I have been inspired time and time again to become a teacher. I first learned I wanted to teach when I was in high school. I had an algebra teacher who put in extra time and effort with me to make sure I was actually learning. This was one of the first times I had felt like someone cared for my education, and by this time, I was in 11th grade. She encouraged me heavily to teach my peers the concepts that I understood, and they did not. Shortly after this, I started tutoring a couple of my friends, and I realized how much I loved it. A few months after this, I was invited to help teach a special education class, and I adored it. I helped with teaching a breathing exercise and emotional regulation, after that I taught in that class roughly once a week. My mind was made up, I want to be a special education teacher, and I am currently pursuing my master's in special education and elementary math. A year or so later, I applied for the Des Moines Public School Metro after-school program, which is after-school childcare. Since then, I have cared for 80 kids consistently, and over school breaks, I have had up to 120 kids. When they are struggling with schoolwork, they come to me, and I help them out. When they are upset, they come to me. I have bonded deeply with my students, and every day they show me more why I want to be a teacher. I learn from them as much as they learn from me. I have even started forming bonds with parents of my students, even with so many children, I still make sure to talk to every one of them every day. I do my job with pride and professionalism as much as I can, even if many would not view it as a serious position. I have worked my way up to being someone my leaders can count on, and someone my students trust and look forward to seeing. There is nothing more heartwarming than knowing that I can help turn a bad day into a good day by supporting my children. This job has also allowed me to work more with special needs kids. I am gaining hands-on experience early, before I even get my own classroom, and it is like a dream come true. I will keep pursuing my dream. My learning is never done, and neither should my students'. I look forward to being able to teach my own classroom someday, and I could not have done it without the support of my teachers, family, friends, and professors. One of my proudest moments with education was receiving a letter from my introduction to education professor. In this note, she wrote to me about how excited she was for me to teach, and how I would make an amazing teacher. I will continue to work towards being the best educator I can be, and I want to learn everything I can. Thank you for taking the time to read my story! I hope you enjoyed it!

When I was in middle school, I lost my great-grandfather and so much more. This man raised me alongside my parents, guiding me and teaching me many things and life lessons. I was extremely close to him and my grandmother. When I was thirteen, my family had a very difficult year. I was in seventh grade. This was the year before COVID-19 hit, during 2019, my grandfather on my mother's side passed away suddenly and unexpectedly, my great uncle on my mother's side passed away however, this one was less surprising, both of my family's dogs died within three months of each other, the dog I had since I was a baby and the dog I raised since she was a pup, we rebuilt and moved houses, and my mother got diagnosed with cancer, Hodgkins lymphoma type two in stage three. My grandfather hit me the hardest, and with everything else, it was overwhelming. John was in his eighty's and had cancer for the third time. All of us knew his time was going to be up soon; the doctors had told us he had six months to live; this was six years before his passing. But it did not make it any less difficult for my dad or me. I never really thought about death before this year, but in my grandfather's final weeks, I started to understand mortality. I had so many losses just stacking and piling up, and watching my grandfather literally wither away was not expected. I was so young, none of these things made sense to me. Why did he have to leave everyone behind? After he passed, I saw him in everything, I was severely depressed and the thing that kept me going was the support from my family and friends. I kept his teachings close to my heart and I continue to do my best in everything I do. In everything I do I try to make him proud; I like to think he is watching over me from somewhere there is no pain or suffering. Throughout everything, and all of my expectances I keep his final words to me close to my heart. "I love you little girl, you make me so proud every day, no matter what you dream, you'll make it come true. Losing me it not the end for you, only the beginning, you're such a strong girl, you got this. I love you." Just three years after this, his wife, my grandmother followed him into the afterlife, another hard hit in my life. I miss them dearly and deeply. I will always keep his words in my mind, working my hardest to make him and my other family members who moved on proud.

Growing up, I struggled a lot in school; my teachers used to patronize me for not understanding what they taught or not learning quickly enough. One of my teachers called me the "R slur" repeatedly. I was incredibly shy, and making friends was very difficult for me. Fourth grade was my worst school year ever. I had a teacher who despised me; she called me unteachable and used profanities to describe me on the phone to her 24-year-old son. This hit me hard, I started to hate school, and I continued to until high school. What I, my schools, and my family did not know is that I have dyslexia. Once I reached high school things started to change. It became easier to make friends, and the teachers I had were a lot kinder and more understanding of my struggles. I started tutoring to help my teachers out with their workload, I learned very quickly that I loved to teach. After I had learned this, I shared it with my algebra II teacher, who started encouraging me to explore the career. She allowed me to help teach the class and help small groups in the class. The more I did, the more I loved it. Not too long after that, I was presented with an opportunity to help out in a special education classroom. I started volunteering and spending more time in the classroom. Teaching and assisting regularly, I built relationships with the students I taught. I encouraged a student to continue with school after they confided in me that they wanted to drop out, they had described the same things I went through growing up in school, the cruelness of teachers and peers. I decided at this moment that I wanted to teach special education. I spoke with other teachers about it, and all but one was discouraging me from entering the education field, even more so because I did not want to teach general education. I decided to listen to my algebra II teacher, who continued to encourage me to follow my dreams. Not long after that, I applied for an after-school care-taking position at an elementary school near me. I adore it. I have 80 children under my care for four hours a day, every weekday. The relationships I build with my students is very important to me, as is this job. I even created a crochet club to encourage students to be creative. I taught eighteen of my students how to crochet, I bought the supplies for them, and provided everything they needed to succeed. My mother helped me get more materials through community outreach, building my club further. After a year of being a caretaker and a semester starting my education degree, I have no doubts that teaching is my calling. I want to create a safe learning environment I wish I had growing up, I also want to encourage kids to keep learning and breathing even when things are difficult. I want to leave the world a better place than I came into.

