More than a Substitute

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A single dad meets an extra-friendly preschool teacher.
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nageren
nageren
1,068 Followers

I was nervously waiting among the crowd of stroller-pushing moms and grandparents. I usually wasn't there that early to pick up Noah from preschool, but I was worried about him that day. The school had sent home a note letting us know that his teacher, Mrs. Campbell, was going on extended medical leave.

While they didn't say explicitly what was wrong, I could read between the lines. I knew the language, the euphemisms, the veiled fear and uncertainty. I knew it all too well. Rumors among some of the other parents confirmed my suspicions. Cancer.

The school said they would be finding a high-quality long-term substitute, but since that assurance did not come with a name, I knew it meant, "We're still scrambling to figure out what to do, but we know you just want us to promise it's going to be fine."

I was worried about Noah because he was pretty attached to Mrs. Campbell. She had been his teacher last year, too, and when he showed up in the 4-year-old class the next year and saw her waiting for him...well, I've seldom seen him happier. She was a bit like my mother-in-law, who sadly lived a few states away from us and didn't get to visit often. Mrs. Campbell was like a surrogate grandmother, and she had a soft spot for Noah. It had been during Noah's very first month in her class that his mom died. Cancer.

The big doors opened and a different class of kids came rushing out. They ran up to caretakers and jumped into arms. They held up artwork. They told barely comprehensible stories about their day. Kids whose caretakers weren't there yet moved quietly to a row of benches to wait. One class at a time- that was the system. It kept things from getting chaotic. It was a good system, and as a professional, I appreciated that.

I'm sure a child psychologist would say something about Noah displacing his longing for a maternal presence and attaching to Mrs. Campbell; but to be honest, I didn't care. If it kept him from slipping into the same darkness I had to fight, then so be it. It was Mrs. Campbell that made him so happy to go to school each morning; and it was the prospect of losing her presence in his life that had me pacing around the lobby, waiting for Noah's class to be led out to us. I mean, would he even understand what was going on? How would they explain this to the kids? What if he didn't like the new teacher? It was November- too late to switch schools, and I sure couldn't pull him out. It was hard enough finding time to work with him only in school a half day. At least this year they had lunch in class, so I had a whole 4-hour stretch to get things done in the mornings. The rest needed to wait until after Noah was asleep. Thank goodness I had a job with some flexible hours. How on earth did other single parents manage?

The doors opened again. I recognized enough faces to know that Noah would be among them. He walked through the doors, his eyes wandering around. Most of the time he needed to go to the benches for a few minutes, but I had promised I would be there early that day. His hopeful look as he scanned the crowd was priceless. I love that kid. He's my whole world. His eyes found mine as I started waving to him. He ran to me and leaped into my arms. I spun around and started carrying him out the door.

"Look! I made a face!" He held up a piece of cardboard with a lot of holes in it. You could poke fingers through different holes, making your fingers to be eyes or a nose, or hair, or a tongue. It was silly, but it was also a great way to talk about the parts of the face. It really was a good school- my son was learning and he enjoyed being there. Noah made funny noises as he wiggled his fingers through the holes.

I got to our car and strapped him into his seat. As I started to pull out of the parking lot, I asked him, "Did you have a new teacher today?" I knew the assistant would still be the same- Ms. Murray, a retired kindergarten teacher who just helped manage things. But she had neither the desire nor the energy to run the class, as she had made clear to me once in a casual conversation when we saw her in the grocery store. The whole time, Noah had just stared at her in disbelief that teachers exist outside the classroom.

"YEAH! She's really nice. She helped me make my face. Look! I can make a tongue!"

"What's her name?"

"Mrs. Abella. She has freckles on her face. Dad, do I have freckles on my face?"

"No buddy, you don't." We went on to talk all about faces until we got home. It was too cold to play outside that afternoon, so Noah watched a few shows while I finished up some paperwork I had been working on that morning. We played the rest of the afternoon, we made dinner together, and soon it was bedtime. After his story and bedtime prayers, Noah let me turn off the light.

"Dad?" Noah always had questions at bedtime.

"Yeah, bud?"

"Did Mommy have freckles?"

"Just a few- on her nose."

