When I Become A Teacher

Posted: October 5, 2015 in Prose
Tags: ,

When I was a kid, I wanted to become a teacher so when I do, I’d go back to my homeroom adviser, smile at her and say, “I’ve become like you, teacher. I wanted to be like you because I remember the sheer joy I felt the first time I took hold of crayons and water colors, the smile I had on my face as I was drawing stick figures and thinking they were the most beautiful drawings I’ve ever seen.” And after some dramatic pause I would ask her, “It is ever so lovely to teach, isn’t it?”

When I was in middle school, I wanted to become a teacher so when I do, I could raise an eyebrow on my science instructor and say, “I’ve become a teacher, and a proper and competent one at that. I chose this profession because I saw a lot of supposedly brilliant students go dumb because you sat lazily more than you talked effectively. And I wanted to prove to you that people do not take up education just because they can’t qualify in anything else.” And after some scornful laughter I would tell her, “See? It isn’t so hard to teach properly, now is it?”

Now I am in college and am learning about what really makes up an educator. And when I finally become one, I wish to go back in time and meet my high school self and tell her, “I’ve become a teacher, like what you’ve always wanted. But guess what. Being the competent, ideal pedagogue that you’ve visualized–it’s not always lovely, nor does it become too easy if you just work hard enough. It means many sleepless nights, countless mugs of coffee–and you know your stance against caffeine–unnumbered frustrations, and tears, and feeling of severe incompetence. And the more ‘properly’ you teach, the more difficult it becomes.” And when I see her disbelieving, defying eyes, I would laugh softly and say, “Wait and see–it’s not as easy as it appears to be.”


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