"You and Yours" FINAL draft

I've had a hard time adjusting this piece. It's been hard to relate the vivid memories in my head into words on the screen. Here's my final attempt for now...it's something I plan to keep working on.

Selectively Silent

September

The blonde, blue-eyed beauty peeked out from behind her mother’s blue jeans. I smiled. “Hi, I’m Tara. What’s your name?” Her slender knuckles whitened as she gripped tighter to the jeans. She tucked her chin into her pink sweatshirt and cast her eyes to her feet. I assumed she was shy.
Clara was in my new class. I soon discovered that she talked, giggled, shouted, and whispered at home, nowhere else. She was a challenge. This beautiful, bright six-year old who could not share her thoughts or questions compelled me.
From the first day I met her, I loved her. Her speculative eyes and the mystery of her silence whispered to me, urging me to explore the girl hidden inside. She joined the circle of children, reluctantly held hands when prodded, but her lips did not move. She didn’t sing “The Hokey Pokey” when we sang as a group. She moved her hips just enough to let us know she was participating. She cracked an occasional smile, but more often revealed a deep, contemplative look. She did not laugh aloud.
Nor could you trick Clara into talking. I tried. I asked questions I thought she could not resist, “Would you like some of this extra snack? What are you doing for your birthday?” She did not slip. Other children noticed her absent voice. They didn’t seem to care. They played together and chased each other. The children seemed to find it totally reasonable that Clara didn’t talk. To them, she just didn’t speak in words and that in itself was reason enough for her silence.

October

I began to make my first real breakthroughs with Clara on the playground. I talked with her every day and addressed her just as if we were having a conversation. I nodded and said, “Oh really, so that’s how you feel?” She giggled. As she became more comfortable with me, she began to grunt. Guttural noises seemed to just slip out. On the outside, I did not make a big deal about the noises. In my heart, I celebrated. As Clara grunted more and more, it became almost like a game. I mumbled back, some nonsense of my own, or yipped like a dog when she responded to me with a grunt. She laughed and muttered back, more and more often.
“Clara, I’m dying to hear your voice. I’m so curious. I wonder what it sounds like. I bet you have a loud, booming voice like a man. Don’t you?”
Clara smiled.
“I really want to know what you’re thinking, but I can wait until you’re ready.”
I wanted her to know that it was okay to take her time. I could wait. I did not want her anxiety to become worse. I offered her opportunities to whisper in my ear. Sometimes she cozied right up to me, her lips centimeters from my ear, but inevitably she just grunted or laughed. Baby steps, I reminded myself. We were building a bond.

January

Through the winter, I continued to develop a relationship with Clara’s parents and little brother Jack. They were so supportive. They taped her reading at home so we could monitor her progress. Only through the tapes did we discover that she was a great reader! From time to time, Clara even addressed me personally on the reading tape. “Tara, don’t you think that was funny?” or “Will you read this book to me at naptime tomorrow, Tara?” Those were exciting moments. She also drew pictures at home and brought them in to share. She was developing a growing repertoire of ways to communicate without talking at school. I was getting to know Clara.

March

As spring flowers blossomed, so did Clara. Silly grunts slowly transformed. They weren’t really grunts anymore but not quite words either. She made noises that were beginning to sound like unintelligible mumbles, but only in one-on-one situations. Responses so faint and quiet they could have been mistaken for a buzzing mosquito. Her silent lips were beginning to move when we sang “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” as a group. She cracked a sly smile as she stretched her arms to the sky and then touched her toes. I still spoke to Clara as if she was responding aloud.
One afternoon, we were perched at the top of the playground equipment so I could watch over my whole class as they played. I asked Clara a simple question, just as I always did. “So, are you going to read to me today at naptime?” She leaned over near my ear and I was so used to her silliness that I didn’t expect anything but a grunt or a giggle. She whispered, “Yes.”
Clara spoke! At school! I was thrilled. I struggled to restrain my excitement because I did not want to scare her or discourage her from speaking again. I squeezed her tight. A smile lit my face. Clara spoke at school. To ME. The excitement coursed through my body. One little word, yes, but it had such an impact. I awaited her parents’ arrival at pick-up time so that I could share the exciting news. We were good friends now, and I anticipated their delight. As they pulled up in their station wagon, Clara and I both raced over to share our breakthrough. As young as she was, Clara, too, knew this moment was special. “She did it! Clara spoke! She said ‘yes’.” The four of us relished our joint success with exhilaration and relief.
From this point on, Clara changed. She whispered answers in my ear consistently. She only said one or two words at a time at first- “Okay” or “I do” or “Not me”- but soon she used complete sentences. She transitioned from whispering to combining quiet talking in her responses. She began singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” with the group, her voice clear among the others. Other adults in our school were now confidantes as well. Clara was breaking free from the shell labeled selective mutism.

May

By the end of the year, an outside observer could not have picked Clara out of the crowd. She was a vivacious, talkative kindergartener. Home was no longer her only sanctuary. She laughed, played, and conversed with friends. She chatted on the phone. She gossiped on her nap mat at rest time. Clara babbled endlessly. She discovered her voice and the freedom to share it with the world. I felt confident…Clara would make it.