"Did you think they were pretty?"

"I thought they were very pretty."

Noah smiled at that, his face just visible in the faint light of a digital clock on his dresser.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, bud."

"Mrs. Abella is pretty, too."

"I'm sure she is, buddy." With that, I sat silently next to his bed, watching him drift off. True, he could be a real terror at times, zipping around the house and finding new ways to destroy things. He had taken to ramming me with his head when he was angry, and since my crotch was at ramming level, I didn't like that development. But for the most part, he was the sweetest boy. I wanted to protect him from all the pain the world would try to throw his way. Better yet, I wanted to help him be ready and be strong enough to handle that pain. Then maybe he could teach me how to do the same thing.

 

*******

 

The next evening, I was having dinner with some of my family at a restaurant. It was Noah's fourth birthday. My parents were in town, my brother and his fiance were there with her little girl, my aunt and uncle who lived just an hour away had come, bringing their teenage twins and, surprisingly, they brought my grandma, too. The twelve of us squeezed around one big corner table, and Noah loved seeing everyone. My dad and uncle kept him laughing, and my cousins even got their noses away from their phones for part of the time.

The poor waitress, though, seemed frazzled and distracted and had a hard time getting our orders right. She was cute, though, so I guessed her tips would be fine, even if her service was lacking that night. I saw Grandma Josie grab her arm and talk to her for a minute. I just hoped for the poor girl's sake that Grandma was at least making sense. Sometimes her mind wasn't what it used to be, which was a shame, because she was a sharp lady. I cringed a little when the waitress blushed and hurried away.

The elephant at the table that evening was the topic of my late wife. It had been just over a year since she died, and people still didn't know how to talk to me. My brother's fiance didn't seem bothered by that, though. Near the end of the meal she said, a little too loudly, "So Brian, are you seeing anyone yet?"

I clenched my jaw and tried to be polite. She was a nice girl, really, just a little clueless on how to talk to people, and she hadn't known Carrie, so she didn't feel the loss in the same way. "No...not yet. I'm mostly just trying to take care of Noah and keep up at work." I looked to my parents for some help, but they were both playing with Noah. Well, at least he didn't have to hear any of this.

"I know some cute girls when you're ready. You'd have to move up our way, though."

"Thanks," I said, preparing my usual response. "That's very kind of you. I'll let you know."

"Hey," my brother whispered, leaning across the table to me. "Maybe you should ask the waitress for her number. Sheeeee's kinda hot." His fiance gave him a playful nudge.

Suddenly, Grandma Josie's head snapped towards us. With stern eyes, she said, "No! The waitress is off limits."

We all held back a laugh at that. Who knew she was even listening? Then she moved her eyes from my brother to me and back again. "You leave the poor girl alone. Her heart belongs to someone else."

"OK, Grandma, no waitresses tonight," my brother promised, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. But as soon as Grandma Josie wasn't looking, my brother nodded his head comically and pointed to the waitress. She was pretty, and I wondered how much prettier she'd be if she smiled. Must have been a bad night. I knew tip was included for large groups like ours, but I made a mental note to leave a little extra for her. Besides, Grandma Josie seemed to have taken a liking to her, and that meant something in my book.

But I had no intention of getting her number, or anyone else's at this point. Too soon, I thought. And too hard to explain to Noah. How, as a single dad, was I supposed to go about getting to know women? Besides, after losing someone, and having watched them suffer the way Carrie had, I wasn't sure love was in the cards for me again, at least not for a while. I barely had the strength to be there for Noah- I still couldn't imagine having enough of my heart to spare for someone else. But maybe there was a woman out there who would be content to share my bed and help raise my son without expecting my heart in return...

 

*******

 

A few weeks later, I was looking at the information in the folder Noah brought home from school each day. I was shaking my head in frustration. The Christmas party was a mess- a real mess. And I didn't think I was being too picky about it, either. I was a project coordinator- that was my job. I freelanced around to different companies, helping them to use their current resources to plan and execute special projects. I was pretty good at it. So in the weeks leading up to Christmas, I was getting frustrated at the obvious lack of planning and organizing going into the class Christmas party.

