19-Year-Old Preschools His Future: Teaching Phonics While Wondering If He’ll Ever Make It Out of Toddler Hell

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In an increasingly ironic twist of fate, 19-year-old Davontez Johnson stepped away from the chaos of high school—where he was perhaps contemplating which fast food joint would make him feel less like a cog in a machine—to embrace the vibrant world of preschool education at Dorothy I. Height Elementary School in Baltimore. Who knew that his destiny would involve managing a troop of 4-year-olds chanting “Clap your hands now, syl-a-bles!” on a carpet that looked suspiciously like a psychedelic trip gone wrong?

Johnson, part of the Leading Men Fellowship—a noble attempt to spice up the almost comically homogeneous landscape of elementary education—is now donning the role of a preschool guru. Because, let’s face it: the lack of diversity among teachers in preschool classrooms runs parallel to the variety in a hospital cafeteria—there’s only so much beige food one can take. With less than 1% of elementary educators being Black men, Johnson‘s presence isn’t just refreshing; it’s practically a revolution in plaid shirts and upside-down sneakers.

While attempting to instill a love for literacy in these young scholars (or, as he might be seen, a glorified babysitter with a book), Johnson manages to channel his inner Broadway star. No experience necessary—just commitment to singing and dancing with the solemnity of a Shakespearean actor delivering a monologue in a slapstick comedy. What a time to be alive!

And what does he earn for these delightful escapades? A whopping $16.50 to $18 an hour, while fighting against a system that seems more bent on expelling boys of color than ensuring they can read. It’s heartwarming to think about how he’s molding futures while surviving on less than someone might make flipping burgers. Because in this topsy-turvy world, helping kids learn letters is a side gig, but not much of a living.

Bridget Jeffrys, a fellow educator at Heights, gushes about Johnson‘s all-or-nothing enthusiasm that’s reminiscent of an over-caffeinated squirrel. She’s thrilled to have a male presence in her classroom—an event as rare as a unicorn sighting—though she muses quietly that his rhythm could use some serious work. But hey, it’s the thought that counts, right? Kids think he’s just another big kid—because why not?

Meanwhile, Johnson dreams of a political career, possibly envisioning himself fixing education from the top down, once he figures out how to get through toddler tantrums without losing his sanity. Because, let’s face it: in a world where education is in crisis, someone singing about phonics while tying shoes might just be the most radical act of all. Or at least it would make for some excellent political ads.