Author: Monica MIsche

When my son was in pre-school, his teacher called me, concerned. Apparently, he wasn’t talking. He talked at home just fine, within our boisterous household, but at school he was silent. As weeks passed, he made a few friends to whom he’d whisper. Testing diagnosed him with selective mutism. Over the years, his communication circle widened. He could respond to teachers. He’d speak to more classmates. But his words truly flowed only in certain settings—in friends’ homes, within small groups at school, in the family car, outside in nature. If approached in public, he might freeze. But in the woods or along a mountain stream, he’d joke and laugh, have deep conversations. His interchange would extend toward other species, too. At a marsh’s edge, he’d rival spring peepers; near a grove of cypress, he’d converse with the birds.