I was recently talking to a new friend, and I got the impression he didn’t fully understand the love I have for my students. To me, teaching is a calling, much like to the priesthood or convent. I don’t make a lot of money; I don’t get much respect. It is my fault if your child is unsuccessful in school. But there is NO other job I can think of that makes me prouder to claim as my profession. I adore my students – good and bad, smart and simple. They are just as snarky as I am. Many of them overcome huge disadvantages just to come to my classroom every day. I love my students. When I am at school, I think of your child as being my child. I want only the best for them. I want success in whatever form they can achieve it. I have had students go on to be successful in a huge variety of ways, professionally and personally. I love seeing former students. I have cried for them, laughed with them, been angry with them, been proud of them, but above all I have loved them. I may be unhappy with the interactions I have with their parents. I may be disappointed in their performance in my class or other classes.
I want there to be no doubts about how I feel about my job and my children. I may complain about certain aspects of my job, but who doesn’t? When one of my students asked me what I would do if i won a big lottery amount, and my answer is the same. Start my own school. My standards would be high, but my students would reach, and surpass my ideals for them.
Incoherent Ramblings 