But my teacher, Mrs. Eldredge, was wise. She didn’t skip me. She’d just come over and sit down next to me when it was my turn to read, and she’d put her arm around me and pull me in close to her. As I would stammer and stutter through “up, up, up,” none of the kids would laugh at me because I had the mafia sitting next to me. Mrs. Eldredge’s arm was my treatment plan. She gave me psychosocial integration. Every day.
