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Teaching has a way of getting easier without getting easier. I never imagined myself teaching, not originally, but something happened in high school. A lot of girls in New York have kids young, and ‘teen mom’ became a vocabulary word amongst all of the teenagers - particularly in my neighborhood. Even after mom married Shawn, we didn’t move far away from the crime-infested area I grew up calling home.
Girls that I called 'friend' from art club, girls that cheered with Riley, and even girls from Smackle’s group of mathletes. It was weirdly common, almost like an epidemic, but I found out that I was good at something other than art (and Spanish): I am good with little kids.
It started as babysitting for girls that I had classes with for the extra cash. Mom let me work with her serving when she was short-staffed, but it wasn’t often. My work usually came in as “free” so my best way to make money was doing odd jobs for people I knew, and babysitting didn’t seem like hard work. After all, Riley lived most of her life in her sweet bubble, and I didn’t think it would be too much different than that - babies can’t even talk!
Obviously, I was super duper wrong, but I loved singing the babies to sleep and making playtime fun and educational. I didn’t always felt like my mom could give me that because we struggled, and I knew those teen moms were barely passing classes and surviving. My mom deserved help, and those girls did too. I was content babysitting the kids for ten bucks here or twenty bucks there, whenever the moms could afford to pay me. Some of those kids ended up in my classroom, too, after I finished college. I attended classes throughout the summer because I wanted to be in a classroom as soon as possible.
I always knew I wanted to work with younger kids, and my plan was to get into a pre-school, but I am licensed for elementary-aged children, and the first job availability I found was as a kindergarten teacher. Now that I’ve been teaching for six years, I can’t imagine myself doing anything else. My days are filled with temper tantrums and clean-up songs, messy artwork and missing shoes, crocodile tears and heart-shaped no-reason cards. From the best days of perfect behavior that seems like a dream to the worst days that make me want to quit my job on the spot, I love everything about being a kindergarten teacher.
Especially when I have a kid like Charlie Babineaux. He has the cutest bouncy girls and goofiest smile I’ve ever seen, and he is an absolute showman. Maybe it’s not always the right time, but even when he’s putting on a performance when I’ve struggled to keep the kids on task all day, it brings a smile to my face. Redirection and correction are easy enough, too, because all he really ever needs is a reminder.
I never got to meet Charlie’s dad because Charlie came with his babysitter. Dad had to work late that night, which is frustrating, but I never worried that Charlie’s home life was a problem. Perhaps not easy, since there is no mom in the picture as far as I’ve been able to gather. Charlie has never mentioned a mom, either. Single dads aren’t foreign to me, so I don’t ask those questions unless I see that there is a need for it.
“I don’t like my new babysitter. She doesn’t play with me,” Charlie said grumpily.
“How long have you had a new babysitter?” I asked.
“Too many times,” he growled.
“Don’t you think your babysitter is going to get worried about you when you don’t get off of the bus?” I questioned.
“No,” Charlie declared, still in his chair.
At that point, I knew I had to call his dad, an Isaiah Babineaux, to let him know that Charlie missed the bus home - and why. The call is fairly quick. He agrees to come and pick up Charlie right away, but that it could be another thirty to forty minutes. I don’t mind. I was going to grade papers at home with hot chocolate, but I can do that here too. I invite Charlie to come with me to the teacher’s lounge to make my drink, which he loves.
The principal stopped in and asked about Charlie and said that she would stay in the office until I let her know that Charlie got picked up, for safety reasons, and I promised to tell her as soon as I took off. Charlie asked a bunch of questions about why schools need principals and it’s pretty fun talking about something so different than the usual five- and six-year-old topics.
Charlie helped me grade by making green check marks on papers that were finished, which was just easy grading that needed to be done to satisfy another unnecessary statistic that never made sense for kids that age. I did the proper grading on a few assignments that helped me gauge how ready the kids are for reading. Honestly, that class was one of the highest groups of readers I have ever had. It was really awesome.
Time seemed to fly and Charlie’s dad, Isaiah knocked on the door frame. “Hello?”
I welcomed him as warmly as any other parent coming into my room. “Hello, Mister Babineaux! I’m so glad that you were able to come so quickly. Charlie has had a really tough day and I think it’s one of those things that can only be cured with some time with dad.”
“Charlie, Miss Hart says that you haven’t done anything today. Is that true?” he asked, squatting to meet his son the way I do with all of my students.
Shaking his head, Charlie tried to lie. It didn’t last long because he corrected himself immediately. “I don’t like the new babysitter.”
Isaiah stands up and places his hand over his forehead. “We’ve talked about this, Charlie. Camille can’t watch you anymore because she went to college. I’m trying to find someone else, bud, but you know that I’m working long hours so that we can save up to buy a house. You want a house with a backyard, right?”
“I want you to be home, daddy,” Charlie whimpered.
Too often I had to sit through those kinds of conversations. Working in an urban public school reveals a lot about working-class families that are ignored in the new media. I’ve seen good parents in bad situations, bad parents in good situations, and literally everything in between that I can think of as existing. Unfortunately, there’s probably a lot more for me to see, too, because it has only been six years.
I inserted myself. “Mister Babineaux-”
“You can call me ‘Zay.’ Everyone does, and it’s a bit easier to say,” he corrects, offering his hand out to me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to Teacher Night. I’m trying to get a promotion so I’ve been putting in extra hours so I can get a steady desk job with hours that let me get squirt from school.”
A smile curls my lips because I can see that he means it. This is a secret power of teachers, I think, because everyone I know at the school has this ability. We all know when a parent genuinely is trying. It is clear that Zay is trying to be there for Charlie, even if it is costing him a lot right now.
