sherrill’s dad was nonetheless slumbering, along with Sherrill. I left a be vigilant on the table saying I went to the mall. I brushed my teeth, got dressed, and orally consumed a bagel. Next, I headed off to the mall.

After I received all I needed, I returned home and, in integration, introduced the items into Sherrill’s playroom. I commenced establishing the pink plastic castle I’d acquired from the mall. It was five ft tall, Brobdingnagian ample for her to play in. Next, I establish the plastic furniture in her little castle. I had even gotten Sherril a princess doll, alongside her personal necessities. Once that was set, I put the rest of the toys needed. When I got out, I was once surprised at my work. The pink walls, and the glittery purple rooftops collectively with the minuscule pink flags on top. With the rounded golden door. Sherrill would love it. As I was smiling, I felt a hand on my shoulder. “So this is why you went to the mall,” Tom said. I shifted my head to perceive Tom.

“Cherry wants to be a princess, I may as nicely make her wishes come true,” I verbally expressed.

“Did her dream consist of all of us appearing akin to royalty,” Tom asked, pointing at the costumes I’d gotten.

“Well, I thought we’d all join the frolic, it would make Cherry jubilant. Plus it’d be enthusing to play pretend, don’t you think?”

“It’s honestly a good idea, I couldn’t have thought of a better one for myself.”

“Well, I better get cooking, if our princess wants to have a royal breakfast.” Tom agreed and followed me into the kitchen to get started. The ‘royal breakfast’ wasn’t actually royal. It was Sherrill’s desired meal to devour for breakfast. The two of us, Tommy and I, made waffles, and bagels. We put particular choices of spreads like jam, syrup, peanut butter, and cheese, including Nutella, together with special choices of toppings like chocolate chips, marshmallows, sprinkles, plus a variety of berries, on the table. 

Tommy truncated a bunch of fruits, furthermore structured it into a flower, and placed it on the table. Tommy was good with those techniques. Me? I had no artistic talent. 

But Tommy would always say that everyone does, they're just all different features of talent. My art wasn’t bad, but I could definitely improve.

The ‘royal breakfast’ was finally complete. Tommy and I put on our costumes and crowns. Tommy looked better than I imagined, his chocolate brown hair, going along with his King Frederic costume, and his blue eyes matching the stone on his crown. You could say that King Frederic and Tommy looked sort of alike, though there was one major difference. Tommy didn’t have a bushy beard or a bushy mustache. 

As I was looking at my appearance in the mirror, I realized I looked nothing like Queen Ariana. Although I was wearing her costume and crown, I looked more like some random person wearing her outfit. I didn’t match her appearance. I had auburn hair, no way she and I could match. 

“You look stunning,” Tom whispered behind me.

“So do you, King Tom,” I said.

“Well, shall we go wake up our princess, Queen Hilda?” I nodded, grabbed her outfit and crown, and we trailed up the stairs, hand in hand. When we got to Sherril’s door Tommy asked with his hand on the doorknob, “Ready?”

“Ready!” I said smiling. Tom opened the door as quietly as he could but failed. Creek! Sherril shifted in her sleep. 

“Wake up princess! Today is your big day!”

“It’s not my birthday,” Sherrill murmured.

“Today you’re going to be a princess,” I said.

Sherrill immediately sat up in bed, “Really! An actual princess!?”

“Mhmm. Princess Cherry of 21, Richmond avenue,” Tom said.

“Cherry’s my nickname, you have to use my real name if you’re going to say, Princess.”

“Ok, Princess Sherrill, you might want to swiftly get ready. There’s a royal breakfast waiting for you!”

“Really!” Sherrill said. Tom nodded. I handed Sherrill her costume and crown. Tom and I went downstairs. We sat down at the dining table. Then suddenly, I remembered we forgot the plates. I acquired the plates and positioned them on the table, and sat down as soon as again.

“Oh! That’s why I thought the table looked odd!” Tom said in realization.

