Page 35 of Teacher of the Year

“How is my grand-kitty?”

Every single conversation, at least once, if not twice, I’m passive-aggressively reminded about my mother’s lack of grandchildren.

“He’s fine, lying right next to me now.”

“Well, give him a kiss from his grandmother.” And I do because loving on Gonzo never gets old.

“How’s work?”

Our conversations have a familiar trajectory, which I appreciate. It helps avoid landmines. We start with pleasantries, move on to work, and typically end with reporting and kvetching about the weather.

“Fine, the kids are doing well, I have a few starting to read, and that always makes me proud.”

I want to tell her about the Teacher of the Year, but also don’t want to overexcite her. My mother looks for places to focus her frenzied energy. When Adam and I got engaged, she became laser-focused on trying to help. From Arizona. Calling flower shops in a city she has no familiarity with and demanding they hand dip roses did not go over well. A part of me knows it’s her fucked up way of attempting to make amends, but it still annoys me.

“What about that award? When do you find out about that?”

“Well, I actually got it.” I wince.

“And when were you going to tell your mother?”

“Mom, I literally just found out this morning.”

“Well, you could’ve called me.”

Sarah refers to herself as my “mother” whenever she wants to make sure I don’t forget she carried me for nine months, endured long, painful labor, and, even with all her faults, did her best to turn me into the man I am today. If guilt were an Olympic sport, she would be a multiple gold medal holder.

“I’m calling you now.”

“Calling meback.”

I let out a loud sigh I’m certain she hears, but also, there’s no stopping it.

“Anyway, they selected me. I’m the county Teacher of the Year. Pretty cool, right?”

“Oh, Marvy, I’m so proud of you. What do you win? Is there money? A trophy or engraved pen?”

“Well, nothing, actually. I now get to submit and run at the state level, so I guess I win more work. That’s what I win.” I give a defensive chuckle, hoping she doesn’t chastise me.

“More work? Are they paying you for all this?”

“No, Mom, they don’t pay me. It’s an honor, I made the choice to do this.”

I haven’t told her about how this could impact the school too. It feels too heavy.

“Okay, I just don’t understand why you’d want more unpaid work. That seems foolish to me, but what do I know? I’m just your mother.”

Just my mother. In case I’ve forgotten. I’m never sure if she means to remind me she gave birth to me or that she raised me by herself. My parents’ marriage was over before I took my first steps. They were high school sweethearts. I was a surprise and not the “hey kids, we’re going to Disney” kind. My mother swears she loved being a young parent, but the strain it put on them evidently broke their brief marriage. My father dropped out of high school to work and support his new family. Working as a janitor at the local library sounds charming enough, but not when you fall for one of the librarians. My mother didn’t find out until after my birth when he ran off to Texas with Lady Librarian. The details from my mother are vague, but she thinks they moved to Dallas at the time. Almost thirty years later, he could be anywhere now. Who knows? He could be dead. He could have a new family. I could have siblings. Somewhere out there, my father is shacking up with Lady Librarian. I only hope he’s at least well-read. My mom’s drinking started to rev up soon after, and well, the rest is drunk history.

“Mom, I’m good with it. I chose this.”

“Fine, fine, I hope you get it. There can’t be anyone better than you in the entire state. In the entire country!”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Now, have you met anyone? Please tell me you’re dating.”

When I came out to my mother in middle school, her biggest fear was I would end up alone. After Adam and I called off our engagement and split, my love life dried up like a stale raisin bagel, and her distress went into overdrive. I could mention Olan, but there’s not much to tell.

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