Needy Daddy

The children pop out of the cars and head for the school door. Some parents barely let their feet clear before they drive off. One or two will give a cherry wave. One mom always yells “have fun, you brats!” I never know if she is speaking to them or us teachers. One daddy makes this dropping off time an enormous production. He drives up rather late and does not turn down his offensively loud music. He gets the child out, unzips her backpack, hands her a mask. She rejects it for another color. So, they start rooting around in the back seat. The other car drivers are all rolling their eyes by now. I think “it will be another fifteen minutes; this Daddy is needy.” Sometimes the child will run to me and give me a hug. He has to call her back to straighten her hair, her shoes, her bows. We have no other parents needing this kind of attention. I wonder about this.