Every Tuesday and Thursday I drop my younger brother off for his kindergarten class. My little brother loves school and usually talks non-stop the entire walk there and back. It’s his teacher.
Sam absolutely adores Mrs. Dybowski. And I completely understand why.
It’s part of the reason why every time I’m near his teacher, I lose the ability to speak in complete sentences. I avoid eye contact.
My five-year-old brother’s kindergarten teacher makes me a nervous wreck. And it’s not just because she’s extremely good looking, in an old lady kind of way.
The problem is, she’s one of those teachers with a Mother Teresa aura. You can instantly tell that she not only cares deeply about her students, she’s also really great at what she does. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I get to watch her for a couple of minutes as she organizes the kids into a straight line, gently telling them off when they push or shove.
“No, Harry, we don’t want to knock anyone over, right?” A disappointed look from Mrs. Dybowski is all it takes to make even the rowdiest five-year-old want to stand up straighter. Taller.
I admit it. I care what she thinks of me. As I stand there each morning, twice a week, for a couple of minutes, I try not to look nervous. Instead, I try to project this image of Kindly Big Brother Who Agrees that standing in a straight line is next to godliness.
-photo courtesy of Kevin Bedell