“Cherry’s teacher told me that we should give her extra practice with her alphabet. Mrs. Hump says Cherry’s having a lot of trouble recognizing, and writing them,” I said.

“Cherry always seems so bright. Maybe she just needs to understand it some more. She’ll get the hang of it after a while.”

“I sure hope so,” I sighed. But I really wasn’t sure, we’d never taught her anything about it. We always expected the preschool would help. But now I thought, what if she needed extra help?

“Indeed. Hope keeps us going,” Tom said.

“Good morning, mother and father,” Sherrill said, sitting on her chair, “Oooo, so yummy!”

Tom and I chuckled, noticing her sudden change in attitude. She was determined to act like a princess, yet she was still her four-year-old self.

“Go on, take whatever you want, just don’t give yourself a stomach ache,” I said.

Sherrill took three waffles. Spread Nutella on one, syrup on another, and Nutella on the last one as well. Sherrill took berries and put them on the first one that had Nutella, and the one with syrup on it. Then, she put marshmallows, chocolate chips, and sprinkles, and placed it on the last one. Once they were complete, she started out eating. I waited for Tom to take his food, however, he said, “Ladies first!” I smiled and spread a bagel with cheese, and took a waffle into my plate. After that Tom took his food.

When everyone finished, Tom and I cleaned up. I told Sherrill to stay put because there was a surprise waiting for her. Sherrill wasn’t one who was patient for surprises, but today she was. After Tom and I finished, Tom blindfolded Sherrill and we brought her to the playroom. 

I took off the blindfold, and Sherrill screamed, “This is amazing!” with her hands on her cheeks. She ran into the castle and screamed again about how fabulous it was. She ran out and brought her doll. “I’m gonna name her Princess Hannah,” Sherrill said.

“That’s great,” Tom said.

“You can play for thirty minutes but then you have to study okay?” I told Sherrill.

“Awww,” Sherrill whined.

“Even Princesses have to study, that’s how they become good Queens,” Tom said.

“Ok,” Sherrill replied.

Tom and I left the room. Tom went to drink coffee, while I went to finish my sewing project. Thirty minutes later, I got up and went to the playroom. “Cherry sweetie, it’s time to clean up.”

“Ok,” Sherrill groaned. Sherril and I walked to the dwelling room, where there were many posters of alphabets, numbers, and shapes. Sherrill sat down on her chair at the desk, with her notebook book and pencil. 

“Tell me what this letter is,” I said pointing at the letter A. Sherrill gave no response. Her expression was regarded as if she was once questioning too hard, or wasn't aware of what it was. It made me think, did the teacher instruct anything? Did Sherrill pay attention? “This is the letter A,” I said. Sherrill nodded. “What is this letter?” Again Sherrill gave no response and had the same expression as before. Could she really forget that fast? Or did she not comprehend what I just said? “A” I repeated. Sherrill nodded again. “What is this letter?” Sherrill gave no response. And that same expression was on her face. But then, I noticed the drawing in her notebook. Was she not paying attention? Sherrill then locked eyes with mine. Her mouth turned upside down into a frown. Her hair drooped down beside her ears. Her nose twitched from side to side, her blue eyes watering. Her hands reached to her face, as she trembled and quivered. And at last burst into tears. I ran to her and hugged her in my arms.

“I can’t do it anymore!” She said in tears, “It’s too hard!” Tom rushed to the living room at the sound of Sherrill. “It’s always so blurry! I can’t see them!” she cried. Tom and I enveloped her even more.

“It’s okay. You’ll be fine. We’ll help you,” Tom cooed, shushing her. I wiped her tears with my fingertips and helped her blow her nose into a tissue. Tom gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t you go play and feel better, okay?” Sherrill nodded.

