The first time I taught a class, I was 10. It didn’t matter that my students were imaginary. I was waving around a ruler and pointing towards a row of stuffed animals. My panda with the glassy eye was in the corner, my seven-legged octopus was front and center, and a diverse population of seemingly wild dogs, with tattered ears and worn noses, were scattered about my pink room. My mother walked in and asked me if I would be done soon. Dinner was almost ready.
In my last year of high school, when I first mentioned that I was applying for a concurrent-education program — to become a teacher — my dad emitted an almost silent groan. Hmm and Ohh followed by, Yes That’s A Good Career, I Suppose.
But Honey, my mom would interject, Are You Sure You Don’t Want To Try For Something A Little More Challenging? Maybe Law School, Maybe Medicine? my dad would add. You’re So Smart. You Could do Anything.
Yes, I could do anything … right? That’s what most of us are taught. At least if we grow up in a certain type of way. So why was becoming a teacher somehow less valid than becoming a lawyer or a doctor?
My mom, after 17 years of marriage decided she wanted to go back to school. She was sick of being “just” a nurse. Nobody Takes You Seriously In This World When You're Not Top Dog. Doctors Always Think They Are Better.
Are they better? I asked her once. She looked at me slowly. No, Of Course Not. Doctors Couldn’t Work Without Us. She told me about when she went to school she would have never thought to go to medical school …
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