I’ve never particularly fancied myself a teacher.
A newscaster, a psychoanalyst, a singer, a broadway dancer, sure– never really a teacher.
Why? They’re so under-appreciated, is why. I think everyone who has gone to a “normal” school can attest to this– ugh, teachers are so mean, ugh, they gave me detention, ugh, they’re so stupid why do they give us so much work, ugh. Having grown up surrounded by that, no matter how much I love my teachers, it’s hard to want to be in their position.
And then, last Friday, something changed.
Fourth period, I’m the TA for Heather’s Honors World Lit class, and on Friday, Heather had to be partially absent, so I took over. For an hour or so, I guided the class in a reading of Romeo and Juliet. Heather arrived partway through, and afterwards, told me that I was a good teacher, and that maybe I can think about going into teaching. It was lunchtime, so I just sort of went “Aw, shucks,” and left it at that.
Fast forward to the next morning, when I got up at eight to go teach Chinese for two hours at a local Buddhist community school. At eleven, I leave to teach Tap Dance to six-year-olds at the Geary Dance Center, part two of my Beginning Tap Class, for I also teach for an hour on Wednesdays.
…Upon reflection, maybe I’m a bit closer to the “teaching” thing than I had initially thought.
Just… why?! This is a bit of a panic attack-inducing realization, I’m not going to lie. Not that I’m against teaching, it’s just such a shock to find myself doing so much of something I’ve never even considered. Well, now I’m considering it, sheesh, thanks Heather. As if college wasn’t enough.
(Just kidding; I love you.)