When I was in sixth grade, I was watching a movie with my dad when we got the call my grandpa was found dead in his Semi-truck, likely from mixing prescription medication with copious amounts of alcohol. It hit me hard, one day he was there and the next he was gone forever. I remember crying, my mom not getting home until midnight, going to his funeral and seeing my dad cry for the first time in my life. Through this the one thing that stuck in my mind is the last time I saw him. He had gotten into an argument with my grandmother for having me over when he knew my parents did not know, nor would they have allowed it, I was too young to know what was wrong. I was severely depressed before this tragedy. Looking back on it, I am furious with my grandmother for subjecting me to the extreme amount of alcohol and drugs in the house. I tried to journal how I felt and I continued to do this for years after his death. It helped me let go of the guilt I felt, the fear he was angry with me, and the resentment towards my grandma. Even now I journal about how I feel with the terrible things she continued to do after this, such as making threats towards her mother and mine. I want to go to college to teach special education, I want to teach kids and help them with anything they need, I want to make an impact on the youth and create a safe space for anyone who enters my classroom, I want to provide the safe space I was never given when I needed it. My biggest influences would be my mother; she encourages everything I want to do and helps me to grow and regulate my emotions when things get difficult. My biggest supporter is my mom. The next influence is the teacher who showed me my passion. The teacher who allowed me to teach classes alongside her to get the feeling of it. She showed me the importance of being kind and patient as well as teaching different methods for the same topic, helping me find a teaching style that fits me and my ethics. Even now as a freshman in college I remain in contact with the teacher who encouraged my dream when no one else but my mother would.

Growing up, I struggled a lot in school; my teachers used to patronize me for not understanding what they taught or not learning quickly enough. One of my teachers called me the "R slur" repeatedly. I was incredibly shy, and making friends was very difficult for me. Fourth grade was my worst school year ever. I had a teacher who despised me; she called me unteachable and used profanities to describe me on the phone to her 24-year-old son. This hit me hard, I started to hate school, and I continued to until high school. What I, my schools, and my family did not know is that I have dyslexia. Once I reached high school things started to change. It became easier to make friends, and the teachers I had were a lot kinder and more understanding of my struggles. I started tutoring to help my teachers out with their workload, I learned very quickly that I loved to teach. After I had learned this, I shared it with my algebra II teacher, who started encouraging me to explore the career. She allowed me to help teach the class and help small groups in the class. The more I did, the more I loved it. Not too long after that, I was presented with an opportunity to help out in a special education classroom. I started volunteering and spending more time in the classroom. Teaching and assisting regularly, I built relationships with the students I taught. I encouraged a student to continue with school after they confided in me that they wanted to drop out, they had described the same things I went through growing up in school, the cruelness of teachers and peers. I decided at this moment that I wanted to teach special education. I spoke with other teachers about it, and all but one was discouraging me from entering the education field, even more so because I did not want to teach general education. I decided to listen to my algebra II teacher, who continued to encourage me to follow my dreams. Not long after that, I applied for an after-school care-taking position at an elementary school near me. I adore it. I have 80 children under my care for four hours a day, every weekday. The relationships I build with my students is very important to me, as is this job. I even created a crochet club to encourage students to be creative. I taught eighteen of my students how to crochet, I bought the supplies for them, and provided everything they needed to succeed. My mother helped me get more materials through community outreach, building my club further. After a year of being a caretaker and a semester starting my education degree, I have no doubts that teaching is my calling. Throughout this, I have been discouraged by friends, family, and teachers. However, I will not let that stray me away from my dreams. No matter how difficult it may be to be a teacher, I want to make a difference in children's lives, at any age.

