How I Knew

How I Knew

I can remember my feet, jumping on a slick, black trampoline. I was a child. I can feel the backyard around me: the garage, the fence, the mulberry tree. I can’t see it, though. I only see my bare feet. Jumping. Jumping.

I was thinking. Hard. I had the squinch-eyed determination of a child certain of finding the answer if enough effort was applied. Jumping. Thinking. Jumping. Thinking. Squinching the eyes.

What did I want to be when I grew up? How that question plagued me! Adults seemed to ask it every time I turned around. All the other children had answers. Clever answers, or sweet answers, or answers designed to shock and get a reaction from the grown-ups.

I couldn’t find an answer that felt right to me. No matter how long I jumped and how hard I tried, the answer didn’t come.

*  *  *

During college, education was the furthest thought from my head. Good thing, too, since my small liberal arts college didn’t even have an education department. A family member gave me the advice to do what I love, since I would be doing a whole lot of it. I loved to read, so it was English Literature for me. I loved speaking Spanish, so that was an easy choice for a minor.

During my junior year I started volunteering to teach English to adult Spanish speakers. It was a pretty standard issue volunteer opportunity, a resume builder; but it gave me an unexpected jolt.

It was thrilling.

It was thrilling to get to speak Spanish with actual people, not just professors and other students in a language lab. It was thrilling to see their desire to learn.

They were thirsty for knowledge.

They demanded it.

They had worked long hours doing manual labor all day and were still there, every week, every time, ready for more, sitting up straight, taking notes on everything I said.

They asked me a lot of questions: from the general to specific. What does the lyric to this song say? What is this food made of? How do I ask my boss for a bathroom break? Sometimes their questions made me laugh. Sometimes they made me gulp. Those questions made me put my head down and work harder.

I found I was staying up all hours of the night preparing lessons, cutting papers, designing worksheets. I bought an enormous binder and organized it with the new curriculum I had written. I didn’t even know to call it curriculum. I didn’t even know to name this new project my passion. I just knew that if I could help these students, they could rise above their situation. They might get better jobs, maybe encounter less racism, hopefully build new relationships in their new community.

I continued with my studies, continued volunteering, and continued thinking- trying on the idea of being a teacher. After graduation I was still wondering. When an opportunity to organize the education department of a Latino community center opened up, I didn’t think twice. I jumped.

From that point on, my path has not been a steady arrow. I’ve taught in many schools, both Spanish and English. I have taught different ages, different populations, students who were hungry for learning, and some who weren’t.

Education still thrills me. It still makes me laugh, and makes me gulp, and I always end up putting down my head and working harder. I still know it can make my students rise above, and I still believe that the harder I try, the higher they can rise.

And that advice I got, to do what I loved? I followed it, and I’m so happy I did.