"Daddy gets to meet Ms. M! Daddy gets to meet Ms. M!" Becca skips around you as she leads you to her classroom through halls that feel too narrow and ceilings too low for an adult like you. "You're gonna love her, Daddy! You'll see why I want to be like her!" The image of Becca stuffing her pillow under her shirt briefly flashes through your mind, and it makes you wonder exactly what this fabled Ms. M. looks like. You make a mental note not to stare.
A door labeled 2-C is decorated with butterflies with students' names on them. Becca takes the time to point out the one with her name on it, and you praise her for her neat handwriting and... creative... use of colors. From inside you can hear the voices of another parent-teacher conference and although you know it wrong to eavesdrop, there isn't much else going on to hear. The voice that you identify as Ms. M. is smooth and warm, befitting one that works with children. The kind more suited to calm a child at the end of a long day than to raise energy and spirits at the beginning of one, but perhaps she's as tired at what would normally be the end of her work day as you are.
A boy with deep skin and short hair is led out of the room by his mother, who nods at you with a polite smile. You recognize her from school pickup. The boy and Becca exchange waves as he turns the corner and disappears from sight. "Come in," you hear from the classroom.
Becca's classroom feels as warm as her teacher's voice. There are tables of different shapes around the room and carpets that seem to designate different areas. Ones for learning and play of different kinds. A cubby wall low to the ground is lined with dolls and blocks. In the far corner, a woman sits at her desk, with two other chairs beside it for you. From where she sits, you can see the full view of the woman. You remind yourself of your internal promise not to stare, but how could you not?
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