When I was 7, my dad sat me up on one knee and told me I was the smartest girl in the world and I was going to make a difference one day. I told him I was going to be an astronaut. "No," he said. "You cannot be an astronaut, that is too dangerous for my little girl. You will be a teacher."
When I was 12, I wrote a paper for school about my dream of being a flight attendant. My dad shook his head and told me he'd never sleep if I were constantly flying around. "You need to be a teacher," he told me. "You have so much fun helping with your (16!) nieces and nephews! And you are so good with them!"
When I was 15, I started taking steps to be an athletic trainer. Then at 18, a psychologist. At 21, I was studying to be a journalist. "No. No. No." my daddy kept saying. "You are meant to be a teacher!"
I did love children more than anything. But even way back when I was a tiny little girl, sitting on my daddy's knee, I was so scared of becoming a teacher. Over the years, this fear shaped itself into being a lack of confidence in my ability to teach well. I was so afraid that I wouldn't be patient enough, or smart enough, or that I wouldn't be that teacher that makes a huge difference in every child she meets. Even when I was little, I held teachers in high regard.
While studying to be a journalist, my best friend talked me into helping out at the preschool she worked at to make some extra cash. I was just going to be giving lunch breaks to the teachers, so I'd never be in a classroom more than an hour. This lasted one week.
My boss called me into her office and gave me a lead teaching position. Despite my lack of experience, she said she knew that I was a teacher. She said I should not be giving lunch breaks, nor should I be an assistant teacher for a while first (which I suggested). So, I called my daddy and said, "I'm a teacher."
"I know that," he said.
Things have continued in that direction for 5 years now. I left that small preschool after 2 years (and many, many special little moments) and applied at a couple larger private preschools with pristine reputations. Both offered me the position of a co-lead teacher, and after quite a lot of consideration, I took one of them.
After a year and a half of amazing teaching days, I found that I had not made the right choice for me. I loved my job, but at this school, the lesson plans were pre-planned and sent in from the corporate headquarters. I loved planning lessons myself.
So after many tears and much careful consideration, I reapplied at the other school, where I landed my perfect job. I taught 4-year-olds in a PreK class for a year, and have now spent the last several months teaching 5-year-olds in Jr. Kindergarten.
The school has extremely high standards and expectations, but I love it. I spend hours planning lessons about outer space, only to come in and find out that the kiddos are only interested in dinosaurs today. So I change it up and find another way to capture their attention. No two days are the same, and every day seems better than the last.
Because my daddy was right. I am a teacher.
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