NFont
Sep 24, 2012
Undergraduate / CommonApp Essay - Whiteboards and Teddy Bears - Teacher experiences [2]
The screech of an Expo marker makes my spine tingle. It has been this way ever since I unwrapped my first package of markers and doodled "Ms. Font" at the top of my very own whiteboard, gifted to me especially from Santa . . . or Target -- I'm not quite sure. In any case, this sound identifies the one thing I have always been sure about myself: I want to teach.
Katie, my first student, can vouch for me (teddy bears are honest, I promise) -- I have been teaching since I was five years old. Initially, my mom thought this was an exciting game, but one I would soon tire of. When I didn't, she agreed to buy me the essentials. Eventually I had accumulated everything a genuine teacher would need to run a classroom, even a book of attendance. Gone were the days of doing homework alone! Instead, 18 of my very own furry friends would sit on my bedroom floor to help me.
I entertained myself for years with this childish pastime, but soon enough people were asking what I wanted to be when I "grew up." What did I want to be? It seemed easy enough to just spit out the word "teacher" like a piece of dry gum, but alas, it was not nearly that easy and being a teacher didn't seem nearly that disgusting. Though I couldn't disagree more, teaching, as my eight-year-old self had come to know, was a terrible profession! "You'll be poor!" they said. I didn't want to be poor! Suddenly, a future in medicine or law became more appealing and at night I fell asleep content with the fact that there was a good possibility I would soon own the largest collection of designer shoes in the world. I would constantly argue and patch up my little brother's wounds as best I could, though nothing was as rewarding as listening to the screech of the Expo as I scribbled my name.
I have since matured and come to a deeper realization thanks to a summer internship I held at a school for children with budding Autism called The Crystal Academy. After much practice, I was permitted to hold a therapy session with a child, Lulu, who was learning to say "hi." After relentless repetition, the word slipped from her tiny mouth as if she had known it all along. My frustration towards the situation was evident, but things became clearer to me than they had ever been before.
Teaching is not a profession that is anything like law, medicine, or any other occupation for that matter. It requires a special person who has enduring patience, the ability to love unconditionally, and most importantly, the undying enthusiasm of a child. Through my experiences with working for organizations that aim to educate children, I have learned that the path to my life is not paved with monetary goals. Instead, I am driven by the sheer joy that comes from smiles on children's faces and the knowledge that I might have had the slightest hand in putting it there.
The screech of an Expo marker makes my spine tingle. It has been this way ever since I unwrapped my first package of markers and doodled "Ms. Font" at the top of my very own whiteboard, gifted to me especially from Santa . . . or Target -- I'm not quite sure. In any case, this sound identifies the one thing I have always been sure about myself: I want to teach.
Katie, my first student, can vouch for me (teddy bears are honest, I promise) -- I have been teaching since I was five years old. Initially, my mom thought this was an exciting game, but one I would soon tire of. When I didn't, she agreed to buy me the essentials. Eventually I had accumulated everything a genuine teacher would need to run a classroom, even a book of attendance. Gone were the days of doing homework alone! Instead, 18 of my very own furry friends would sit on my bedroom floor to help me.
I entertained myself for years with this childish pastime, but soon enough people were asking what I wanted to be when I "grew up." What did I want to be? It seemed easy enough to just spit out the word "teacher" like a piece of dry gum, but alas, it was not nearly that easy and being a teacher didn't seem nearly that disgusting. Though I couldn't disagree more, teaching, as my eight-year-old self had come to know, was a terrible profession! "You'll be poor!" they said. I didn't want to be poor! Suddenly, a future in medicine or law became more appealing and at night I fell asleep content with the fact that there was a good possibility I would soon own the largest collection of designer shoes in the world. I would constantly argue and patch up my little brother's wounds as best I could, though nothing was as rewarding as listening to the screech of the Expo as I scribbled my name.
I have since matured and come to a deeper realization thanks to a summer internship I held at a school for children with budding Autism called The Crystal Academy. After much practice, I was permitted to hold a therapy session with a child, Lulu, who was learning to say "hi." After relentless repetition, the word slipped from her tiny mouth as if she had known it all along. My frustration towards the situation was evident, but things became clearer to me than they had ever been before.
Teaching is not a profession that is anything like law, medicine, or any other occupation for that matter. It requires a special person who has enduring patience, the ability to love unconditionally, and most importantly, the undying enthusiasm of a child. Through my experiences with working for organizations that aim to educate children, I have learned that the path to my life is not paved with monetary goals. Instead, I am driven by the sheer joy that comes from smiles on children's faces and the knowledge that I might have had the slightest hand in putting it there.
