The Teacher’s Child

The teacher’s child is up too soon,
Eyes a-rubbed and cereal spooned.
He’s all his clothes laid in a line,
All washed and pressed with Mother’s iron.
He knows the sun, both ‘rise and ‘set,
He knows who’ll be the teacher’s pet.

The teacher’s child can never shirk;
Can’t hide the notes about late work.
Can’t even hide behind his name;
The teacher’s clearly called the same.
And all his friends know this too well
When he’s greeted by the principal.

The teacher’s child must quietly chew
Another meal from the drive-thru.
“How was your day?” is not his own
When they fin’lly meet his dad at home.
Then he will always share his desk
With thirty other pupils’ mess.

The teacher’s child will wash his sheets,
Will feed the pet, will brush his teeth.
He’ll tuck himself into his bed,
Will tell himself a book he’s read.
And, though her time is far and few,
Will cherish his mother’s, “I love you.”

26 thoughts on “The Teacher’s Child

  1. This is a lovely poem. Quite beautiful. Being a retired teacher it had me wiping away tears. But, I must confess, those mornings as a working/teacher/mom were much more chaotic than your poetic lyrics. And i think for my sons, they were often stressed each morning as I ran late or had to be at school earlier than usual for a conference. And no, I didn’t lay out their clothing. My boys had specific styles and chose their own wardrobe. I never had time to notice or worry about it. (I was a divorced/single mom.) One son had a check list and was waiting at the door. The other was never ready on time and when he got to the door he often had his backpack on but forgot his pants. (He was the right brained one). Both sons, very gifted, but so uniquely different. LOL The ending to this piece is so beautiful that I have to share it with all my teacher friends. Thank you for posting.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You’re welcome. I wrote it based on a super-organized friend I have who is starting her first year teaching.
      Admittedly, I thought quite a bit about children being rushed and not remembering pants and such; and quite a bit about the single parent teachers I know.

      Liked by 1 person

    2. For you, Lesley, (and my own sons who would definitely arrive without pants):

      The teacher’s child is up too soon,
      Eyes a-rubbed and cereal spooned.
      He’s found his shirt upon the floor;
      In only a backpack, he’s at the door….

      Liked by 1 person

        1. Ah, Mr. B., methinks I’ve acquired the ‘flu-like malady passed ’round by my thoughtful boys.
          ‘Whatever may heal you?’ You may ask.
          ‘Well,’ says I (from a prone, bedridden position), ‘I need…. I need…’
          ‘Yes?! What do you need?!’
          ‘I need… A… [gasp] …letter!’


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