I play with kids

His name is JJ, he is 2 years old, with a smile that goes ear to ear. His skin is dark brown, his eyes are light brown, and he laughs with his whole face scrunched together, and his arms flailing. I am a first-year preschool teacher with textbook knowledge and zero real world skills. Barely out of high school, less than 6 months in a classroom, just finding my feet. Up until JJ, I had been having fun, still shocked that someone was giving me a paycheck to play with kids. My days are hugs and giggles, diapers and circle time, patting backs and reading books. I think, my job is cool, I thought, sure I can do this as a career.

JJ is pure chaos right from the beginning. He’s not walking on his own yet. Why? Dad insists on carrying him everywhere. Why? Because he doesn’t want JJ to get hurt. JJ also isn’t talking. Why? Dad is talking for him, and JJ hasn’t been anywhere without dad in his whole 2 years of living. JJ is special, Dad says, JJ is my whole world, Dad says, don’t let anything happen to JJ, Dad says (this time with a stern face that scares me because I am just a teenager getting paid to play with kids.) I develop an instant fear/dislike of Dad.

My whole class is walking, running, jumping, climbing, balancing, falling, not JJ, I am holding JJ. My whole class is talking, shouting, screaming, singing, whispering, and calling my name. JJ does make noise; he has perfected the art of the scream. Short, high screams when he wants me, one long low scream when he’s mad. Hiccupping screams when he’s upset. I am still holding JJ.

I hold JJ during art, squishing his fingers into the paint and onto the paper, he smears paint on my face, in my hair, and onto my shirt. I hold JJ in my lap during circle time, he picks his nose and wipes his fingers on my jeans. I hold JJ outside, until I can convince another teacher to hold him so I can take a break. I hold JJ during our lunchtime, JJ has never fed himself, Dad feeds JJ by hand. I wrap JJ’s fingers around the bread roll and guide it to his mouth, JJ spits up the bread onto my arm and screams. I hold JJ in my lap at naptime, while I pat another child’s back, JJ falls asleep on my leg, sometimes if I am lucky, I can roll him onto a mat and sneak away.

My director comes to me after 2 weeks, Dad is complaining that JJ is not happy at school. She says. I really don’t like Dad…

I am holding him, I explain, I am feeding him by hand, I explain, I am cradling him to sleep, I explain. My director starts to laugh. Oh honey, she says, let me help you. We meet, the director, JJ’s Dad, and I. My director has been in preschool for so many years, she is professional, calm, she is not scared of JJ’s Dad. She tells him things like, JJ cannot be held all day, JJ must do things for himself, JJ must talk for himself, walk for himself, clean up after himself, and go to sleep by himself. I want to cry, it’s the most beautiful conversation I have ever heard. I don’t cry though; I am a professional. You know who does cry? JJ’s Dad.

I am alone. He explains. There’s no one, just me and JJ. He’s a big man, JJ’s Dad, with short tight curls and wide shoulders. His shoulders are hunched together as he cries. I don’t want to fail him. I don’t want to do something wrong. I want to be a good Dad. My director hands him tissues, and now I am crying a little bit too, but I am hiding it, like a professional.

We agree to do what’s best for JJ, my director explains that we are there to help, and sometimes help is hard. We agree that I will work with JJ in class and Dad will work with JJ at home. We agree that we will not fail JJ. I don’t dislike Dad anymore; I am not even a little bit scared of him. It’s hard to fear a man who loves his son that much.

Working with JJ is different than holding JJ. I learn to respond to his screams with words, I learn to hold his hand instead of his body. At lunch I break up his food on his plate, and he feeds himself small bites. At nap I sit next to him and tell him its going to be ok, and he cries himself to sleep. The next 2 weeks are hard. Hard for me. Hard for JJ. Hard for Dad.

It’s ‘bring your pet to school’ week. Dad drops off JJ in the morning, and he looks at my signup list. Its not very full, not many parents want to bring pets to a two-year-old class. We have 2 goldfish signed up. I am slightly relieved. Last year someone brought a dog and the kids mobbed it, I felt bad for the dog. Dad looks at the list and then he writes down, tortoise, 4pm. Secretly I am elated, this is the first time Dad has signed up for anything, and tortoise is like a turtle, right? It can sit on my countertop in its turtle cage and the kids will love it.

JJ and I set up for snack together, he puts plate out on his own, some fall to the floor, but most land on the table. I tell him, your dad is coming with your pet turtle! (I still think turtle and tortoise are the same thing.) Dad! JJ tells me, he knows almost 15 words now, but Dad! Is his favorite. I don’t mind, he calls my name now when he needs me and that makes my heart oddly full of happy tears. Its 4pm, I am watching the class door, waiting for JJ’s Dad. The intercom buzzes, my director says, open your back gate please.

We go outside, the other teacher helps me shoo the kids back away from the gate. Parked on the other side is a big truck. JJ’s Dad is standing in the back with an apron on, he’s smiling, I am shocked. I hold the gate open with one hand, I hold JJ’s hand with the other. He starts to scream, it’s a high, happy, excited scream and all the other kids join in. Amidst the screams JJ’s Dad pulls a tortoise out of his truck. Dad is a big man, but he struggles to hold onto this tortoise, it’s the biggest thing I’ve ever seen. He comes in the gate sidewise and gently sets the tortoise on the ground. There are two. He calls them Salt and Peppa. They are very old. They are big enough for my kids to comfortable ride. We learn about tortoises; JJ’s Dad lectures my two-year-old’s like we are in collage. The kids don’t mind, they’ve never seen a man as big and as excited as JJ’s Dad. They’ve never seen a tortoise so big you can ride it. JJ is talking so fast to me, to his dad, to the other kids, to the tortoise, none of us can understand him, but he’s explaining things too.

It’s the best afternoon, the tortoises stay for an hour, JJ’s Dad helps the kids pet the shells, he feeds Salt and Peppa giant lettuce leaves. Other parents come in, they are excited too, my signup sheet is full now, there are lots of pets coming. Someone says they have a goat; I am not so worried; goats are probably as chill as tortoises. JJ peels off a lettuce leaf and proudly feeds Peppa, he shouts my name, he wants me to see how good he’s doing. I am talking to another parent, so he comes over, running, crashing into my leg while telling me, come look, come look. I excuse myself and I go with him, he’s holding my hand, pulling me, telling me about Peppa and Dad! And now he has a new word, lets (lettuce). I did that, I think, realizing how far JJ’s come. Dad is still talking to kids, excited and engaged, smiling ear to ear like his son. I did that too, I think, realizing how far Dad has come. That was the moment I realized, I love my job.