Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Yasmen always gets to the point, especially when it comes to our kids. One of my favorite things about her. Even when depression seemed to push her to the lowest point, she never lost her fierce protectiveness for Kassim and Day.
Ms. Halstead stands and walks to the front of the classroom, retrieving a folder from her desk. Taking a deep breath, she sits back down and flips open the folder.
“Here at Harrington, we’re committed to making sure students are not only academically excelling, but also emotionally intelligent,” she says. “Students in tune with their feelings perform better, feel better about themselves and the world.”
I stop an eye roll just in time, fixing my face into a neutral mask that doesn’t give away how yogi–Gen Z that all sounds.
“Go on,” Yasmen says, her eyes alert.
She would be into this considering all the time she spends with her therapist. Hey, no knock. It seems to have helped her when nothing else did. More power, but I don’t need that and I certainly don’t think Kassim does.
“With that in mind, we have the students keep a journal of sorts,” Ms. Halstead says. “Record their feelings. We also use it as a check to make sure they are not struggling. Kassim has written about his fears, and I think it exposes some issues maybe he hasn’t dealt with.”
“Meaning?” Yasmen demands, the world sharpened to a fine point.
Ms. Halstead runs her index finger along the edge of the folder. “For example, we asked the class to journal about their greatest fears.”
“And?” I ask. “What did he say?”
“First, I want to remind you that the students know we read their entries,” she says. “So we are not violating their trust or privacy.”
“Got it,” Yasmen says, practically sucking her teeth with impatience. “What’d he say?”
“He said his greatest fear is that his whole family will die.” Ms. Halstead drags her solemn gaze from my face to Yasmen’s. “The way his aunt and his brother died. I believe those two losses occurred close together?”
“Aunt Byrd passed away first,” Yasmen says, her voice subdued, her eyes now trained on the hands in her lap. “And my…our…”
She falters, licks her lips, and tangles her fingers into a fist.
“Henry, our son, was stillborn a few weeks later,” I say, keeping my words steady.
“I’m so sorry for your losses,” Ms. Halstead says, sincerity shining in her eyes. “It makes sense that he would have fears about losing loved ones. He also mentions losing you specifically, Mr. Wade.”
“That I would die?” I ask.
“That you would leave,” Ms. Halstead answers. “He seems to have a good deal of insecurity around the family structure, based on his entries.”
“We divorced about a year after Aunt Byrd and Henry passed.” Yasmen says it like a confession, keeping her lashes lowered.
“Did he ever speak with a professional?” Ms. Halstead asks. “A counselor or therapist when that all happened?”
“He and our daughter spoke with a grief counselor here at the school a few times.” Yasmen bites her lip. “They probably should have continued. I was so—”
“At the time we didn’t see the need to keep on,” I cut in. “Are you saying you think he should now?”
“Based on what we’ve seen in his entries,” Ms. Halstead offers, her tone firm yet tentative. “It might be a good idea if he talks to someone again, especially if we’d like to consider him for acceleration next year. If he’s not emotionally or socially at a place where it seems wise to skip, then we can build in subject-specific accelerations at his grade level.”
“But either way, you think he should see a therapist?” Yasmen presses.
“Have either of you ever seen one?” Ms. Halstead looks from one of us to the other.
“I have.” Yasmen clears her throat. “I do. Kassim knows I talk to someone. Both of our children know.”
“And you, Mr. Wade?” the teacher asks, turning querying eyes my way. I sense more than see Yasmen stiffen beside me. It was one more point of contention between us, the fact that I wouldn’t go to therapy. I saw it then as a waste of time. I was too busy trying to hold our life together, pay our mortgage, save our business, to make time for something I didn’t think would actually help anyway.
“No,” I reply to Ms. Halstead’s question. “I’ve never seen a shrink…um, therapist.”
“If you decide Kassim could benefit from it,” Ms. Halstead says, her voice stern for the first time, “it should be presented in a positive light. You can’t make it seem like a bad thing, or like something you don’t respect.”
“We won’t.” Yasmen levels a pointed look at me. “Will we, Josiah?”
“Of course we won’t,” I say, as if I hadn’t told Yasmen therapy is a load of shit and I’d rather run naked through a hornet’s nest. Pretty sure that’s an exact quote.