There has never been anything as appealing to me as a story. My family believed in nightly reading, and I have no memories of my childhood that do not involve some form of storytelling before the lights went out. The Princess Bride is the first book I remember finding by myself, reading by myself, and feeling as if it had been written just for me. My primary and secondary school days were a series of readings, a process of devouring tales and fictions. I spent an inordinate amount of time (for a young person) thinking about what I was going to do in life: trying to figure out how I could turn my passion for stories into the sort of life that was rich and vibrant. I believed that it was reading and learning about stories that gave life meaning. I was enthralled by tales, and could not imagine a life in which I abandoned them in any way.
My strongest memories of school relate to what is now my subject area as a teacher - English Language Arts. I remember being introduced to the Gothic Romance through Dracula. In class we made maps of the geography of the story, including winding mountain passes and teeming London streets. I loved the idea that an imaginary territory was made tangible and interactive, showing me a new way to understand stories. If there were boundaries in Dracula, it made sense to me to explore them! I was captivated by the possibilities of representing knowledge in new and engaging ways.
I most powerfully connected with teachers who exuded passion and enthusiasm for the subject areas. I believe myself to be a passionate person, and I consider that attribute to be my greatest strength as a teacher. I care about everything I teacher. I love what I teach. I love to educate, and I love to learn. I wonder. I ask questions. I am passionate and I care.
There is one particular teacher who I will always adore for his passion. I vividly remember a class in university, while I pursued my degree in Literature, wherein the professor was discussing the final days of the poet John Keats. The last words Keats penned were a final farewell letter to his friend Charles Brown. He writes "I can scarcely bid you good bye even in a letter. I always made an awkward bow." As my professor read the final lines of the letter he was on the verge of tears, overcome by emotion. I was overwhelmed. I had never seen anyone care so much for the material they were teaching. After the lecture, a fellow student was embarrassed by the fact the teacher was so wrapped up in the material. They said "Well, I would never teach like that." All I could think to say was, "I hope that one day I am brave enough to teach like that." This memory has been as profound a guiding light as I have ever had.
There is one particular teacher who I will always adore for his passion. I vividly remember a class in university, while I pursued my degree in Literature, wherein the professor was discussing the final days of the poet John Keats. The last words Keats penned were a final farewell letter to his friend Charles Brown. He writes "I can scarcely bid you good bye even in a letter. I always made an awkward bow." As my professor read the final lines of the letter he was on the verge of tears, overcome by emotion. I was overwhelmed. I had never seen anyone care so much for the material they were teaching. After the lecture, a fellow student was embarrassed by the fact the teacher was so wrapped up in the material. They said "Well, I would never teach like that." All I could think to say was, "I hope that one day I am brave enough to teach like that." This memory has been as profound a guiding light as I have ever had.