One day, many years ago, when I was working as a psychologist  in England, David was brought into my office. His face was pale and he looked at his own feet. David lost his father when he was two years old and lived with his mother and grandfather ever since. But the year before he turned 13, his grandfather died and his mother was killed in a car accident. His teacher told me that he refused to talk to others from then on. How could I help him? David didn't say a word. As he was leaving, I put my hand on his shoulder."Come back next week if you like. "I said. He came and I suggested we play a game of chess. He agreed. After that we played chess every Wednesday afternoon--in complete silence. Usually, he arrived earlier than agreed.   It seemed  that he liked to be with me. But why didn't he ever look at me? "Perhaps he simply needs someone to share his pain  with," I thought. Months later, when I was looking at his head, he suddenly looked up at me. "It's your turn," he said. After that day, David started talking. He finally got friends in school and he even joined a bicycle club. He wrote to me a few times. Now he had re ally started to live his life. Maybe I gave David something. But I learned a lot from him. I learned how time makes it possible to get over what seems to be painful. David showed me how to help people like him. All they need is a shoulder to cry on, a friendly touch and an ear that listens. To help David, the writer   _  every Wednesday afternoon.
played chess with him told stories to him wrote letters to him played soccer with him