- Area: Humanities
- Program: Composition
- Type of Writing: Fiction/Creative Non-Fiction
- Course Level: 2000
- English Speaking Nativeness: Native
- Year: 2017
- Paper ID: H.C.F.N.2.N.2.8.811
I believe it was the fourth grade… the grade where I started learning about adverbs, adjectives, and all that kind of stuff. I along with the other twenty-five students, sat in my chair in my collard uniform on the first day of school. I was surrounded by all sorts of colorful bulletin boards and was very eager to learn what my new teacher had for me. My hand gripped around my smooth octagon shaped pencil as I waited for my teachers instructions. The excitement within me was un explainable, I loved school.
My love for school quickly vanished. My teacher introduced me to a new thing called Language. It was my new worst enemy. I could not seem to understand and take in what the teacher was saying. When my teacher taught about adverbs, adjectives and that sort of stuff, it was in one ear and out the other. I sat there in my hard seat trying to concentrate on what my teacher was saying. No matter how hard I tried to follow along, I could not. It was like my teacher was speaking in a different language. I felt dumb.
Fifth grade was not any better, same school, different teacher. The struggle of understanding continued. I was lucky if I ever got a score above a 70%. I felt alone, like I would never get it. The studying did no good and I was to embarrassed to ask for help because I thought everyone would make fun of me. I will always be dumb. Getting my tests back were the worst. What will my parents think this time? Walking up the driveway after school, I had my newly graded test tucked away deep in my book bag. I was not ready for what would come after my parents saw the awful score on my test. I hope she doesn’t remember about the test. Opening the door to the house, the smell of fresh baked bread filled my nostrils. There she was waiting as I walked in, with a stern look on her face she held out her hand for my test. My stomach sank. Out came the test and came the many hours of studying for the next test.
Many years later, I ran into my fifth grade teacher. We had all met up at a post-dinner party at the Applebees. The late night air was cold, there was frost on the windows. We all squished into a booth to order our hot chocolate. The sound of soft oldies music filled the air as we chattered amongst ourselves. The smell of breakfast consumed us. We got to talking about our future and our pasts, my old teacher looked at me with sadness in her hazel eyes, and said something like “I feel so bad, I wasn’t a good teacher. I was just thrown in the class and didn’t know the content at all.” In this moment of realization, I decided I wanted to change the world for the better and it just so happens that I love kids. Teaching elementary education is soon to be my profession.
This took place in a private school, where degrees are not required to teach, which is strange to me because the required education to become a teacher in a public school includes a bachelors degree, along with teacher training to help you learn how to teach each and every child effectively. You are also required a state licensure and continuing education to maintain licensure. Teaching degree also help your students in many ways, by preparing you to be the best teacher you can be, and ensuring that your students learn the most from you that they can. Many might think that sending a child to a private school would benefit their child more, but this was not the case here. This experience is proof that there should be requirements of becoming a teacher. We should not put the education of our children in the hands of just anyone. Anybody can learn but not everyone can teach.
Keywords: teaching degree, personal story