He might not be noticed in a crowd. In the immediate outward appearance there doesn’t seem to be anything remarkable that would draw the attention of a purposeful people watcher, or anyone else for that matter. Quietly, he steps into the room and takes his seat, just like he has every weekday morning for the last eight months, accruing a disciplined procedure that has become predictable over the last nine years. His hair isn’t combed; it’s too short to require it. His clothes don’t set him apart and yet they help him announce who he is. Mark sits comfortably in his chair, looking around the room, waiting.

Others stream in, dropping out of the rapidly flowing current in the hallway. They burst through the main doors just moments ago, filling the air with the sound of voices, some high, some low, some cracking in between. Laughing, shouting, mumbling in complaint of a locker that won’t open, breath taken from a young lady learning by the whisper of a friend that special one she noticed long ago had indeed noticed her, all the action is part of a daily repeated ritual.

There is a remarkable sameness about these young people as each is experiencing that awkward age of self-explosion in an exciting world of discovery that is new every day, and sometimes moment to moment. And yet with every one of these there is an incredible individuality that cannot be denied. It is uniqueness reaching far beyond disheveled hair, stylish clothes, painted fingernails, Braves baseball caps, worn-out tennis shoes, and tans. The depth of character that is just beginning to take shape, the wonder of a future, beginning to think in shapes of possibility, thinking about thinking itself, daring to consider serious learning, all of these revolve around what every one of these young people possess. They are vast quarries yet to be filled by amazement, knowledge, experience, understanding, and reason.

Where can a person find all of this in one place? School. There has always been something about a school that is hard to explain to an unbeliever. Walk through the front door of any school building and it will greet you. It is part aroma, part appearance. It is concrete and it is subjective. It is construction paper and chalk dust, lunch bags and lockers. It is a brightly colored poster of Charlie Brown discussing the finer points of grammar with Linus. It is a janitor quietly walking down the hall, wearing a faint smile. He knows about it; that’s why he stays when he could have retired several years ago. In the words of Tom Hanks’ character, Joe Fox, in the movie, “You’ve Got Mail,” it is a “bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils.” It is a brand new net waiting patiently in the gym for a winning shot. There’s something in the air. It is an intangible yet unmistakable something created in an atmosphere where everyone comes together for one overriding purpose: education.

For some of these young ones the striving is more deliberate than others. Some will need extra coaxing; some will require determined convincing. Some may walk away unmoved, yet that can never be taken for granted. For just when one might consider lessening time and effort, one more try might mean the difference in the life of one not even a loving parent could have imagined would become a surgeon, an astronaut, a nurse, or a teacher.

Teachers have the wonderful privilege of welcoming these yet to be completed canvases and carefully yet purposefully applying brush stroke after stroke, layer upon layer, resulting in a masterpiece only a portion of which they will see. For just a short time, the teacher will stand before her students and tell, demonstrate, reveal, and live knowledge, creativity, and community. The teacher will represent purpose, determination, discipline, concern and care. All to soon, it will be time to release these into the care of another.

Even when students don’t purposely provide them, rewards come back. They come over and over again when the lights of understanding finally shine. Teachers live in that exciting world of promise and potential. Sometimes their determination and commitment carries them through discouragement and disappointment. Each one knows that with the arrival of Friday, Monday is just two days away. A brand new week of possibility will finally arrive.

I still want to be a teacher. The real question is why would anyone not want to be a teacher?

I wrote this essay in the spring of 2005 as I began classwork in the Department of Education at Saginaw Valley State University. After a week passed, I was called into the office. The director of the education program asked, “How does it feel to be famous?”

The blank look on my face was finally interrupted by, “What?”

She laughed and said, “I was in tears by the time I finished reading your paper. I passed it on to a friend at the capital in Lansing and it was read by several people involved in education policy.” She then handed me a stack of emails shared between those who read the paper.

It was quite an exciting start to my journey into secondary teacher certification, completed in April, 2006.

Although I didn’t have the privilege of teaching in my own classroom, I did share the responsibility of teaching in many classrooms in middle and high school as a substitute. In 2011, I completed a Master of Arts Degree in Educational and Professional Counseling, which led to being hired as a middle school counselor. For five years, I had the wonderful privilege of working with students and teachers. It was a tremendous honor.