How Did I Get Here? Becoming a Teacher

I still do not know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be many things. For the moment, and I anticipate for many years to come, I am a teacher-a first grade teacher. The question that has been posed to me is “How did I get here?”

When I ask myself that question, I chuckle to myself. I remember the exact moment that the idea of actually becoming a teacher materialized. I was 29 years old, sitting at a switchboard answering one call after another for a law firm of over 200 employees. I had been at this job for four years. I had met many interesting people with interesting conversations. Unfortunately, I was not one of the interesting people with interesting conversations. I was on the outside looking in. My conversation consisted primarily of “Smith, Helms, Mullis and Moore. How can I help you? One moment please. That line is busy. May I connect you to our message center. Hold please. Have a nice day.”

It was after four years of this uninteresting conversation, that I began to almost hyperventilate in my little switchboard -operator- office- without- windows. I attributed this attack to several feelings, subconscious and conscious. These feelings were monotony, boredom and the feeling that I had not done with my life that which I had been created to do. I then began to think about the many careers I had considered during my youth. With pen in hand, I decided to jot down the list of the careers I had once taken into account. The list consisted of princess, ballerina, tap dancer, archeologist, poet and artist. There were more careers I could have jotted down, but these were ones that I had truly considered. Looking over the list, I automatically crossed out the princess. While I had seriously considered growing up to be a princess for over a year, by the wise old age of 5 I knew that princesses only lived in fairy tales. That revelation had been even harder to take than the realization that there is no Santa Claus several years later..

However, I did spend about one minute imagining my life as a ballerina and tap dancer. After all, I did take dance lessons from the age of 12 through age 19. Unfortunately, I kept seeing myself tap dance across the stage as a four foot Shirley Temple clone. After this one- minute fantasy, I crossed ballerina and tap dancer off the list.

As for archeologist, I just couldn’t see myself going out on digs. While this had been an interest of mine in 6^th grade, my passion and interest had some how diminished through the years. It had become an unrealistic dream. Crossing archeologist off my list was the right thing to do. This decision required very little thought.

Finally, I looked at the next career I had written on my list. It required a bit more reflection than the previous words on my list. As I looked at the word poet, a flood of memories seemed to engulf me. Initially, I remembered my freshman year at Meredith College. I recalled a poet-musician boyfriend and the many evenings spent writing, reciting and turning lyrics into song. It was during this time as a freshman that I considered becoming a poet. This was a pleasant memory. However, as I continued to reminisce, these initial memories were replaced with other memories-memories that were not so enjoyable. These memories brought to mind a professor and a course. The course was Composition 101 (or something like that), and the professor was the legendary Dr. Rose. The memory of Dr. Rose having a conference with me and making it very clear during that conference that I had the smallest vocabulary of any freshman she had taught in her 100 years of teaching (a little exaggeration), was vivid. I couldn’t remember her exact words, but it was clear that she perceived me as being terribly unsophisticated in my use of grammar, and as having an illogical manner in expressing myself through words. I remembered the sick feeling I got during that conference. I took her words very hard, for I had a great desire to express myself and communicate with others, as I believe all human beings do. It was evident that she was the reason that I gave up on the notion of becoming a poet, whose use of words is vital in his/her profession.

After this recollection, I took my pen as if it were a weapon and repeatedly crossed out the word poet until it was nothing more than an ugly blob of ink. My thoughts then centered around the next word on my list-artist. This word, too, led me back to the memories of freshman year at Meredith. After Dr. Rose had squashed my dreams of becoming a poet, I pondered on a major/career that would still allow me to express myself, my ideas and knowledge without the use of words. I quickly decided that a career as an artist would be fulfilling. I could still express ideas and knowledge through pen and ink, only the pen and ink would create images rather than words. This decision seemed to free me. At the age of 19, I remembered feeling grounded with my decision. It seemed to be the right decision. Then another memory came to mind. I recalled the following: It was a beautiful spring day. The skies were blue, flowers were in bloom and the birds were singing, I suddenly saw Dr. Rose walking toward me. She and I had crossed paths frequently throughout the two years I had been at Meredith. I had great respect for her on a subconscious level. I had great fear of her on a conscious level. She was like that little angel that sits on one side of your shoulder telling you things you really know are true but don’t want to hear. We began a conversation and I decided to mention my future plans of majoring in Art. I also told her I would be transferring to another school that had a better Art program. She looked reflectively at me and said after a brief pause, that my decision was fine and all, but she thought I would do better in education. She thought I would be good as a teacher to children. I thought she was ridiculous. What did she know about me? I had never baby sat; I had never been around children; I had never even held a baby. I didn’t know it at the time, but a seed had been planted, nevertheless.

I went on to get a degree in Art. It was a happy time in my life. I loved learning; I loved knowledge; I loved using Art as an analogy to life. Balance, negative space, positive space, concrete images and ideas, abstract images and ideas, order within chaos, peace within conflict, etc. were all expressed through my art. These were the same universal truths I was unable to reveal through words/writing. I finally felt literate!

Yet, here I was, sitting at this switchboard in an almost hyperventilating state. My art degree had only landed me a monotonous job, a job in which my quest for knowledge, for expression and for “real” communication with others could not be fulfilled. I studied the word artist. It was last on my list. Should I go back to school and get a master’s in art, maybe learn some commercial skills? Should I perhaps get my master’s in art history? What about getting my certification to teach art? Didn’t the state just cut many of the art programs offered in the school? Would certification in that area give me security? All these questions kept coming to mind. I thought of married life, of the baby on the way, of bills. I could not be selfish at this moment in time. I had to think of my husband and my baby-to-be. What career could fit into all of that?

Because I was expecting a child, I had great interest in child development. As I was sitting at the switchboard, after crossing out every career listed on my yellow notepad, after some reflection about my life, the idea of going back to school to become a teacher hit me. Could I do it? Would it be a career that would fit into my lifestyle as new mother and wife? I thought I would give it a shot.

So here I am, 15 years later teaching first grade and loving it. I am continuously learning and having interesting interactions with all types of people, little and big. I am driven to teach for many reasons. I want to instill in each student a love for him/herself as a student, love for and curiosity about life, and love for and curiosity about people and the world in which we all live. Along with instilling this love in each student, I want my students to view problems and obstacles in learning as opportunities to make a discovery. I want these problems and obstacles to generate enthusiasm and faith rather than insecurity, fear and misery. I, also, want to instill in my students a love for ideas- the ideas they will discover and formulate through observation, and communication. I want them to love the ideas expressed through language, written and oral, through mathematics, the sciences, and through the arts. I want my students to have enough “a-ha!” moments that they expect more of these moments with each new learning experience. Finally, I want to enjoy and appreciate the students and the subjects I teach. I want for myself, that which I want for my students. I want to continue to view the problems I encounter in teaching as opportunities to make discoveries. I want to be enthusiastic about the subjects I teach. I want to love ideas expressed through the many subjects I teach. I want to continue to have “a-ha” moments or epiphanies. I work on that daily.

As for my future, I am letting life take me where it takes me. The only certain plan I have for my future career, whether it be as a teacher or not, is that my education will continue. I have so much to learn, as do my students. That is exciting!

P.S. I am not sure if I needed to add that my father was a college professor, primarily did research and taught chemistry and statistics at N.C. State University. My father may have also influenced my decision to become a teacher, but that is another story.