“Dear parents,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mai Hoa Thanh, homeroom teacher of Class 1A. I have been devoted to primary education for twenty years now – and all those years, I have only ever taught first grade.”
She smiled playfully:
“In other words, after all this time, I still haven’t… been promoted to the next grade!”
Laughter rippled through the room. The air grew lighter, closer. Everyone could sense her passion for teaching, her long years of experience distilled into gentle humor.
Once the laughter faded, she began sharing the essential notes of the very first parent meeting.
At the back row sat Hải, with his son’s name tag placed neatly before him. This year, little Tĩnh was entering first grade, yet Hải felt as if it were he who was about to start school. His chest tightened, both restless and anxious. On the surface, Hải looked like the kind of man people would cross the street to avoid – tattoos inked from his neck down to his ankles, a face roughened by years of hardship. And yet, there he was, carefully pressing labels onto his son’s notebooks, neat and meticulous – in that moment, he seemed gentler than anyone else in the room.
Hải worked as a debt collector. In the old days, the job demanded loud voices, knives, flashing blades, and sheer intimidation. But times had changed. People now called it “debt recovery” done in a civil, professional manner. Over the years, even his own temperament had softened.
And then came Tĩnh – the very reason Hải learned patience, learned tenderness, learned the meaning of being a father.
Back when his son was still in kindergarten, Hải would anxiously refresh enrollment news, fearing there might not be a place for him. This year, a new policy brought relief: every child had a guaranteed spot at school, no more backdoor dealings, no more sleepless worry. When Hải saw Tĩnh’s name on the list for a public school right in the heart of the district, his eyes brimmed with tears. The weight he had carried for months suddenly lifted.
And so today, among twenty-seven other parents, Hải sat eagerly, no less excited than the rest. In his arms were bundles of supplies – notebooks, colored pencils, paints, textbooks – all prepared meticulously for his son. To Hải, the meeting itself felt like a festival, a celebration of learning.
On the podium, Ms. Thanh in her crimson áo dài spoke with a clear, firm voice:
“This year, the children will learn writing, mathematics, art, ethics, music, English, and even life skills. In addition, parents may register them for enrichment classes – martial arts, chess, basketball, painting, or dance.
Above all, for first graders, handwriting is crucial. Each stroke must be guided with patience and care. As the saying goes ‘Handwriting is the reflection of one’s character.’ When the children learn to write neatly, carefully, they are also shaping the people they will become.
Please make sure their books are labeled and covered neatly in plastic. I will provide chalk to avoid messy hands and clothes. As for board cloths, use baby washcloths – the children will wash them themselves. And notebooks must be the four-line type, not the five-line!”
Every time she finished a point, parents rustled through their stacks, checking, comparing, scribbling notes. The scene was both earnest and intimate.
“Keep the second set of exercise books at home for later use – the classroom cupboards won’t have enough space. As for uniforms, prepare both the school uniform and the sports uniform. At home, please help your children spend less time on social media, and instead practice reading and writing. In math, they’ll work within the range of one hundred – please remind them not to write numbers backward. …”
With each instruction, she clicked to the next slide, her guidance thorough and deliberate. From outside, the sounds of the schoolyard drifted in, and she slipped on a microphone so her voice carried clearly.
The whole campus buzzed like a festival. Not a single parent was absent, for everyone knew the importance of this first milestone – a transition into a new world. New school, new classroom, new teacher, new friends and the parents were no less anxious, no less eager than their little ones.
Every detail spoke of care: teachers posted on each floor to guide parents, school staff waiting by the gates to greet and direct them with bows, the guard working tirelessly to align cars and motorbikes into neat rows. The atmosphere was both solemn and heartwarming.
When the meeting ended, Hải strolled slowly across the courtyard. His eyes lingered on the framed photographs and certificates – the history of the school, its honors, its guiding principles. And in his chest bloomed a quiet, fervent hope: that his son would spend five happy, steady years here. That these early years – the very foundation of Tĩnh’s life – would become his strength for the road ahead.
In the library, Hải lined up with the other parents to buy an extra four-line notebook, exactly as the teacher had instructed. And as he waited, a curious elation welled up inside Hải – light, buoyant, unexplainable.
The school opening ceremony on September 5th was near. And Hải knew: a new journey, for father and son alike, had already begun.
Excerpt from “The First Parent Meeting” – Short Stories by Hà Kim
