I suppose my young mind had already made itself up. Talking was scary in public settings. The fear was still looming largely in the back of my head, holding me back from expressing myself.
My parents tried persuading the school to do research on selective mutism so they could provide extra help for me, but they weren’t on board.
My father received a call from the principal one day. “If we don’t see any significant changes soon, we’ll be forced to do something drastic,” she said. “Tzipporah will have to move down a class.”
“So why don’t you just expel her?” my father countered. “It will solve all your problems.”
She was silent. She had obviously received the message.
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