Sherrill strolled away. Tom and I looked at each other. I then gazed over at her notebook, and gasped in horror, with my hand over my mouth. Tom turned his gaze as well. His jaw dropped to the ground, his eyes bulging out, in shock. In Sherrill’s notebook was a drawing of herself, her classmates, and her teacher, Mrs. Hump. The expression on her classmates showed laughter and disgust. They either were pointing at her or looking the other way. Mrs. Hump however had no emotion on her face. It just looked…well…you couldn’t tell. She looked like she had a straight face. Emotionless. And my dear princess, Sherrill, her face was in tears. As tear droplets dropped on her dress, and trailed to the ground. I tried to stop them but my tears stained my face anyway. I shut my mouth and put my hands over them like a rock so there wouldn’t be any noise. I couldn’t let Sherrill hear me cry. I had to be strong for her. Tom swallowed me in his arms. My face faced his chest, so my voice muffled, he knew he didn’t want Sherrill hearing me either. Tom continued to stare at the drawing. He turned it to the previous page. 

What he saw was even more astonishing, it was a drawing of Sherrill in an astronaut suit, on the moon placing the American flag. I turned my head to get a better look. It was sort of odd. I’d never known she’d wanted to be an astronaut. I’d always thought she wanted to be a princess. Tom turned to the page previous before this one, and it was the first page of the notebook. This drawing was more familiar and gave joy to my eyes, as confetti sprinkled in my eyes. Sherrill was a princess, Tom was a king, and I was queen. The three of us were in a vast meadow, with the ocean blue sky, and our huge light bulb, giving us our light. This drawing made my tears vanish, it replaced them with my smiling face that wouldn’t give up smiling, and saved going till the edges of my face. This was the Sherrill I knew. I guess, I in no way observed how many times she’d seem to be at the moon, seeing its one-of-a-kind shapes. Unless she had a hassle with those too.  Could it be that there was something wrong with her vision? Maybe she needed glasses. I wondered if Sherrill had a tough time writing her letters. If she didn’t it was probably simply her vision. But, if she did, then I don’t comprehend what will happen. I decided I’d try.

I took her notebook and pencil and brought them with me to the playroom. I sat down next to Sherrill and opened the notebook to a clean page. I then wrote the letter A. “Can you try writing the letter A,” I asked Sherrill, handing her the pencil. She took the pencil and placed it on the paper. But, she wrote nothing. Instead what she did, shocked me. She took the pencil and scribbled it all over the paper, and then threw the pencil across the room. I looked at her with my mouth dropping.

“I can’t do it!” She screamed, throwing her arms in the air.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” I hushed her, “You can continue playing, I’ll leave.” 

Sherril went back to her doll and started playing. I picked up the pencil and notebook and left the room. What had gotten into Sherrill I thought. I’d never seen this attitude. Perhaps she was in a bad temper after she had a challenging time recognizing the letter A. 

Perhaps I should leave her alone for a while. She’ll feel better with time. Tom met me in the dining room. I sat down on the chair, with my hands on my head, “I don’t know what happened. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything,” Tom said, rubbing my shoulder. “I think she’s just having a hard time recognizing her letters and writing them.”

“I don’t think so, she said it was blurry, and I don’t think she’s having a problem with her vision.”

Tom sighed, “I don’t know either.”

When nighttime fell, we all acquired geared up for bed. I walked into Sherril’s room. She was already snuggled in bed. “Who’s ready for today’s bedtime story?” I asked.

“Me!” Sherrill said. I sat down next to her and opened the book of 365 stories. It was typically about morals, but it also made children think a lot. It gave children a higher imagination. Today’s story was “When Adversity Knocks”. Hmm, I thought. It sounded interesting. My mother would read me bedtime stories when I was younger, however never ethical stories. They were constantly fantasy stories. Like princesses and princes. Dragons along with other fierce animals. There have also been sorcerers and warriors, and more. So every night I read a story to Sherrill, I’d also learn some morals myself.

After I inspected the story, the closing phrase didn’t make sense. But I took a look at it a few times, then it commenced making sense. “Do you know what the moral of the story is?” I asked Sherrill. She shook her head. “The moral is that when there is hardship, we can choose how to respond to it.” Sherrill nodded. I decided to ask her the same question Asha’s father had asked Asha in the story, “Now what do you think? Are you an egg, a potato, or tea leaves?” Sherrill looked puzzled, it was obvious she didn’t comprehend what I was saying. 

