"I Felt So Inspired By What My Teacher Said...

..said I'd either be dead or be a reefer head..

I'm not sure if that's how adults should speak to kids..

Specially when the only thing I did was speak in class..

I'll teach his a_ _"

I can't be the only person who has had a teacher utter the following sentiment:

"Whatever YOU do, I'm still going to get paid, so I don't care!"

Maybe I am the only one.

Even if I am, I'm one too many.

Why do people teach? What is it about this particular vocation that attracts such stellar people, and also such loathsome human beings?

If you've navigated through however many levels of education you have under your belt, and not encountered a teacher that made you question the value of learning, lucky you.

This was not the case in my formative years. I met a couple of educators who.. well.. let's just say, didn't fit into the mold of what I thought a teacher was supposed to be.

I'll start with junior high. The elementary school I went to was perfect. No child could ask for a better community to learn in. This is why matriculating in an inner city junior high felt like such a fall from grace. I was excited about learning, and amped to meet people of different cultures and races. This excitement was soon replaced by frustration.

This frustration was not fed by my first heartbreak, or questionable food in the cafeteria. It had nothing to do with getting bullied my last two years. The anxiety I felt was a function of incapable instruction by one teacher in particular.

I took biology in the ninth grade, and wanted to

learn everything I could. We didn't get to dissect anything, so to this day, I still feel robbed. This picture also reflects the impression she left me of the sorority she had joined, and the jacket she wore daily with her letters.

Everything we learned about biology came straight from the textbook, and our only output was expressed on worksheets. Even worse than what the class lacked was what it did have: a very young instructor. I'm not against anyone young in education; my peers and I are mostly in our early twenties and we will be teaching. This one biology teacher's immaturity was on par with the students she was supposed to be developing. She felt she was the authority on biology, and did not like to be questioned. I asked challenging questions that came from a thirst for clarity, not arrogance. I actually got into an argument with her in front of the class, putting me into the

mind of trying to convince my nephew to take a bath. I only had her for one hour a day, but the thought of going made my bowels shift suddenly. I got into many conflicts with her and the couple students who rallied behind her. Eventually, I shrunk into silence in the back of the class with my fellow nerds. I stopped caring about my work. I got the first and only unsatisfactory conduct grades of my four high school years. This attitude spilled over into other classes, so I had a pretty sucky ninth grade year.

I didn't get another sub-par teacher until I was in high school. One of my English teachers gave me the eeriest feeling of deja vu. I immediately got the same know-it-all vibe I had gotten from that immature biology teacher. I too had developed into a know-it-all, but I had childish ignorance on my side. I don't know what this grown woman's excuse was. She violently bucked if I pointed out an error, and constantly reminded me who the teacher in the room was. I can admit: this time around part of my correction was an attempt to discredit her. Her responses only fueled my desire to undo her. I didn't feel as though I knew more than her, but I did feel as though she could teach me nothing I needed to learn. She spent the entire year preparing us for a writing test, and had us strictly adhere to the model she outlined. If we strayed from the "introduction, point 1, point 2, point 3, conclusion" structure, we were graded much lower, despite the content of the essay. Heaven forbid we didn't accompany the bland essays with a brainstorming web. When the state-required writing assessments came around,

I was the only student in the eleventh grade to get a 6, the highest score possible. When the principal asked me how I did it, I boldly said, "I wrote how I wanted to, and not how Mrs. Lane told us."

I'm not trying to paint the picture of a trouble making smart Alec, although that was me throughout high school. I've since been humbled from my arrogance, but I sincerely feel it developed as a defense mechanism. I felt like I deserved great teachers who could help me learn. I didn't need someone to resent me for being a kid who simply wanted to learn more.

My point in all of this is complaining about teachers I've had is to express that I want to teach. Usually people have a wonderful teacher who inspires them to educate. This was not the case with me. My great teachers made me think,"Wow, kids will be really lucky to get teachers like them." These teachers were doing a great job, so I saw no need to take on the same task. Then, I encountered the aforementioned teachers. I started to wonder how many kids felt like they were being held back because of the teachers they were getting.

Teaching is hard. I know this. I will be overworked and underpaid. I know this as well. That means I need to prepare for it, because there is nothing else I can do better. There may be things I want to do: I still want to go into business with my cousin and open a boutique. I still want to open a home for stray dogs. That can come later, or earlier if I'm a good enough at multitasking. But for the next major chunk of my life, I need to be the change I wish to see. Word to Ghandi.