For the Teacher I Lost, and the One I Hope to Become

A good teacher does not hand you the answer. She convinces you that you were always capable of reaching it.

When people ask why I want to become a teacher, I never quite know how to make the answer small enough to fit the question. The truth is that it begins with my mother.

She had a way of making each of us feel like the only one in the room, even when there were five of us clamoring for her. She believed in us so completely that believing in ourselves felt like the least we could do. Losing her did not end that lesson. It made it the work of my life.

So I will keep studying for the subjects I am bad at, and I will keep getting back up, because the classroom I am walking toward has her name written quietly over the door.