You don’t know me, yet I exist in the shadows of your lives. Our paths will never intertwine, and I will never meet your children. I’ll hear about them through my husband’s stories, often starting with, “You remember that kid who…” because he is always careful to protect your child’s privacy. He devotes himself to your kids with a passion and commitment that’s truly remarkable. He spends countless hours ensuring they have the tools they need: from providing pens to handing out snacks, fixing their laptops, and allowing them bathroom breaks whenever they need (you’d be surprised how often that basic courtesy is overlooked). He remembers their names, their pronouns, and even sacrifices his own lunch to provide a welcoming space in his classroom where they chatter away. I am the teacher’s wife, and I hear all about this.
When my husband comes home at four o’clock, he is utterly spent—exhausted from the emotional and physical energy he pours into your children. Did you know that school floors are concrete? He spends his days on his feet, racking up seven miles of walking within those four walls. As the teacher’s wife, I massage his tired feet and help him pick out professional-looking shoes. I ensure he has clean, pressed shirts to wear, telling him he looks good as he heads out the door. He needs that little boost.
I make sure he eats breakfast, knowing he gets grumpy when he skips it. When he’s in a bad mood, he can’t give his best to your kids, and it leaves him with even less to offer our own children. Often, he collapses onto the couch when he gets home, needing a break. On those days, I take the kids to their practices and manage the chaos at home while the dishes and laundry pile up. He feels guilty about it, but I reassure him that he can only do so much—our kids, your kids, they’re all precious and deserving of his care.
I listen patiently as he shares stories about his day, always maintaining the privacy of your children. He carries their struggles with him, especially the ones who are hurting. Just the other day, he told me about the loss within their small graduating class—six students. “Six,” he said, and I felt the weight of that knowledge. “To suicide?” I asked, but he shook his head, “No, to all kinds of things.” He shares the little acts of kindness he shows them—allowing a girl to use the restroom, having hair ties handy, making tea for his smallest class, and keeping warm blankets for the cold ones. Their gratitude for such simple gestures strikes me; it’s shocking how often children are treated without basic decency in school. I carry that sadness, the awareness of those who cannot eat in class, who are overlooked by teachers who forget their humanity.
I also grapple with the immense love my husband has for your children. I am deeply proud of the work he does. As the teacher’s wife, I wouldn’t want it any other way. He genuinely cares for them. You might not know how he learns bits of Spanish to connect with ESL students and their families. You don’t see the worry etched on his face, nor do you realize he keeps snacks like PB&Js for those who come to school hungry.
Of course, I worry about school shootings—every teacher’s wife does. But my fears are magnified because he would throw himself in harm’s way for your kids. I don’t know their names, but I know he would sacrifice everything for them. It terrifies me to think he might choose to protect your children in an emergency, simply because they are there in front of him and our children are not. It’s a brutal reality, one that strips love down to cold mathematics.
My husband is the kind of person who would instinctively take that risk. I know him well enough to understand that he wouldn’t hesitate. Being a teacher’s wife means carrying this burden of love and pride. I find joy in telling others, “My husband teaches English at such-and-such school.” He was once destined for a Ph.D. and a prestigious research position, but I am prouder of him now than I could ever be of that path. Graduation days bring me joy, but they also bring grief for the children he’s lost over the years, moments that have required me to hold him close through the pain. It’s all part of the package of being the teacher’s wife.
You will never know me, and I will never know your children’s names. But I love them, too.
Summary
This reflective piece explores the unrecognized sacrifices made by the wife of a dedicated teacher. She shares insights into her husband’s unwavering commitment to his students, highlighting the emotional toll and pride that come with being a teacher’s spouse. Despite their anonymity, she recognizes her husband’s profound love for his students, embodying a blend of admiration and concern for the challenges they face at school. Ultimately, she acknowledges the invisible bond that connects them, even without knowing their names.
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