Page 104 of Teacher of the Year

“Watch it!” she shouts out her window.

“Hey, I’m trying to win a prestigious award here!” I scream back, pointing in the general direction of the ceremony.

Cresting the hill, I finally glimpse the hotel, taller than most buildings downtown, a horrible Eighties beige stucco high rise. I bolt over, and giant glass doors slide open for me. Spotting the letterboard sign directing to the ceremony, I hurry as fast as my tired legs will carry me to the ballroom. Completely out of breath, I throw the doors open, and the murmur of the reception hums low. Folks are sitting, chatting, eating, and nobody seems to notice me. I should have made a pitstop in the bathroom to freshen up. Dripping with sweat from the impromptu and unwelcome exercise, I resemble a wet rat.

Dr. Knorse stands behind a lectern on the makeshift stage, speaking. “Thank you, Dr. Hayes. As principal of Pelletier Elementary, I’m honored to accept this award on Mr. Block’s behalf. He should be here momentarily.”

Oh my god. I won. Oh my god. I’m late. For my crowning. Technically, there’s no crown, but this is the closest I’ll ever get, so I’m going with it. I can’t decide if I should turn around and dash to the bathroom to hide, perhaps cooling off my entire head in the toilet or fly up to the stage in my current state of disarray. But holy crap, I won. As reality sinks in, I think about what this means. Yes, it’s an honor to be recognized, but more importantly, Dr. Knorse should have no problem securing the funding we need to keep the current staff and programming in place. With the staffing secured to make Pelletier Elementary the best place possible for kids, I heave a big sigh. Clearly, that’s the more significant win. My chest swells with pride.

“I actually have someone here who asked to say a few words about Mr. Block,” Dr. Knorse continues. “We’re so lucky to have a parent of one of his students here tonight. Mr. Stone, would you please come up.”

My mouth drops to the floor as Olan stands. He’s sitting at a table near the front with Jill and Kristi, and he glides up to the stage. Butterflies overtake my stomach. Winged friends, now more than ever, I’m going to need you to soar in formation. He’s wearing a short-sleeved teal button-down shirt, his skin glowing against it. Of course he’s dressed up, and while not prudent, part of me wants to run up and tackle him in a hug. Fuck, he looks tasty.

Trying to go unnoticed, I duck into an empty seat at a table near the back with a group of people I don’t know. They all turn and stare, and I push damp hair out of my face.

“Mind if I sit for a sec?”

“Good evening. My name is Olan Stone, and my daughter, Illona, is lucky enough to be in Mr. Block’s kindergarten class at Pelletier Elementary. I reached out to Dr. Knorse and asked her if I could say a few words in the event he won, and I’m beyond thrilled to be able to share a little with you about the amazing teacher Mr. Block has been for not only my daughter and her classmates but the hundreds of students he’s taught over his career.”

He’s here. I can’t believe he’s here. For me. I suck in an impending sob and the strangers around the table glare at me.

“Sorry, these things always make me verklempt.”

Olan continues and we all return our attention to him.

“I myself know the power of a great teacher. Growing up, I never really fit in. My family didn’t know what to do with a nerdy Black boy, his face constantly buried in books about how planes fly. Rather than going outside and riding my bike or playing basketball with the neighborhood kids, I was always at the library. Nobody knew what to make of me. Until high school, when, freshman year, my math teacher, Mrs. Williams, asked me if I’d ever considered joining the math club. I was finally with other people, well, nerds like me, and it was all because of Mrs. Williams. She took the time to get to know me. Understand what made me tick. Why I was struggling.”

As he talks, my eyes lock on him, and wetness stings my eyes.

“Mr. Block does that with his students. He sits and listens. He asks questions. He learns about them and uses that information to make connections. Those deep connections help him be the best teacher for his students and that extends to their families. This year, I relocated to Portland with my daughter. Mr. Block was patient, understanding, and, most of all, caring with both her and me while we adjusted. He views his relationships with his students as the core of his role as their teacher. He doesn’t simply care. He loves them. Deeply. He’s taught me that teaching is an act of love. There’s nobody more deserving of this award than Marvin Block, who loves with his whole, big, beautiful heart.”

Even as my heart aches with affection, I slink down in my seat a little, attempting to hide from what I’m afraid he might say next.

“Marvin, are you here?” he asks.

The room begins to gurgle with noise, and I slowly raise my shoulders to sit up in my seat and stand. The entire crowd turns and peers at me as I keep my arms glued at my side to conceal my sweat, and I’m, once again, flinging my head to move hair out of my face.

I turn toward him, our eyes meet, and he smiles so enormously, that glorious gap tempting me from across the room. Already a sweaty mess, I’m inclined to sprint up and wrap my arms around him. But I don’t. I walk up, calm, cool, and collected, attempting to resemble a person worthy of winning.

Arriving at the long, metal steps up to the stage, I pause, stare down, and take each one slowly. This is not the time to trip and fall. As I approach, I’m not sure how to greet him. He opens his arms, and I launch myself into him, gathering him up in my arms, squeezing tighter than decorum probably advises.

“I went to your meeting. What, why…” I stammer in his ear.

“We’ll talk. After,” he whispers back.

“Okay.”

I pull away because Dr. Knorse is only a few feet away watching, and well, the whole room is waiting. He pulls me back quickly, holds me close, and whispers, “I love you.”

Now would not be the time to be speechless, but my breath has temporarily been stolen by Olan’s “I love you.” Closing my eyes, I attempt to catch myself. With Olan’s rousing endorsement, there’s not much left for me to say. Plus, I’m currently two things I detest – sweaty and starving. I thank the committee, Dr. Knorse, and the entire community. Dr. Hayes presents me with a huge plaque, and I head to the table where Jill and Kristi sit awaiting us.

“You really love cutting things close, don’t you?” Jill asks as we sit. Her stomach barely bumps out against her stunning orange and yellow floral dress.

“I mean, it wasn’t intentional.”

“Well, you made it. That’s all that matters,” Dr. Knorse says, and Lord, she’s smiling. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to seeing a grin on her face.

“We were happy to vamp a little until you arrived,” Olan says, patting my leg under the table.

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