We’re watching TV before bed, all three of us sitting on the sofa. When the program goes to a commercial, Mom turns off the sound.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Granma says. “I don’t know if we’re ready for this yet.”

“Oh, he’s just a friend. And anyway, Ben already knows him. It’s Mr. Tomski, your social studies teacher. He likes you,” Mom tells me. Then the show comes back on, so we don’t have to talk about it, which is fine with me. I’ve noticed that it takes me a while to react to anything—I don’t even always have a reaction. Sometimes it takes me a few days.

Mr. Tomski is one of those teachers who’s easy to distract. He’s normal height, maybe a little fat, and he always wears a jacket and tie to school, but he never looks well-dressed. His shirt hangs out, and his jacket looks old and dirty. His shoes always have mud on them, probably because he lives on a ranch. Sometimes he wears glasses, but he can never find them when he wants to.

If you want him to stop teaching, you just have to ask him about his ranch. He has a lot of stories: about his animals, and the people he bought the ranch from (Mr. Tomski says they were “real old Texans”), and how much it costs to feed a pig or how much you can sell a pig for at Johnny G’s Meat Market. Most of the kids like Mr. Tomski, but they don’t have much respect for him. “Just ask him about his ranch,” they say. “Then you don’t have to learn anything.”

He’s also the head coach of the basketball team. Kids think this is funny, too. “That dude does not look like he ever played basketball.” As soon as somebody starts making fun of a teacher, everyone else joins in. “He looks like a homeless guy.” “My dad says he couldn’t dunk a donut in a cup of coffee.” That’s the kind of thing they say.

They also tell stories about his car. Once, after a basketball game, the school bus broke down and Mr. Tomski and some of the parents had to drive the players home. “Don’t go in his car,” Pete said afterward. “It smells like a farm in there. He’s actually got straw in his car. You get covered in hay. I had to take a shower when I got home. It smells like poo.” I heard all this waiting in line at the cafeteria.

This is the guy my mom invited for dinner.

In class the next day, I wonder if he’s going to say something to me about coming over. I always sit at the back because I don’t want anyone to call on me. That’s one good thing about Mr. Tomski—he’s not one of those teachers who calls on you if you don’t raise your hand. But it’s just a normal class; he doesn’t seem to notice me.