In this narrated excerpt from her memoir Reversed, Lois Letchford recounts the family’s first day of school, focusing on the emotional turmoil surrounding her youngest son, Nicholas. The family arrives early; the older children, Nathaniel and Isaac, quickly settle into their routines, while Nicholas clings to his mother, displaying intense separation anxiety. Lois describes Nicholas’s habit of chewing his fingers and holding a stick insect for comfort, her attempts to soothe him, and the physical layout of the school—bright yellow walls, large windows, and grouped desks. She details her husband Chris’s efforts to help, such as finding a puzzle and positioning Isaac in Nicholas’s chair. Despite these attempts, Nicholas remains withdrawn, eventually shedding his mother’s hand only after a prolonged, anxious farewell, during which a solitary tear rolls down his cheek. The passage captures Lois’s fear, hope, and the stark contrast between other children’s ease and Nicholas’s distress, illustrating parental vulnerability and the struggle to trust that a child with special needs will be okay in a new environment.
Chapters
Hello, I'm Lois Letchford and I'm reading from my book Reversed: A Memoir and I'm reading chapter 1, Disaster. Yesterday I read the first part of chapter 1, today I'm reading chapter 1.2. When we arrived at school, we're early. We're early to everything. Nathaniel instantly jumps out of the car. Chris unbuckles Isaac while I help Nicholas as he carefully steps out onto the pavement. His chewed-up fingers move straight to his mouth. I take hold of his hand, stopping him from biting his nails. He grasps the stick insect, which now sits inside a plastic box with punctured holes for breathing. His life raft. Nathaniel, we will go to your classroom first, I say as we head along the tree-lined footpath, the concrete already shimmering Reflecting the heat of summer. Children rush beside us with their parents. Nathaniel darts ahead, crisscrossing through the crowd while Chris carries Isaac on his hip. Nicholas and I follow, every step gaining more and more weight. Nathaniel's room is close to the entrance in a temporary building while the school completes its construction. He drops his backpack, waves hello to his new teacher, and finds his friends. A simple goodbye. The rest of us trudge up the slope to Nicholas's classroom, a 3-storey building designed for 1st and 2nd grade students. Entering the classroom, I hear the mingled noise of parents and new grade 1 students. I smile, pretending all is okay. And Nicholas's arm stretches and he pulls away from me. He grabs my hand before quickening to hide in my skirt. Turning, I pat his head, hoping to inspire confidence. It doesn't work. Nicholas still clings to me. I'm terrified for him. My chest tightens as he continues to hide. Just this summer, at a large gathering in the park, Nicholas wandered off and didn't play or communicate with any other child. Chris removes Isaac from his hip and encourages him to wander with us. The room is painted in a bright distracting yellow. With large windows overlooking the busy main road. Tables are in groups of 4 and 6 with students' names laminated on the desk. I squeeze between the crowds and the desks, guiding Nicholas to a spot at the back of the room. I want to be wrong. I force myself to believe Nicholas will be okay today. With Isaac in tow, Chris manoeuvres his way through the crowd searching for Nicholas's name tag. He finds it. And without hesitation, Isaac climbs into Nicholas's chair, seemingly pleased to find a book on the desk. He pretends to read as if he is ready to stay. Nicholas, on the other hand— Buries his head in the small of my back. I imagine his gold eyebrows knitted in a furrow, squeezing his blue eyes shut tight against the chaos. I twist around to face him and he passes me the stick insect as his hand moves. Towards his mouth again. He looks like an animal on guard, all senses alert, fight-or-flight response primed for action. He does not want to take his seat. This is not the start I wanted. Other students appear cheerful, chatting with their parents and fellow students. Some work on puzzles while others draw. They clearly belong here. I worry my son doesn't. Chris hunts for a puzzle for Nicholas, which he usually loves. He finds one of a kangaroo with its joey. Nicholas peers at it from around my skirt, but even puzzles don't garner his interest today. Nicholas, Chris says with a forced smile, this desk is just for you. Nicholas squints around from behind my skirt, wrapping it firmly around my legs. Seeing his eyes barely moving from the floor to his chair does nothing to quell my fear. Chris picks up Isaac and waits. I take Nicholas's hand and guide him into the chair. Your stick insect can sit— spend the day with you at the table, I suggest. Gradually and deliberately, he leaves my side and slides into the seat. Disengaging his hand from mine is more problematic. He stares at the middle of the desk. I hope you have a great day, I whisper, kneeling beside him and patting him on the shoulder. One last farewell. Goodbye, Nicholas. His head scarcely moves. He is stoic, almost a bronze statue. Beginning my departure, I move away but turn back to see he's still holding the same pose. That's when I see it. A solitary tear dribbles its way down his face. With Nicholas parked on his hip, Chris wraps his free arm around my shoulder and leads me to the door. I hope we haven't abandoned him to the wolves, I whisper. As we exit the room, my heart, now lodged at the bottom of Lois's stomach, weighs a ton.
