Ever since I was a little kid, I have wanted to teach. Every instructor I have had since kindergarten either inspired me to follow their direction, or pushed me to not be a “bad” teacher like them. As I grew older, I realized my preferred profession stemmed from a love a books and a thirst for knowledge. I loved learning, and everything, I learned, I wanted to share with others. People, including close family and friends, as well as semi- strangers would tell me I would make an excellent teacher. I have been told that I have an excitement about me, a high amount of energy and happiness that is often contagious. My patience has once been compared to that of a caring watchful creature. I used to think I would make an excellent teacher. Then reality hit. …show more content…
Suffering through the seemingly normal losses and stresses of adulthood, I somehow seemed to have lost not only my patience, but also my smile. As I continue to figure out what went wrong and how to turn it right, the prospect of being a teacher frightens me. As I read the first chapters of “Teaching in America,” I could feel the growing shivers as the expectations of a good teacher surmounted to many of the aspects I had lost. Words like hopefulness and humor leered at me from the page. Ideas of multiple roles such as facilitator and nurturer made me wince.
The multiple roles, such as coach, researcher, and facilitator, describe nothing about me or what I can do. My expectations would be high at first, but dwindle down to almost nothing. As with my expectations, my commitment would be a fluctuating pattern. I would fear and loathe my students and fellow