I can't think of a single age group that loves as unconditionally as a child does.
I currently work at a childcare center, where I'm constantly proven this true on a daily basis. The children I work with are so insightful, inquisitive. I love watching them figure out the world for the first time, and discover their place in it. I admire my students so much. Me on the other hand, I couldn't imagine that I could have such a deep impact on these kids. I really just facilitate their learning. I support them halfway, and they love me the full way back. I wish I knew what made them think I was so special, to look up to me so dearly.
There are two children in particular that look up to me a lot, Daniel (10) and David (6). They lived across the street from me from my old neighborhood and I see them when their grandma brings them to church with her. I used to babysit them with a friend and sit on their Bible studies sometimes. I had fun, but I knew I wasn't much more than a face and a name to them.
Until one day I came over after Bible study and I spent the afternoon drawing with them. It was something we just connected on. I loved to draw, and I suppose my passion inadvertently encouraged them to enjoy it too. They wanted to get better, and they wanted ME to teach them. Every time I ran into their grandmother she would go on about how they constantly asked "when Mercy was coming back to draw with us?" Ever since I started college, I haven't had time to see them in person for some time. My friend (their neighbor) would constantly send videos and pictures of silly mundane things, them rapping a song they came up with, a drawing they made, a random photo. It could be the most random photo and they would beg my friend to send it to me so I can see. They would send voice memos of questions they had about all sorts of things, and bemused, I would send a voice memo answering back.
There was a day where I had originally planned to go visit them, but had to cancel last minute because of a personal issue. I didn't think anything of it at first because I know that they have plenty of other friends they play with and spend time doing all sorts of things with.
When I finally got to see them again, little David ran up to me and clutched me tightly, as if he was scared that once he let go, I would disappear. After a few moments, he grabbed my hand and led me to go sit next to him to draw some more, as if it were any other day.
Often when I'm struggling in college, and I have doubts to continue, I ground myself by reminding myself of my "why", my reason for choosing my career path of becoming a teacher. When I looked into little David's eyes, I saw myself. I remembered that feeling of trust and haven comfort I felt with my teachers, and how I want others to feel that way because of me.
Many often take teachers for granted. But they have always been a beacon of inspiration and encouragement for me growing up. Especially my art teachers. As a soft-spoken person, I always struggled to make my voice heard. But many of my teachers were quite understanding. They took time to reach my heart, and showed me how to express myself through art, form my own voice, and how to self-advocate. They showed me that there's more than one way to make your voice heard. Even now, it's a constant effort to speak up. But my art teachers were there every step of the way, ready to support me as I worked my way back up. They are the ones who inspired me to want to become an art teacher. But that isn't my only motivation to teach.
Despite growing up in Baltimore, a city flowing with cultural diversity, a majority of my teachers weren't very diverse, with only two or three teachers at most being people of color. Of course, this wasn't the end of the world. But it made me realize how unfortunate the lack of diversity in the education field was. If I had gotten a Nigerian woman as a teacher growing up, I would most definitely feel validated as a Nigerian American girl. I would not have been as worried about not fitting in with my peers who grew up in a different cultural background. Maybe hearing her beautiful accent would have made me feel less embarrassed about mine. Maybe hearing of her experiences in her home country would have encouraged me to work harder to not let myself feel disconnected from my culture. Even if I never actively thought those things, subconsciously I'd take notice of it, it would and touch me in many subliminal ways.
To be a teacher means to act In Loco Parentis: "In Place of Parent". It doesn't mean I suddenly become a full-time parent of 15+ children, but rather that when those children are under my care, it is my responsibility to guide them in the right way. Children are such inquisitive beings, bursting at the seams with potential. There are few things more fulfilling to me than the experience of watching them discover the world around them and figure out what they want to be-- to help them discover WHO they want to be. And I know there are children out there like I was, struggling to have their voice heard, waiting to have someone on their side to support them and just say "I'm here for you". It's more than just monitoring them in place of their parents, it is showing them I'm on their team, a mentor they can look up to.
When I become a teacher, I will do whatever I can to be the best I can be. To experience, learn, and grow. I want my students to know that they are not alone, and that just because I'm the Adult doesn't mean that I cannot- or will not- try to help them, understand them, or make them feel like they belong. Especially as a female teacher of color, I will keep focusing on encouraging students to appreciate and be proud of who they are and where they came from. To show them that they are strong, capable and resilient, no matter if others try to tell them otherwise. Most of all, I want to give them that warmth and kindness that touched me and inspire them to want to help others.
Thus, the cycle of love continues.