I know- no big deal, right? It's a preschool class, for goodness' sake! But just watching how it was being handled made me cringe. Getting parents to bring whatever food they wanted, miscommunication about times, different messages being sent about the schedule...Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I sent a note in with Noah, about 10 days before the class party. It looks like you could use some help planning the party. Please call me. Sincerely, Noah's Dad (Brian). I gave my number and didn't really expect a call. I just wanted to know that I had done what I could.

A few minutes after Noah and I got home that day, my phone rang.

"Hello?"

A sweet, feminine voice asked, "Is this Brian? I'm Noah's new teacher..."

"Mrs. Abella?"

She laughed awkwardly and said, "Um...yeah. I saw your note. You're right. I could really use the help. But I don't want to impose..."

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it. Can I just tell you what I'm seeing?"

"Sure...unless you'd rather just take the whole thing over!"

"That bad?"

"It's been a crazy few weeks. I'm having a hard time just keeping up with the regular class stuff. The party is a whole big extra thing, and Ms. Murray, uh..."

"Ms. Murray is sweet and competent but is done working as soon as the kids are gone, right?"

She sighed in relief. "Yes. Exactly."

"Well, Mrs. Abella, my job is to make things like this go smoothly..."

I was interrupted by her laughter, which was delightful to hear. I pictured a young, recently married woman, her face barely that of an adult, smiling and covering her mouth as her eyes twinkled in laughter. Then I reminded myself that this was Mrs. Abella. I'm sure Mr. Abella would not take kindly to me fantasizing about his wife while talking to her on the phone. "You professionally plan preschool parties?" she asked, still laughing.

"I plan projects. Same idea," I said, smiling. "Let me give you three easy suggestions that could help you get a handle on this. If you still feel overwhelmed, give me another call and I'll see how I can help." I explained three simple things that would organize the whole process for her. She thanked me again and again. I got a little embarrassed and finally told her to just make sure she did what I suggested and called if she needed more help.

Noah had been watching a show on my laptop while I was on the phone. As soon as I hung up, he said with his eyes still on the screen, "She has a nice laugh."

"She sure does, buddy."

"I'm gonna tell her a joke tomorrow and make her laugh again," he said seriously, eyes still on his show.

"OK, bud. You do that and let me know how it goes."

*******

 

I got another call from Mrs. Abella a few days later. "Brian, I'm so sorry to bug you, but I could really use your help."

"Sure, what is it?"

"It's Ms. Murray. Apparently she's on vacation the day of the party- she's been planning a trip since this summer, and she assumed I knew! They'll get me someone else to help manage the class, but...I just don't know if I can run the party and the class. I already feel like I'm barely holding their attention."

"What? Are you kidding? Noah's crazy about you. He loves coming to school- which is saying a lot, because some days he only got out of bed in the morning because he wanted to see Mrs. Campbell. Sounds to me like you're doing fine."

"I'm not...I'm sorry to be unloading on you like this, but I'm freaking out a little bit, and everything you said helped so much last time..."

"So what are you asking?"

"Can you come to Noah's class for the party?" she said quickly.

"I was planning to be there- won't they be doing a little show or something?"

"Yeah, but...can you come early and, like, run the party? Tell people what to do and stuff? There's a mom and a grandma helping with crafts and snacks, but I need someone who knows everything that's going on and who can coordinate stuff and answer questions and tell me what to do that day. I can manage the kids, but I can't do the kids and the party."

"Uh...I don't know, Mrs. Abella..."

She laughed a little, then said, "I'm sorry, it's just so funny when you call me that." I figured that if she wanted to, she could tell me her first name, but it was probably good for me to keep reminding myself that she was a Mrs.

Interpreting my silence as hesitation, she said, "Brian, if you do this, I'll let you take home all the extra cupcakes and cookies after the party."

"Ooohhh...now we're talking. Homemade cookies and cupcakes?"

"I think so. Deidre's mom signed up to bring them, and she seems to be one of those super moms who goes over the top with everything, so they'll probably be amazing."

"Don't tell her this, but I hate those moms. Not that they do all that, but that they sort of rub it in, you know? I mean...some of us work all day."

"Tell me about it. I try not to feel guilty but..."

