“Shulamis…” My mother is back.

“Let me sleep,” I try begging her, but the sleep is slipping off me like a blanket pulled off. Wait a minute — my blanket!

My mom is the culprit. I tug it back and yawn.

“Why,” I demand, “do I have to go to stupid graduation?”

“To get your diploma and finish high school.”

“I don’t need a diploma! No one cares anyway,” I say, tired again. “Let me just go back to bed.” At least I’ll get some hours under the blanket, if not sleep.

“I ordered a taxi for an hour from now. It’s taking you to school.” My mother sealed the argument when it was still premature.

She left, and I know I have no choice but to get up.

School, like I thought, is a mess. All my classmates are crying and laughing and taking pictures in their gowns and just acting silly.

I munch on an energy bar, and say hi to Nechami while she rushes past me to the bathroom to fix her hair; one curl is out of place. What a disaster!

Eventually, after a long day dotted by escapes to the pizza store around the corner and three boring choir practices, and endless speeches, the doors open and parents are starting to arrive.

From my spot in the corner, I see my mother coming in, dressed in a brand-new blazer. Next to her…

I take a step back, and bash into the wall. Mrs. Adler. What is she doing here? What is she doing here, chatting to my mother so animatedly? What is going on?

When Mrs. Weiner, Shulamis’s mother, called me up to offer me to come to the graduation, I immediately agreed. I had to know what became of Shulamis — I had heard so many wonderful things about her lately, I had to come see her in person.

And how gorgeous the child looked! She was so tall, and stood confident, with none of the despaired dejection I remember her having. She looked like she had made some friends…

This was like a cure for me, to see her graduate. “See, Pessy?” I told myself, “Not every child like Yonah has to end up like he did.”

There is hope for every girl and boy with a reading disability, and they can all be successful! If I would invest less emotional energy and stay focused, perhaps I would be able to help more children… like my neighbor’s nephew, a sweet young boy who just can’t master the alef-beis… I think I need to call her up.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 884)