I laughed. I started to close the book when Sherrill asked, “Mama? How are you able to read?”

“Well, I learned to, and then I practiced and now I can read well. I wasn’t perfect at first.”

“But…Doesn’t…Don’t the letters dance when you read them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…Don’t they move around everywhere?” 

“No. They don’t,” I had no idea what she was talking about, “what do you mean?”

“Whenever you read, I can only see the pictures in the story. The letters look like they're dancing, it’s so hard to put them together.” It vagued me, my head vacant. I couldn’t grasp what she was saying. How could the letters move like they were dancing? It gave me a feeling that the fact Sherril couldn’t recognize a letter was a greater problem than I thought it’d be. “Mama?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry that I scribbled on the paper, and threw the pencil when you told me to write.” There were days when Sherrill had done something wrong, even something so tiny, I would ignore it. Somehow, a moral story was in for that night, and Sherrill would apologize afterward, even if it was really tiny.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. You weren’t in a good mood.”

“Good night, Mama.”

“Good night, Sherrill.” I placed the book on the table, turned the light switch off, and left the room. I joined Tom in our room. “I think Sherril might have a bigger problem than we thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she told me that the letters are dancing when I read. She was wondering how I was reading because she thought I saw the letters dancing as well.”

“One of my co-workers has a son, who has dyslexia. It’s also known as a reading disorder. He had a hard time recognizing things, remembering, and understanding things. But with help, he can read and do things that other kids can. He also has such great artistic ability. Imagery helps him a lot to understand things.”

“So, you think Cherry has dyslexia?”

“She could, but I think we should bring her to Dr. Curaamare. Her pediatrician might give us some advice on what to do next.”

“You’re right.”

The next morning after breakfast, with Sherrill’s notebook and pencil in hand, we went off to the doctor's office. Once we got there, we sat in the waiting room, waiting for our turn.

“Sherrill McCerebrum,” the nurse called. The three of us got up and followed the nurse. The nurse wore a blue dress and a white head scarf around her head. She had chocolate brown eyes, with curled black eyelashes, and a warm smile. The nurse brought us to room 04. 

“I am Nurse Rushna,” the nurse introduced. “Sherrill. Please take off your shoes, and follow me to the exam room.” Sherrill obeyed.

Sometime later Sherrill came back with Nurse Rushna. “The doctor will come in shortly,” Nurse Rushna said, closing the door.

“How’d it go?” I asked Sherrill.

“It was amazing!” Sherrill said, grinning. “She even gave me a sticker because I was good.” Sherrill pointed to the heart on her shirt. It was a pink heart that said Well Done! On the top, and in the middle was a brown teddy bear clutching a red heart. 

There was a knock on the door. Dr. Curaamare came in with an affectionate look on her face. Her dark chocolate hair glistened with her eyes, which were emeralds surrounded by white light. “Good morning! How are you today?”

“We’re good,” Tom said.

“And you Sherrill? I heard you’re having a tough time at school.”

“It’s hard,” Sherrill said, “everybody is bad there.”

“What do you mean?”

“They laugh when I say wrong.” Sherrill took the notebook from my lap, opened it to the third page, and showed it to Dr. Curaamare.

“Oh my! That looks terrible. I’m so sorry they make you feel that way. Now, I’m going to ask your parents some questions, and then we might do some exercises. Ok?”

“I don’t like exercise.”

“Oh, you’re thinking of a different exercise, trust me it’s not what you’re thinking.” Sherrill nodded. “Do any of you have dyslexia or have any relatives that have dyslexia?”

“Nope,” I told her.

“My grandfather’s brother had dyslexia, he was acknowledged for his artwork a lot in my family. Though I by no means centered on it much,” Tom said. Really? I thought. I never even knew that. But then I remembered, one day Tom showed me paintings with swirls and different shapes. I had told him he was such a good artist, however, he had said that it used to be his father’s uncle’s artwork. He had died so Tom had to take all of his artwork.