"Hey...I'll do it. I was already taking the morning off to be there for the party...I'll just come earlier."

"Yay! Thank you! You're a life-saver!"

"Don't mention it. I'll see you next Thursday, OK?"

"Thank you, Brian."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Abella."

 

*******

 

Thursday morning came, and I had arranged to show up 15 minutes before the kids arrived so I could touch base with Mrs. Abella and make sure the room was ready. She opened the door to the classroom and immediately dropped down to Noah's level to give him a hug. Noah's a hugger. Once he had scampered past her legs, I introduced myself, offering my hand. Mrs. Abella skipped my hand and went straight for a hug. I awkwardly put one arm on her back, still holding Noah's backpack in my other hand. Apparently, Mrs. Abella was also a hugger.

"Sorry...I just appreciate this so much," she said.

I tried not to stare. I really tried. She had freckles, yes- beautiful light brown spots across her nose and cheeks. I could see that there were also patches peeking out from her shoulders, trying to work their way up her neck. Her wavy hair was dark brown and probably long, though she had it tied up in a bun. Her eyes did sparkle, just like I had imagined, and they were an amazing green. Give her some red lipstick and her face would be ready for Christmas, I thought.

She led me into the room, and my eyes took her body in appreciatively. She was somewhat petite- thin and just on the short side of average. She was dressed modestly, but I could still tell she didn't have much in the way of curves. It didn't matter, though. Her outfit was stylish and her demeanor friendly. She would certainly turn heads (she turned mine, at least), but not because she had a classically sexy body. She was just...very beautiful.

I was embarrassed to realize she had been talking to me, but since her back was turned, she didn't notice that my mind was elsewhere. Instead of asking her to repeat herself, I tried to recover by saying, "Hey, before anything else, how much liberty do I have to rearrange things in here?" She told me to do whatever I thought best, and so I moved the craft and snack tables to opposite sides of the room. Putting the "performance area" in the middle and seats around it, I felt like we had a much more workable space than before.

When I had finished setting things up, I looked over at Mrs. Abella, who was just watching me. She seemed flustered when I caught her watching, then said, "I'm sorry, I'm just marveling at how much Noah looks like you. It's the eyes."

I looked over at Noah, who was in the corner pretending to cook at a toy stove, serving food to another little boy. We did look alike. We both had the same blue eyes and sharp nose. Noah had his mother's red hair instead of my light brown, though, and when he smiled, I saw Carrie all over him.

Watching the boys play, I asked, "Are parents allowed to drop kids off early?"

Mrs. Abella, looked at me quizzically, then with a flash of understanding said, "Oh, no..." then walking over to the boys, she squatted next to them and put her hand on the other boy. "This is my Jax. He's in a different class here, but he comes with me in the morning." Jax looked over at me and gave a small smile, then pretended to take a bite of some play food Noah had put before him.

Just then, a light tap on the door warned us that the kids were arriving. Miss Rivera, who was filling in for Ms. Murray that day, led in the first group of children. Mrs. Abella welcomed each of them by name, stooping down to say hello. She was so good with the kids. Over the course of the morning, I saw that over and over- she really had a gift for making the kids feel safe and happy. In that sense, she reminded me of Carrie, my late wife. Carrie was born to be a mom, and she had relished the role once Noah came along. Mrs. Abella seemed not only to be good with kids in the way a teacher is (like Ms. Murray was), but also in a loving, nurturing way that treated them each like her own. It was a pleasure to watch her work.

I ran the party, which went smoothly (until the kids got into the cookies, then we were just trying to survive the last 30 minutes). Once the day was over and all the kids were gone, a teacher led Jax back into the classroom with us to wait for his mom. Noah and I helped clean up, and just as we were about to leave, Mrs. Abella handed me two bags of leftover snacks.

"All yours!" she said. Then, as I stood there with my arms spread out, holding the food, Noah's gift bag, and Noah's backpack, Mrs. Abella moved in and gave me another hug. My arms were too full to reciprocate, so I stood there as she squeezed me and put her head briefly on my shoulder. I breathed in the strawberry scent of her shampoo, mixed with the peppermint scent of the frosting that had somehow gotten in her hair.

nageren
nageren
1,068 Followers