Page 86 of Teacher of the Year

She walks with the confidence that only comes with a certain level of beauty. Shoulders back, her hair flows past them a few inches in shades of brown and auburn, clearly masterfully curated in a salon. The small flaps of fabric on her white blouse move with each step toward the table, and she somehow makes simple jeans dressy, maybe by pairing them with heeled boots. We lock eyes, and she gives me a simple grin that conveys she knows. Everything. Gevalt!

Because I’m positioned with the students in hopes of keeping them corralled, we won’t officially meet now. I offer a small wave to their group. Olan waves back with a beaming smile, Cindy nods her head in response, and Isabella sits with an expression I’m unable to decipher. There’s no time to read into anything now. We have a celebration to get through.

“Welcome to our class and thank you for coming this afternoon,” I say. “We’ve been working hard on both our class and individual retellings ofThe Very Hungry Caterpillar. We’ll start with our whole group presentation, and then the children will join you at their tables to show you what they’ve been working on individually. We hope you enjoy yourselves. Let’s get started!”

Every child takes a turn, walking across the carpet which we’ve transformed into our stage, coming forward and reciting their line. They each wear a costume they’ve designed and created to match their part. The caterpillar in various states of fatness as he gorges along with each food item is represented by a different child before the final reveal of the beautiful butterfly.

Once we begin, phones come out, recording videos and snapping photos. I do my best to stand aside and only assist with prompts if needed. When it’s Martha’s turn to step forward and say her five words, she bursts into tears and runs toward me.

“Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”

Her face remains buried in my side, and she refuses to budge or speak.

“Listen, if you don’t want to do this, we can have someone else say your line. Sound good?”

She nods into my waist.

“Let me take your costume,” I say as I gently slip the yarn loop over her head.

“Jessica, can you do it?” I ask her because, as the slice of salami, Jessica’s next and I also know she’d love the opportunity to say two lines.

I hold out the large yellow posterboard with holes cut out to resemble the cheese. Jessica skips over, and I pop it over her head. Disaster averted.

With the final line said, the entire class looks at me like we practiced. I nod, and they all say, “The End!” and take a bow. Families clap, and I stand a little taller, knowing how splendid they were.

“Now your learner will head back to their seat and show you the storyboard they created and retell the story by themselves.”

We’ve been practicing this for weeks. As a class, in small groups, with partners, I coached in and helped those who needed it. Today, they get to show off all their hard work. I walk around from table to table, greeting families, listening in, and ensuring each child successfully retells the story. I make a point to visit two other tables before Illona’s. Olan may have told Isabella about us, but nobody else in the room knows, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.

An empty feeling in the pit of my stomach nags as I arrive at their table. To procrastinate a little longer, I check in with Teddy and his family first. Teddy needed extra support from me. We had to work in stages, going over the book in smaller chunks over and over and only moving on once he could remember the previous part. Today, he is absolutely shining. I simply stand back and listen. He finishes, lifts his chin up to me and shares a satisfied grin.

“Teddy, you are amazing. I don’t know what else to say. High five, friend.”

We smack palms, and I turn my attention to Illona, biting my bottom lip. This is it. Isabella and I are about to speak. Time to take a deep breath, show my dimples, and schmooze.

Illona has been waiting for me before starting her retelling, and thankfully this provides a reason to keep our chatting to a minimum.

“Welcome. I’m so glad you all could make it,” I say.

Isabella puts her hand out to greet me, and I take it. Her long, manicured fingers wrap around the palm of my hand, and it’s hard for me to ignore her pointy pale-pinkish nails. She could poke someone’s eye out with those. Or murder them.

“Mr. Block, it’s so lovely to finally meet you. Illona hasn’t stopped singing your praises. Olan too.”

Heat rushes to my face, and I’m quite aware of redness overtaking my cheeks.

“Call me Marvin, please. And thank you, she’s been the most wonderful addition to our classroom community. Illona, ready to show your family your storyboard and puppets?”

Nodding feverishly, Illona opens a large manilla envelope and takes out a rectangular piece of posterboard she’s painstakingly painted to show the story’s setting. A long thick branch sits in the center, with a leaf taking up most of the white space. There’s an amber sun on one side and a silver moon on the other. Reaching back into the envelope, she pulls out her puppets. Each version of the caterpillar, pieces of food, chrysalis, and butterfly have all been crafted from construction paper and affixed to popsicle sticks.

Picking up the tiny egg puppet, Illona begins to masterfully retell the entire story, dropping and scooping up each new puppet as needed. Her voice goes up and down as she performs to convey emotions, and she’s truly captivating. Isabella has placed her hand on Illona’s shoulder, and her eyes crinkle slightly as she listens. Deftly, I sneak a glance at Olan. His eyes meet mine for only a second, and we share a knowing smile. Isabella’s eyes dart up and catch us, but she only smiles and returns her attention to her daughter.

Illona finally says, “The End,” and everyone gives her a round of applause.

I purposefully saved one group so I wouldn’t be able to linger too long. Sometimes planning ahead pays off.

“Wonderful, Illona. Well, I have one more table to visit,” I say, turning to leave.

“We’ll see you this evening,” Olan says.

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