Page 4 of Chalk It Up

“Have you taken the steps we discussed recently to meet Addie’s dyslexia needs?” he interjects.

The audacity of this man.

He can’t bother to say good morning but can interrupt me?

“As I was saying,” I say, plastering on a smile. “I understand Addie’s needs and I’ve taken steps to provide her with the extra attention she requires. I’ve requested that the school district supply me with an aid during certain times of the day so I can work with and monitor Addie’s particular struggles and her improvements on a more one-on-one basis,” I pause, surprised I’ve been able to say this much. When he doesn’t say anything, I continue. “At this age, Addie struggles more prominently in her reading, specifically mixing certain letters and blending sounds together. We work on comprehension and phonics rather than just going back and rereading, and I’ve seen significant improvement in just two months.”

Leaning forward, elbows to his knees, he steeples his hands under his chin, and he is…silent.

Now he chooses to say nothing.

Can this man only function by being abrasive and defensive? I’m exasperated already, but I pull out Addie’s assessment papers to show him the progress she’s made and the reading comprehension level I project she’ll be at by Christmas Break.

“I know as a parent there are many concerns when it comes to learning disabilities⁠—”

“Do you?” he interrupts.

“I’m sorry?” I ask, completely dumbfounded by his response, although I don’t know why it surprises me.

August and I met briefly at Open House and while he comes off as slightly rude, there is something extremely dynamic about him. I’m not sure if it’s his quiet confidence or his obvious brilliance I’ve experienced by how eloquently he communicates in his emails. But since that day I’ve definitely felt an inexplicable draw toward him.

I’m curious about him and make that my reason for being attracted to him.

He also seems to be the only parent dedicated to Adeline’s education which, as a teacher, is already going to be hugely attractive in my book.

That’s probably not a thought I should be having about one of my student’s parents.

I know he and his ex-wife aren’t together anymore, but I have students with divorced parents every year and usually both parents are active in some capacity, but not Addie’s mom.

“Do you have children, Ms. Jake? I don’t believe you do.”

His deliberate use of Ms. instead of Mrs. doesn’t go unnoticed, but I let it pass and stay quiet. As I’ve been taught to be. My divorce was never a secret, but in a small town, people generally try to avoid bringing attention to such scandals to your face while gleefully discussing it behind your back.

“How can you understand a parent’s concerns,” he continues. “When you aren’t one?”

Okay.

That’s... a fair question.

But not having children doesn’t make me incapable of empathy.

I lean back in my chair, hoping I look far calmer than I feel. Slow breaths, Evie.

“You’re right, Mr. Von. I don’t have children of my own.” I fold my hands neatly in my lap. “I have worked with and grown to love so many different students, that I become concerned about the difficulties my students face. I take their struggles seriously and personally. My job isn’t to replace a parent—it’s to partner with one.” I place just enough emphasis on partner to make my point. “I do everything I can to understand each family’s concerns so we can meet every child where they are and help them grow at the pace that’s right for them.”

He pauses, staring at me for a moment, before nodding in approval. “And what about her social interactions?”

Now he just seems like he’s trying to keep the conversation going which is odd.

“Addie gets along well with her classmates. They don’t notice the extra help that she is provided, she communicates clearly with her friends and myself, understands rules to games, and has a desire to interact with other kids. I expect that the bulk of her struggles will be reading and writing. But I’ll be able to better gauge her writing skills next semester.” I offer him a small smile. “I hope you can rest assured that Addie functions well in and out of the classroom and is getting the help and attention she needs.”

For the first time since he walked through my classroom door, something softens in his expression. It’s there only for a moment before it disappears beneath that carefully controlled exterior.

I take the moment to slide Addie’s assessments across my desk. He takes them and I watch as his eyes pour over graphs, charts, scores, and comments through the pages.

While he studies Addie’s assessments, I study him.

Professionally.