Becoming, MUTE, by his choice, this young boy had, and it took only one session with the therapist, to guide it all out of him, off of a blog in Chinese I’m subscribed to, translated by me…
The boy is, good looking, with large eyes, long lashes, with bangs that covered up half his face, he seemed, very tense.
therapy session with a young child
Amy is his afterschool daycare teacher, patted the boy, introduced me to the boy. The boy looked, timid, didn’t nod, nor shake his head. I’d, introduced myself to him, asked why and if he knew why he was, brought here to see me? He’d, remained, silent, didn’t nod, nor shake his head. And time just, froze like that. There was a huge window behind him, with the colors of red reflecting on, the colors of autumn on the trees. Amy chimed in, said, that he’s, selectively, mute, he’d, never spoken up in class…and all of these, I’d, already, known, as Amy added the extra information about the boy at this time.
To me, I’d, interpreted falling silent when spoken to, and selectively mute as, signs of, anxiety.
The child is biracial. His father, a foreigner, busy at work, always late to pick up his own son.
The mother divorced, and moved up to Taipei, had never been back to see her own young son.
The child was beautiful, and blue, refused to complete his assignments, would wander around, or stare into space during class time, and take the loose change that his teacher left lying around her desk without permission.
The child is, mute by choice, and when confronted, he’d, reacted, angrily, started ramming around the classrooms, never speaks, nobody knew what he is thinking about. But he would, behave himself, only when his teacher, Amy asked of him.
Seeing how Amy was able to interject in, I’d tried to understand how he’d, interacted with others, what had Amy done, to get the boy to get closer to her?
Amy shook her head, didn’t know. But even as they got this close, the boy still, refused to change. He’d taken the loose change lying around on the top of her desk, and several times, opened her drawers to get the changes out without her permission.
I’d asked him what happened, he’d remained, silent, Amy had even, pulled out a hundred dollar bill herself, put it inside his backpack, but he’d, pulled it back out, and, placed it, into her drawers.
As Amy spoke, her eyes turned red, what caused this? Heartfelt toward this young child’s predicament? That this child can’t tell her how he feels? Because Amy had been neglected when she was younger too. Amy had an irresponsible father………
Amy was really upset she couldn’t, speak a word, the boy pulled a tissue, handed it to her. He looked, deep, into Amy’s eyes. I was reminded of the book my Murakami, the girl in the story had “lashes that were like feathers”, a fitting description of what the boy looked like right at the moment.
The boy’s eyes stared deep, and there, were tears in them too, he moved closer to Amy. There were, the sense of blaming herself in the tears that she’d cried, blamed that she didn’t teach the boy well enough, that he wasn’t free to tell her how he’d felt, freely………
The boy shook his head, with tears streaming down his cheeks.
That was the very first time I saw him moved.
I caught a glimpse of the leaves outside, shades of red, swaying, in the wind.
“What did your head shake mean?”, I’d asked.
He’d not said a word, Amy started, “He chose to be……silent”.
I’d asked Amy to let me take the lead, it’s fine that he chose to be silent. He doesn’t have to answer.
I’d told him, “It’s okay if you don’t reply, I’ll wait for you to open up.”
I’d asked him again, “What did your head shake mean? Was it your teacher who didn’t do her job?”
Out of the boy’s, trembling lips, “no!”
“Then how do you feel about Amy? Is she a good teacher? Or is she, irresponsible?”
The boy articulated, “She’s a good teacher!”
I’d prodded the boy, wanted him to tell me how Amy was a good teacher.
Amy was like mom, Amy is gentle, Amy cares for him, Amy…………
The way the boy called “Amy”, it was more articulate than as he’d spoken Chinese.
Amy cried even harder, the boy lifted up his head to look at her.
Amy patted the boy’s back.
Amy’s tears were from the boy’s praises of her, and how he’d, finally, started, speaking.
Amy couldn’t help, and started inquiring the boy, “Why wouldn’t you do your homework? Why did you steal the change from my drawers?”
The boy fell, silent, again. He was getting close to Amy now, but didn’t answer her.
“Are you going to answer? About not doing your work, or, stealing the change?”
The boy fell silent for a long while, I could tell he was, getting angry.
He still spoke, told that he hated doing his homework, that everybody cared too much about homework, that his father beats him because of it, that he’d, HATED it so. That homework was something, DISGUSTING to him…………
The boy took out a small bag from his backpack, poured out the loose changes, one dollar, five dollars, ten, fifty…………
The boy was very focused, counting up the money.
There was, a total of, ninety-three dollars inside the bag.
But his dad didn’t have money, he needed to save up to $160.
As he saved up to $160, he could go to Taipei. His mother took him once, he knew how to take the bus himself, he knew where his mother is, and he’s, going to, find her.
But he must keep this a secret from his dad.
As the boy told, he’d let out a sigh of relief, and tears started coming.
Amy couldn’t help but cried to, hugged the boy, comforted him, “Don’t cry anymore, child…”
I’d told Amy, “Just let him cry”, if you have to everything to yourself, and you can’t cry too, life would be, too, hard.
I’d let the two of them cry on, I started staring out the windows, the red leaves, swayed in the wind. I’d imagined the boy’s “feather-like lashes” stuck together, by his, tears.
I’d originally wanted to give the child a book, I thought “The Invisible Man” was more than appropriate.
But the boy didn’t like to read, so I didn’t.
It’s just, that I can’t help but wondered, is the bus really that cheap, only $160N.T.s?
Amy can’t help but inquired, “Why the boy opened up at the end?”
The boy knew how to speak, it’s just, that something made him stop is all.
And so, this is how a counselor, a therapist, can slowly, guide someone out of her/his shells, like this boy, who was, affected by what was happening at his home, and started misbehaving in school, and, this teacher cared for him enough, to get him the help that he needed, and, he’d, opened up, in the sessions with the man, and, the teacher now knew why the child had, misbehaved in the class, that it wasn’t, because he’s, a bad or an awful, student at all! That she just needed to show a little more care towards him, for him, to open up to her about things.