📚 Teaching My Little Brother: A Love Story... From the Depths of H-E-L-L

 Mom walks in like a sweet-faced general with The Assignment. Lets call my little brother Mike.

“Teach your little brother, Mike. Just help him a bit with reading.”

Just help him, she said.
It’ll be easy, she said.

Should've known better.

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🎓 Meet Mike: My Tiny, Adorable Menace

Mike is cute.
Like, baby-in-a-hoodie kind of cute.
He has those big innocent eyes, marshmallow cheeks, and the superpower of melting your soul before you can say “no.”

He’s also the youngest sibling. The spoiled, gets-away-with-murder kind.

And he reads at the speed of…

🐌 One. Word. Per. Hour. (With snack breaks.)

I wish I was exaggerating.

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🧠 The Teaching Experience in One Word?

H-E-L-L.
I said what I said.

Imagine trying to teach someone who treats every letter like it personally offended him.
I was like,

“Mike, it’s ‘cat.’ Sound it out. C-A-T.”
He stares at me like I just asked him to decode alien algebra.
“Cow?”

I have never fought the urge to dig a hole, crawl into it, and DIE.

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🎭 He Reviewed Me, BTW

In case you're wondering, yes — Mike gave me a performance review.

Verbatim:

“You’re the worst teacher in the entire galaxy and I don’t like to be learned from you.”

"Learned from you," he said.

And no, I didn’t beg for this job.
I was drafted.
Voluntold.
Thrust into educational warfare by my own loving mother.

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🧦 I’d Eat My Sock, Actually

I can almost solemnly swear:
If anyone — anyone — can survive teaching Mike for more than 20 (wait no) 10 minutes without crying, fake coughing, or pretending the Wi-Fi died…

I. Will. Eat. My. Sock.

And not the clean one.
The "oops I wore this during PE and it rained" one.
Yeah. THAT sock.

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💔 But Then… My Heart Pulled a Betrayal

Just when I was about to quit and blame it on “emotional burnout,”
Mike looked up at me, with this soft squishy smile and whispered:

“Are you mad at me?”

UM.

NO, I’M NOT MAD. I’M SOFT. I’M MUSH.
I’M A PUDDLE OF GUILT AND LOVE.
I literally went from “this job sucks” to “I’d fight a dragon to help him read the word ‘bug’” in 0.4 seconds.

My heart? Weak.
My willpower? Sold out.
His cuteness? Overload.

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📘 The Final Chapter (Until Tomorrow)

So yes, teaching my little brother is a full-on emotional rollercoaster with no seatbelt.
There’s confusion. Chaos. Snack crumbs.
But also giggles, mini breakthroughs, and that weird warm feeling when he finally gets a word right.

I wouldn’t trade it.
Okay maybe I would.
But only for like… ten minutes of silence and chocolate cake.

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💬 Ever tried teaching a sibling? Or a tiny chaotic human with main-character energy and zero focus? Tell me your stories in the comments. Let’s form a support group. Bring cookies.

Love,
Shakiba ☁️