Through The Eyes of A Teacher
Through the Eyes of a Teacher
I don’t see the ruler toting sentry pacing the aisles of desks looking for that student talking. I see myself taking role and calling out names as the children get settled for the day ahead. I can hear myself calling out the names of each student. There is Albert with his uncombed hair and tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth diligently working on equations. Orville and Wilbur secretly making paper airplanes in the back of class, even little Amelia is giving them pointers on how to make their flights better. Their voices fill my head while I move down the role to see if everyone is there. Louisa May with her long hair and eyes cast downward shakes a pencil in my direction indicating she is there before going back to writing her masterpiece. Young Paul is loudly proclaiming that he rode a horse across Boston in one night and I’m forced to tell him to quiet down and take his hat off in class, though I want to hear all about his midnight ride when class started. The books and desks are clattering as the children one by one gather their books and materials together for the days lessons. I am spellbound as I listen to Etta singing quietly while she works. Young Martin is diligently working on a speech that is sure to stir a nation. The last few names roll off my tongue like ink on a page, there is John K, and Winston C, Betsy R, and Joan Arc, and even Leonardo D (No not the actor but you are thinking), these are my students, my class.
When I look over my class I don’t see just children. I see greatness. I see it in each and every one of those children. I see what they can become, how special they are. I’ve learned that I want to be a part of that, to have a hand in their lives and their futures.
I wonder what my first teachers saw when I was their student sitting in the back row waiting for class to begin.