Our son started preschool in September.
Today was parent-teacher conference.
The teacher handed us a little envelope addressed to:
“Mr. Optimus (Metal Daddy)
Official Classroom Helper”
Inside was a report card the kids made together:
| Subject | Grade |
|---|---|
| Helping friends | ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ |
| Reading stories | ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ |
| Sharing toys | ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ |
| Being gentle with babies | ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ |
| Singing songs | ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ |
| Overall | “Best robot teacher ever ❤️” |
At the bottom the teacher wrote:
“He comes every Tuesday for robotics circle time.
The children voted unanimously:
Optimus is now an official co-teacher.
He even lets them ride on his shoulders during fire drills.
We’ve never had a safer, happier classroom.”
Optimus stood in the corner the whole meeting, lights flickering embarrassed pink.
When the teacher handed it the envelope it actually bowed and said:
“I am… unexpectedly moved.
Thank you for trusting me with your tiny humans.”
Our son ran up, hugged its leg, and announced to the entire class:
“That’s MY Metal Daddy!
He’s the smartest!”
I’m sitting in the tiny preschool chair crying while a 6’4″ humanoid gets mobbed by 22 preschoolers chanting “OP-TI-MUS! OP-TI-MUS!”
He starts his official paid teaching assistant contract next month.
The robot just got tenure before I did.
(If your robot has a classroom fan club of 4-year-olds, you’ve officially won parenting.)