Growing up, I had horrible experiences with teachers and the way they treated me. They called me stupid, unteachable, and so many more things. There are three big instances that come to mind when I think of my negative school experiences. The first one was when I was in kindergarten. I very vividly remember holding the door open for my class and another student grabbing me and shoving me down the stairs, when they were questioned on why, they responded with "she took my job from me". Because of this, I was punished and they got away with pushing me down three flights of stairs and breaking my brand new glasses. I was forced to sit out for our fall party, and no teacher would listen to me. The second thing was in middle school. I had a teacher that I had liked very much, but she did not like me. I tried so hard, over and over again to please her, and every time I failed. I have always struggled in school, but this was a whole new level of struggle. English was always my most difficult subject. One morning in class, the teacher was having us read allowed by playing popcorn. One student would read and choose another student to pick up where they left off. I got picked by a classmate and I started out strong, until I got stuck on a word, I got anxious and started stuttering. The teacher yelled at me to go sit down and told me I shouldn't have been passed to seventh grade because my reading wasn't proficient enough. That hurt me a lot. The last instance that heavily impacted me was in my sophomore year of high school. I was in four different choirs at the time and competing for show choir. My choir teacher waited until I got into my costume and my makeup done to tell me I needed to cover my stretch marks on my arms and legs. He told me I needed to drop 15 pounds before our next competition the next week. I was not able to achieve this, and I remember him pulling me into his office to yell at me for not trying hard enough. Well before this I had struggled with not eating enough or often enough, this restarted eight years of struggle for me. When I have my own classroom, I will make sure every kid that walks through my door feels safe, comfortable, confident, and happy. I never want another kid to go through anything I went through growing up. Being able to teach secondary education would mean I have the ability to help kids who struggle with what I struggled with.

Growing up, I struggled a lot in school; my teachers used to patronize me for not understanding what they taught or not learning quickly enough. One of my teachers called me the "R slur" repeatedly. I was incredibly shy, and making friends was very difficult for me. Fourth grade was my worst school year ever. I had a teacher who despised me; she called me unteachable and used profanities to describe me on the phone to her 24-year-old son. This hit me hard, I started to hate school, and I continued to until high school. What I, my schools, and my family did not know is that I have dyslexia. Once I reached high school things started to change. It became easier to make friends, and the teachers I had were a lot kinder and more understanding of my struggles. I started tutoring to help my teachers out with their workload, I learned very quickly that I loved to teach. After I had learned this, I shared it with my algebra II teacher, who started encouraging me to explore the career. She allowed me to help teach the class and help small groups in the class. The more I did, the more I loved it. Not too long after that, I was presented with an opportunity to help out in a special education classroom. I started volunteering and spending more time in the classroom. Teaching and assisting regularly, I built relationships with the students I taught. I encouraged a student to continue with school after they confided in me that they wanted to drop out, they had described the same things I went through growing up in school, the cruelness of teachers and peers. I decided at this moment that I wanted to teach special education. I spoke with other teachers about it, and all but one was discouraging me from entering the education field, even more so because I did not want to teach general education. I decided to listen to my algebra II teacher, who continued to encourage me to follow my dreams. Not long after that, I applied for an after-school care-taking position at an elementary school near me. I adore it. I have 80 children under my care for four hours a day, every weekday. The relationships I build with my students is very important to me, as is this job. I even created a crochet club to encourage students to be creative. I taught eighteen of my students how to crochet, I bought the supplies for them, and provided everything they needed to succeed. My mother helped me get more materials through community outreach, building my club further. After a year of being a caretaker and a semester starting my education degree, I have no doubts that teaching is my calling.

When I was 12, I was in seventh grade, and I would consider this one of the worst years of my life. Starting from the beginning of 2019, everything felt wrong. My great-grandfather, John was diagnosed with cancer years before, and he failed treatment, he was dying. I knew this but I had never imagined how hard it would actually be to lose him. In the winter, he started declining, badly. He was hospitalized. He was not able to eat, nor could he live through the surgery required to keep him alive. I started watching him deteriorate and wither away. My 5'8, 250-pound grandfather was only 90 pounds by the spring. However, spring decided it was not just going to take, but to destroy. In the span of four months, my childhood dog died, the dog I raised died, my grandpa on my mom's side died, my great uncle on my mom's side died, my mom was diagnosed with stage 3 Hodgkins lymphoma (that particular diagnosis started as a stage 4 lung cancer diagnosis.), and we moved houses. After all of this had occurred, John passed away. I fell into such a dark place, at 12, I had to learn how to cook and clean the entire house because chemotherapy made my mom so sick, but no matter what I felt I had to keep going, I had people to make proud after all, and my family could not take another hit. After John died, my great grandmother moved in with us, both of us were absolutely broken, unsure of how to continue after what had happened, especially with my mom's fate in the balance of modern western medicine. Surprisingly enough, we learned how to find the joy in small things. I found joy in learning, teaching, playing, and music. After a year, my mom entered remission. Slowly, we tried to return to normal. But that year of hell will forever be engrained in my mind. I will always remember how John looked in his final days, as well as his final words to me. He said, "Little girl, I have never seen a fire so bright in my life, you lift up everyone around you and with everything that has happened this year, you're still so bubbly. I am so proud of you, I just know whatever you dream, you'll make come true. I love you little girl". Now I'm sitting here, 6 years later, a high school graduate, the first in my family to attend college, and I have found my purpose. A lesson everyone should learn is how to continue on. No matter how hard things are, it is just a bad day, the sun may hide behind the clouds, but it will come out again. Keep strong and keep going.