“Do you know what type of dyslexia?”

“No.”

“Which of Sherrill’s actions made you think she might have dyslexia?”

“Well, Sherrill’s teacher Mrs. Hump informed me she was having trouble recognizing and writing her alphabet. I thought that Sherrill was still learning and she’d analyze it with simply some practice. But when I sat with her yesterday, she had a tough time recognizing the letter A, and when I asked her to write it, I wager it stressed her out because she scribbled on her paper and threw the pencil across the room,” I explained.

“I’ll begin some exercises to test her for dyslexia.” Dr. Curaamare brought out a sheet of paper with a clipboard underneath and a sharpie. Next, she wrote a large A. “Can you tell me what this letter is?”

“It’s hard,” Sherrill said.

“I know honey, but I want you to try. Try to recall it.” I gave Sherrill a big smile. Sherrill’s eyes gawked at the paper with a vacant expression, It was obvious she wasn’t getting far with this.

Sherrill shook her head and said, “I don’t know.” Dr. Curaamare positioned the clipboard and sharpie on her cart, in addition, she brought out a set of cards with different images on each one. 

Dr. Curaamare pointed at the image on the first card. “What is this?” Sherrill was mute but I could see the gears working in her head. She squinted her eyes to see the image. 

“The sky,” Sherrill said.

“You’re close. Try again,” Dr. Curaamare said, “It’s a color.”

“The ocean?” Sherrill persevered.

Dr. Curaamare shook her head, “It’s the color blue.” 

Hours passed by as Sherill was given exercise after exercise. Our visit concluded with Dr. Curaamare’s answer. “I believe Sherrill might have Rapid Naming Dyslexia. Since she is unable to name the images, I think with the colors she was able to relate to things around her. She just didn’t know the word for the color. With help, she should be like any other kid.”

Tom and I nodded. “Do we need a different specialist for that?” I asked.

“Well, I’ll contact her preschool and get a helper for Sherrill so she can understand what’s going on. Plus once every week we’ll have an appointment, and I’ll help her learn her alphabet and others of that sort.”

“Alright, well, thank you so much Dr. Curaamare,” Tom said.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Have a great day!”

“You as well.” 

At bedtime, I asked Sherrill, “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About how Dr. Curaamare will help you every week?”

“It’s okay.” I opened her bedtime book of 365 stories. Tonight’s story was A Hole in the Fence. I approved of the story. It was about a little boy who had a bad temper. His father told him to hammer a nail in the fence every time he got angry. On the first day, he hammered thirty nails on the fence. Days passed by and the number of nails was reduced. One day he found it difficult to hammer more nails and decided to control his anger. Days and weeks passed by with him controlling his temper, and there weren’t any nails added to the fence. His father then told him to remove the nails every time he controlled his anger. 

Several days later, the boy was able to remove most of the nails, but the others still clung to the fence. He told his father about it. The father pointed to a hole in the fence and asked him what he saw. The boy replied that he saw a hole in the fence. His father asked him if he saw what his anger does. The boy was vagued. The father said that the nails were the anger he put on the people. He might be able to remove the nails, but there would still be scars everywhere. Some nails couldn’t even be pulled out. The father said it was like stabbing a man with a knife and saying sorry later, but the wound would still remain there. He told his son that his bad temper and his angry words were like that. He said unkind words are more painful than physical abuse. The father told his son to use his words for good purposes. To grow relationships. To show love and kindness in your heart. The boy understood and didn’t repeat his mistakes.

“Do you know what the moral of the story is?” I asked Sherrill. Sherrill shook her head. “The moral of the story is that when we use unkind words, those words leave scars behind. We should have sweet and kind words, so we don’t hurt anyone.” Sherrill nodded in comprehension. I then asked her, “Sherrill, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I want to be like you, Mama.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to be kind, caring, and loving to everyone even if they’re not to me.”