I consider myself a person defined by learning. I consumed literature growing up more than actual food, replaced vegetables with an updated vernacular and fruit with the latest fantasies. Summer days were spent shoving my face with graphic novels and sleepless nights were filled by snacking on my favorite short stories. Seeing as my mother is an English teacher and my namesake was carefully chosen from her favorite Shakespearean work "As You Like It," my hunger for knowledge seemed natural. My mother, with her signature dark plum stained lips and bright eyes that scanned through each poem I presented to her. My mother, who returned home each day with stories of her students, who had me scrawling out sentence after sentence at the dinner table to practice my handwriting, and made me long for the days I would stand in my own classroom, to become an educator myself. I guess my infatuation with education blossomed from the sweltering August days when we would fill my mother's red SUV with Staples brand decorations, and spend our afternoon in her empty classroom. Room 222 was located on the second floor of the high school-it lacked air conditioning, was covered in dust and spider webs and overlooked the beautiful sight of the broken tar in the parking lot. Still, each summer, we would take two or three hours to wipe away the grime, replenish the chalk by the blackboard, staple fake foliage to her bulletin board and replace the pictures framed on her desk. I remember, even as a young child, leaning against her lecture podium and thinking to myself, "I want this." As I grew older, my mother begin to let me mark up some of her multiple choice quizzes. She would hand me a stack of work connected by a purple, metallic binder clip, one of her fancier pens that was reserved for correcting only, and an answer key marked with her neat, angular handwriting. We would sit together in the living room, accompanied by the sounds of cable television baking competitions and the comforting scratch of pen against paper. After I finished my pile, I would place it on the arm of the couch and wait patiently as she flipped through them for any mistakes. When she turned to me with a grateful smile, I remember reaching for another stack and thinking to myself, "I want this." Throughout my childhood, my mother would let me tag along to her school events. Football games, Battle of the Classes, Parent-Teacher conference nights-each of my experiences within her school setting cemented my want to be exactly like her. When I envision my future, I see myself inspiring my students and spending countless hours working to give them the best education I can. I see the dedication my mother has for her work, and her endless curiosity, and I know I want a life where I never stop learning.