Page 14 of Teacher of the Year

“Who’s Cindy?” Kevin asks.

“My nanny.”

“What’s a nanny?” Ricky wonders.

“She lives with us and watches me and helps my dad. She’s amazing.”

“So, like a babysitter who lives with you?” Kevin again.

“Yes,” Illona says.

I nod to Charlie to continue.

“This weekend, I’m going to blow bubbles in the bath,” Charlie says.

Some giggles at the mere mention of Charlie in the bathtub gurgle up, and finally, the announcements blare, saving me from the simmering mayhem.

“Bus students, please head to the hallway!” Jean’s voice booms.

Our dismissal routine begins. Children taking the bus line up to be gathered quickly by Kristi. Popping her head into the room, she gives me a quick thumbs-up, and my line follows her like she’s the pied piper. It always amazes me to witness lines of children moving throughout the school. Where else in the world do we move in intricate lines, weaving in and out of places in a (somewhat) orderly fashion? Oh, wait, prison.

With the bus children gone, three children wait with me. Kevin and Sophia go to an after-school science program. Once in line, Illona pokes my stomach to get my attention.

“Mr. Block, remember I’m getting picked up by my nanny, Cindy, today.”

“That’s right. Your dad sent me a message earlier.”

Of course I remember. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Olan at pickup and interact with him has become part of my daily routine. Instead, today I’ll scope out Illona’s nanny. Secretly, I’m hoping she’s more of a Mary Poppins than Fran Drescher. Illona mentions “Cindy, my nanny,” often but hasn’t spilled any clues about her appearance.

“Teachers, please walk pickups to the back door.”

“Ready?” I put my hand out, and Illona latches on.

As we stroll down the hallway together, past the book display the librarian curated with books about snow, snow animals, and snowy stories, Illona tilts her head up toward me.

“Mr. Block, do you have a wife?” My eyes bulge slightly at her question. “Or a husband?” I wasn’t expecting that either, and my eyes glisten.

Being out to my students has been a journey. When I began teaching, I was petrified of anyone finding out. I’m not exactly sure what I was so afraid of, but the potential ramifications of being a queer male teaching kindergarten haunted me. As Adam and I became serious, I slowly began including him in my conversations. We weren’t married, and I hate the term “boyfriend” (we weren’t twelve) or “partner” (we weren’t opening a law firm together). I simply just spoke about him in a matter-of-fact way. My students and their families knew I was with Adam. They knew we lived together, and he was my “person.” Once that changed, unable to simply mention a significant other in passing and use him and our relationship as my proclamation, explaining I’m gay became more complicated. But I’m always honest if children ask about my personal life.

“Oh no, I’m not married. But someday, maybe.”

“Do you want a wife or a husband?”

Persistence. I respect that.

“A husband.”

Illona’s soft smile tells me this isn’t earth-shattering news to her. And that has been my experience with almost all children. They simply do not care about anything other than the happiness of their teacher. If only all society felt the same. This explains part of why I love working with littles. They truly have beautiful, open hearts.

As we corner the back hallway where pickups happen, Dr. Knorse stands at the long folding table with a binder opened for signing out children. She doesn’t always help with dismissal. She is, as Jill and I liked to joke, extremely busy and important. Truthfully, she is busy and important. In my nine years of teaching, one thing I’ve learned, being a principal has absolutely no allure to me. It seems like Dr. Knorse spends most of her time dealing with unruly children, disgruntled parents, and problematic teachers. Even with their snotty noses, loose teeth, and questionable hygiene, I’m much happier in the classroom with my little charges.

As we get closer to the table, Dr. Knorse spots us.

“Mr. Block, Illona can wait here. You’re free to go.”

Um, as much as I’m ready to bolt home, there’s no way I’m leaving without putting eyes on Illona’s nanny because, well, I’m curious as hell and who wouldn’t be? And Jill’s comments have gotten to me, clearly, so here I am, on a Friday afternoon. I should be zooming out of here and thinking about my date with a guy named Vincent M. Instead, I linger to meet Illona’s nanny. Does Jill unnecessarily wait with her pickups as well? Of course.

Not knowing what Cindy looks like, I wait for Illona’s cue. She drops my hand and shouts, “Cindy!” and I know the eagle has landed.

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