Lisa’s Professional Fingerprint

My fingerprint is complicated. I struggle to pinpoint one main reason for dedicating my life to the tiresome world of teaching. 

Maybe it’s because I don’t really like that many adults. I enjoy being in the presence of children much more. Children are still willing to shamelessly laugh at fart jokes or silly faces. They still like running as fast as they can across fields, or gyms. They ask questions and point out unusual things in the world that many adults choose to ignore or have stopped noticing. 

My favorite recent noticing was the child who noticed a strange looking man across the street asked, “Who is that? Is that a priest?” 

When I looked I saw an odd-looking man, wearing an oversized t-shirt, and appearing to be selling drugs. Definitely not a priest. But, these moments repeatedly warm my soul and bring a huge smile to my face. A child’s mind will see something unusual, and attach it to such innocence…. “Weird outfit… must be a priest.” I love the weird whimsical wonderings that children have.

I love how much they love stickers. 

I love the smart kids in the back of the line who purposely walk really slowly, so they have a good excuse to sprint as fast as they can to catch up with the rest of their class… I love them as long as I am not leading their line. 

I love their sense of wonder as they watch a caterpillar crawl. 

I love the joy on their faces as they paint or use glittery pens. 

I love their conversations when they don’t think anyone is listening, and the chicken scratch hand written notes I find that say, “Do you like me? Sircel yes or no”.

I love a lot about being a teacher. But I hated so much about school. Sitting still is not my thing. My attention span is not that long. I learn by doing, not by listening. I have countless memories of sitting in school and thinking to myself, “This could be better.” 

When my dad explained historic events to me, I always enjoyed the “lessons”, but whenever I sat in history class I was bored and confused. And, although I barely passed any of my science classes in high school, I remember that I understood nature better than a lot of people around me. I could find salamanders and bring them back to life on cold fall mornings by breathing warm air over them, and I could successfully predict when we would have snow days based on the behavior of my pet rabbit. 

But when writers and teachers describe the wonderful moments of learning new things in school, I can’t relate with them too much because I despised school.

When asked, “Can you remember exactly when you learned something new?” 

I can’t really remember.

Not in school at least. 

I guess I do remember my second-grade teacher telling us that the word “gonna” is not a word. Our minds were so blown it is literally the only academic lesson I can recall. 

But really, most of my vivid “school” memories are negative. 

I have memories of crying and trying to run back to my dad’s car after he dropped me off to school. It was a Monday and it was first grade.

My first-grade teacher used to tell me to “grow up” when I asked to go to the nurse for a stomach ache. I was undiagnosed lactose intolerant. 

I remember my really shy friend had her turn to read a book from home. She was sitting in the teacher’s chair sharing the pages of her wordless picture book to the class, and our teacher realized the book had no words. The teacher flipped out, and made my friend return the book to her backpack because she was not actually reading. I believe my teacher’s words were something along the lines of…

“Huff. Puff. Huff. Puff. RIDICULOUS!” 

Maybe that’s another reason I love wordless picture books so much today. 

I remember our high school history teacher flipping out and yelling, “My wife and kids don’t like me! You think I care if you guys don’t like me?!” We grinned back at him and still laugh about that moment today. 

I remember the teacher in high school who asked me my pant size, told me I had a great body, and then preceded to chat about how many calories are in a Luna Bar. She must not have realized my sister had been struggling with an eating disorder for years. I wanted to scream at that teacher. 

That same teacher tried to help me write my college essays. After I explained what I liked she very obnoxiously did the half laugh “scoff” and told me, “You can’t expect to play with kids for a living.” 

She might be my biggest inspiration.

I’ve always tried to learn from the mistakes of others. I use the teachers above as my inspiration of what not to become. 

When I think about my absolute favorite aspect of teaching it has always been seeing the sense of confidence spread over a child’s face when they learn something new. Whether that child has just realized they can swim, they have written their first book, or learned how to write their name independently, the look of a child who has gained confidence in themselves is the reason I love teaching and it is what got me into the field. 

*Side note: Telling a child they have a great body or that some part of them is physically attractive has never brought about the same beaming look of pride that praise for accomplishing a new skill can bring.

So many amazing teachers talk about their wonderful mentors growing up. I can remember three people. Two were coaches and one was my art teacher. All three individuals were very different, but what is most clear in my memory is how comfortable I felt around them. I could always be my unfiltered self and be appreciated for who I was. 

When it was a close game and I had to serve the final point for our team, I remember my coach looking over with a smile on his face and saying, “No one better, kid.” 

My other coach was always so big, strong and intimidating. I remember him sobbing and giving me the tightest, and most comforting hug I have ever received in my life while we mourned the loss of our teammate and friend. 

I remember my art teacher appreciating all of my oddball ways, and telling me that she thinks I would make a good therapist when I am older, because I am a good people person. 

I have the warmest memories in the world of the people who made me feel comfortable with my quirky self and built up my self-esteem. 

I also remember those who made me feel uncomfortable, and made me feel stupid when I didn’t fit into their mold of what a “good student” looked like.  

So why am I a teacher? I guess I am a teacher to prove that school can be an enjoyable place. I want to see little faces brighten as they gain confidence in themselves and who they are as humans. I hope to bring the comfort that is lacking in so many children’s lives into my classroom. I strive to bring laughter and joy into my classroom on a daily basis. 

But WHAT is my fingerprint? I hope my fingerprint is that learning is full of confidence building and joy. 

And in the future when my students face obstacles and challenges in life, I want them to hear a little voice that whispers, “No one better, kid”. I want them to feel confident and comfortable in who they are as individuals. 

Comfort. Comfort in yourself. Comfort that learning is fun. Comfort that teachers care about you and believe in you. Comfort is my professional fingerprint.