why can’t he just say what he’s feeling like everyone else?
He doesn’t have a trach tube in his mouth anymore that keeps him from talking.
His jaw’s not wired shut. He’s ten years old. He can use his words.
But we circle around him like he’s still the baby he used to be.
We change plans, go to plan B, interrupt conversations, go back on promises depending on his moods, his whims, his needs.
That was fine when he was little. But he needs to grow up now.
We need to let him, help him, make him grow up. Here’s what I think: we’ve all spent so much time trying to make August think he’s normal
that he actually thinks he is normal. And the problem is, he’s not.
High School
What I always loved most about middle school was that it was separate and different from home.
I could go there and be Olivia Pullman—not Via, which is my name at home.
Via was what they called me in elementary school, too. Back then, everyone knew all about us, of course.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색