Just Another Kid: Each was a child no one could reach – until one amazing teacher embraced them all

“Give me a chance, okay?”

She nodded very slightly.

And she did come, sober and subdued. She was very, very late. It was almost 5:00, by which time I’d lost faith and had already gone on to other tasks. So she found me at the table, midst plan book and strewn-out papers.

Surprised to see her, I smiled. “Hi. Come on in.”

She slid into the chair opposite me. Looking like a chastened schoolgirl, she kept her coat on, her hands stuffed deep into its pockets. I had the distinct impression that she, like my horse of long ago, would start and flee at the slightest wrong move on my part.

I smiled again, in an attempt to ease things, but she wasn’t looking at me. Within moments I saw her cheeks awash with tears.

Disconcerted, I shifted in my chair and reached to clear away the things on the table. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

She shook her head.

“Are you sure? It isn’t any trouble. I think I’m going to go get myself one.”

“No. Coffee upsets my stomach.”

“Oh, I see. Would you like something else? Tea? A soft drink? Juice? I think there’s juice down there.”

“No. I’m all right. Really. It’s just that this is so hard for me to do.”

I smiled. “I can appreciate that. From reading your notebook, I get the impression things are fairly rough at home.”

She nodded.

“Leslie sounds like an extremely wearing child.”

Again she nodded.

“But from what I gather, Leslie isn’t the only child you’re coping with. It sounds as if your husband’s two children are over a great deal.”

Another nod.

“How often?”

“Every other weekend. And all the school vacations.”

“The whole vacation?”

“Usually.”

“How old are they?”

“Kirsten’s sixteen. TJ’s seventeen.”

“I get the feeling that they’re difficult children in their own right.”

She shrugged.

“Do you feel like that?”

“I guess.”

“Can you tell me in what specific ways?”

She gave a little half-shrug.

“I can see you’re finding it hard to talk, but don’t let it upset you. It isn’t bothering me.”

This renewed the tears.

I leaned back, attempting to look relaxed in my rather unrelaxing wooden chair.

Dr. Taylor took tissues from the box on the table and wiped her face. Several minutes passed in silence as she recomposed herself. Laying the tissues on the table, she leaned forward and took off her coat. That was perhaps the most positive sign yet.

“Do you find you usually have trouble talking with people you don’t know very well?”

She nodded.

“Just nerves?”

“I guess. I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t let it worry you in here, okay? It’s not something that’s going to bother me any. I’ve spent a lot of my career working with people who don’t talk easily. There’s a special problem called elective mutism that interests me very much. It happens to kids, mostly; they can talk but won’t. Anyway, working with them has made me very comfortable with silence.”

A few minutes passed, and she didn’t say anything. Then she tipped her head and grimaced. “It bothers my husband,” she said quietly.

“What does? Your not talking easily?”

She nodded.

“Yes, he seems the kind to like a good chat.”

“I just can’t talk like that with anybody. You know, make small talk.”

“Does it make him angry?”

She nodded. “He used to give these parties. He was famous for them. But he’s stopped now, because of me.”

I remained silent.

“His first wife was very good with his parties. You know, what’s the word? A hostess. And I think Tom just assumed I’d be the same. You know, put on a great dress and …”

“And you weren’t?”

She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t. I hid in the bedroom sometimes. I’d shut the door and lock it and stay in there until everybody went home. It made Tom furious.