"Ah, Mr. Stilinski! Glad you could make it."
"Sorry I'm late, Ms. Nettlecomb."
"Don't worry about it, dear."
"Right. Your secretary said there was a problem with my son?"
"That is correct, Mr. Stilinski."
"…"
"…"
"Er… If I may ask… What is the problem?"
"Well, Mr. Stilinski, quite frankly I'm not sure if he can attend our school this year."
"Why not! Oh, sorry. Why not?"
"Mr. Stilinski, it's right in our guidelines. Every child in this preschool must be able to: use the restroom with little to no supervision, speak clearly enough to be understood, be able to identify themselves, and follow simple instructions."
"Yes. I remember seeing those rules. My boy can do that."
"Mr. Stilinski, his teacher asked him his name this morning."
"Yes? Oh. Right."
"What he answered her was most definitely not a name, sir."
"That's not his fault."
"Really? A child who is four years old should be able to say his own name."
"Well, you see ma'am…"
"What I see, sir, is that he needs to learn his name before he can attend school here. You have a bright boy; he just needs to know his name."
"Ma'am. Do you have his folder?"
"Right here."
"Can you show me his name?"
"Yes. It's right… Oh dear… How do you pronounce that?"
"Vyacheslav"
"May I be honest with you?"
"Sure."
"That's not a name. That's a punishment."
"Yeah, well, his mama wanted to 'stay in touch with his ancestral roots.'"
"I see."
"Yeah."
"Mr. Stilinski, I believe that we can overlook his inability to pronounce his first name. Young… Your boy will be allowed to continue school here."
"Thank you so much, Ms. Nettlecomb. Can I ask you a question before I head home?"
"You just have, but you may ask another."
"What did he call himself when his teacher asked?"
"He said that his name was Stiles."