“How long is the babysitter with Charlie?”
Zay looked at the classroom clock and sighed. “In the afternoon, it’s only about fifteen to twenty minutes because Charlie one of the last kids dropped off. In the morning it’s closer thirty minutes because the bus doesn’t necessarily get there on time. I only have a sitter because I can’t stay to wait for the bus and I can’t leave early to meet the bus either.”
“I don’t like her. I like Miss Hart better,” Charlie whined. “I just want to stay with her when school is over!”
My heart melted. Charlie was a good kid. “How far away is your job from here?”
Zay looked at Charlie, almost as if he knew what I was about to say. “It was about a ten-minute drive from work, but I don’t get off of work until three-forty-five, so it would be at least fifteen to twenty minutes before I could get here for pickup. Your school doesn’t offer after school care.”
I waved a hand in the air. “If you’re only working extra hours for a few more weeks or a couple more months, Charlie can just stay after class with me. He loves to help and I don’t leave until four-fifteen most days anyway. The principal has been flexible with those types of needs in the past. If I’m okay with it, then she generally is fine with it too.”
Zay looked at Charlie and frowned. “I guess I could talk to your uncle about getting you on the bus in the morning if you don’t like the babysitter this much.”
“Uncle Lucas?” Charlie asked, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
Something knocked around my head a bit. Uncle Lucas - Charlie - Zay - oh my goodness! I realized at that moment that I was meeting someone I’d only ever seen in pictures online.
“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, but is Uncle Lucas actually Lucas Friar, by any chance?”
Zay raised a brow. “Yes. He’s a friend of mine from when I lived in Texas. He visits Charlie and me for dinner every single night.”
“And I bet you end up cooking every time, huh?”
Charlie giggled. “Uncle Lucas is bad at making food. It tastes like trash all the time.”
Zay nodded in agreement. “That is very true. Uncle Lucas isn’t allowed to cook at our apartment anymore, is he?”
Charlie gave a thumbs-up to his dad.
“Zay, I can’t believe I never made the connection, but I’m friends with Lucas Friar. He mentioned being a friend-uncle to a little boy, but I’ve only ever known that child to be “Little Lee,” and he’s never shared a picture. I can’t believe you are the Zay that Lucas spent all his free time hanging out with on the weekends,” the shock was painfully apparent in my voice, but Zay seemed just as shocked when he pieced it together.
“I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on it either,” he gasped. “He never shut up about Maya Hart in high school. You were such a ‘mom’ friend in his mind that he always said he wanted your support more than his own mother’s sometimes,” which he said in a softer voice as he realized that he maybe shouldn’t have said that out loud. Either way, we all laugh. Charlie watched happily from below.
Then he decided to say something. “She makes you smile really big daddy. Do you like her?”
Despite his dark skin, I saw pink try to rise in his cheeks. He squatted to meet Charlie’s gaze again and smiled. “Of course I like Miss Hart. She’s a nice person that wants to help daddy. Do you think you’d be okay working for her after school until I get off of work? No playing or having fun, though. You’d have a job like I have a job, right?”
“I’m glad you like Miss Hart. I do too!”
The conversation didn’t go much further than that, but Charlie did end up staying after school for the next five weeks. Zay didn’t end up getting the promotion that he wanted, but he applied to a desk job somewhere else that actually had better pay and better hours that not only let him be home to get Charlie on the bus but be waiting outside to pick him up after school.
Nothing about Charlie changed, only that he sometimes begged to stay after school and help around the classroom. Some days he was so unruly that both Charlie and Zay stayed after to help clean up and organize the classroom. That seems like it was so long ago, though, now that the last day of school is here and I’m sending Charlie to first grade. I haven’t picked him a teacher yet, but I want to be extra sure that he gets put in the right classroom.
Charlie is in tears as I walk him out to his dad who is waiting on the sidewalk closest to our classroom. We both suspected he might be emotional, so we planned for this, and he’s waiting there with ice cream. “Want to go eat some ice cream at the picnic tables at the park?”
“No, I want to stay with Miss Hart a little longer,” Charlie says to Zay, who looks at me with a lopsided grin that I have seen before, but this time it’s directed at me.
“I have an extra sundae if Miss Hart wants to sit with us,” his voice comes out sort of awkward. I’ve never seen him look so nervous. And, strangely enough, I’m nervous too. Charlie shakes my arm vigorously, so at least I have a reason to look away from his dad.
“Please!Please!Please!Please!” Charlie begs, “Please!Please!Please!”
Then Zay joins in. “Please? Please? Please?”
Laughing, I know that the only choice I have is to agree, but I don’t even feel bad about doing it. I know I have a lot to clean out of my classroom and final grades that will need entered first thing in the morning, but I don’t care. I should, but I don’t.
“Why not?”
Charlie squeals in excitement. “I always wanted a family picnic. A mommy, a daddy, and a baby! That is me!”
My eyes go big as I look at Zay who is just as surprised as I am, but neither of us makes any immediate efforts to correct him. This is a special moment for him so it’s all the same to me if Zay and I are pretending to be mommy and daddy together so that Charlie’s last day is a little less scary.
“I hope that you guys have chocolate because it’s my favorite,” I say, smiling and walking by Charlie’s side.
Zay is on the other side of Charlie, holding his hand, and answers in a soft voice. “I know.”
Again, I know I shouldn’t be staring at Zay, but here I am doing it anyway. I’m staring and I’ve butterflies in my stomach.