I was downstairs in the kitchen of my home when I heard crying in the feint distance. My twin sister was in her room working studiously not understanding how to complete her mathematics homework. She was crying because my father was yelling at her again while trying to teach her how to solve the math problems she had to turn in the following day. My mother turned to me and asked if I could help my sister instead of continuing to watch television. I went upstairs and fifteen minutes later, as if by some magical powerful force, my sister understood how to complete her math homework, but more importantly, she was no longer crying about it either.
At the time I didn’t know that I had the knack for helping other people understand concepts. It seemed as if by some magical force, because of my presence or some other random unexplainable phenomena, I was able to explain things in such a way to other people, that they would construe their own epiphany of understanding. But as the years passed and I became more aware through my experiences, it seemed the path that I would travel would lead me to the life of someone who was destined to help other people become more knowledgeable. It was by fate I would become a teacher.
It wasn’t a single moment or single experience which led me upon this conclusion though. It was through the opportunities my own teachers gave me which allowed me to flourish into what I want to become. During freshman year of high school, I had a long term substitute as my first period physics teacher. Unfortunately he wasn’t quite skilled in the content of physics, however, I believe he was fortunate I was in his class as it made the rest of his day a lot easier. When we went over problems out of the physics book, he would answer questions students struggled with. One tenth of the time, the solution he presented would be incorrect, and I would end up correcting him on it. In the middle of the year, he spoke to the class about how thankful he was I was in his class as I would raise the “BS flag” on anything he didn’t solve correctly. Because of that, he was able to go on with his other classes and feel confident about his answers.
It also wasn’t what my teachers did, but more often what my teachers did not do. I’m not sure if it was a conscious decision they made, or if they just wanted to see what happened, but the two most memorable teachers I had were the ones who were least involved with me. In my geometry class, my teacher gave out the homework assignment at the beginning of class and he let us work on it during the class period. His hands off approach for that class allowed something to occur that would not normally be possible. Students would queue for me to talk with the on some of the problems they were struggling with, to compare answers or what approach I took to solve a problem. I ended up learning techniques on how to have mathematical conversations with other students without just telling them answers. I would ask their approach, decipher their error in logic, and present my findings to them.
During my sophomore year, on the day of the test review, my chemistry teacher had the plans of going over the review problems. Since this was routine, I knew what her plans for that class period were. From some instinctual force, I took the whiteboard marker before class even started, and began writing those review problems on the board. My teacher’s action of just letting me continue was the best thing she could have done for me. During that time up there at the board, I felt so comfortable. Students looked at my work and compared it with their own, and asked me questions on how I attained my solutions. It wasn’t that I felt a rush of emotion or adrenaline in my body, but rather it felt as if there was a calling for me to be there, both then and in the future. I knew where I was supposed to be, and what I was supposed to do in the future.