Why I Am Passionate About the Special Education Teacher Profession My passion for special education stems from a profound understanding that every child, regardless of their challenges or circumstances, possesses inherent worth and untapped potential. My 20 years of experience in special education as a special educator(SpEd) educator have revealed to me that children labeled as "difficult" or "problematic" are often simply waiting for an adult who sees beyond their behaviors to recognize their humanity and capabilities. I also speak to this subject as someone who was born with Albinism and a vision impairment, as someone who has benefited from excellent services for people with special needs, and someone who has had some unfortunate and harmful experiences as well. 1. Understanding "Sense of One's Own Presence" and My Mission Professor Harold Bloom's statement that "the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence" speaks to the fundamental goal of education: helping students recognize their own value, agency, and potential for growth. To experience one's "sense of presence" means to develop self-awareness, confidence in one's abilities, and an understanding that one's thoughts, feelings, and contributions matter in the world. For students with special needs, this concept takes on even greater significance. These children often arrive in our classrooms carrying the weight of repeated failures, negative labels, and diminished expectations from society. They may have internalized messages that they are "less than" or incapable of meaningful achievement. Again, because I can attest firsthand to the effects of a great or harmful service provider, my mission is to systematically dismantle these harmful narratives and replace them with experiences that affirm their worth and potential. When I worked at Montefiore Special School, an all-male school for students with severe and profound emotional and behavioral disorders, I witnessed this transformation firsthand. When I chose to sit beside students at their computer stations, engaging with them as capable learners rather than problems to be managed, I saw them begin to experience their own presence. They moved from seeing themselves as troublemakers to recognizing themselves as students capable of learning and growth. This shift in self-perception was evident in how they carried themselves, approached challenges, and interacted with peers. My mission in accomplishing this task involves several key strategies: Creating Authentic Relationships: I believe that meaningful learning happens within the context of genuine human connection. By demonstrating that I value each student as an individual, I help them recognize their own worth. This means learning their names, understanding their interests, and showing genuine concern for their well-being and success. Maintaining High Expectations: Rather than lowering standards, I maintain high expectations while providing the support necessary for students to meet them. When students at Montefiore realized I believed in their potential, they internalized these expectations and began to see themselves as capable learners. Celebrating Growth and Effort: I focus on progress rather than perfection, acknowledging every step forward, no matter how small. This approach helps students develop confidence in their ability to learn and grow, fostering their sense of agency and self-efficacy. Providing Voice and Choice: Students develop their sense of presence when they feel heard and valued. I create opportunities for them to express their thoughts, make decisions about their learning, and advocate for themselves, just as the students at Montefiore did when they spoke up to the principal about my impact on their education. Through my current doctoral research on how interdisciplinary arts can empower marginalized communities, I continue to explore innovative ways to help students discover their own presence. My work with Shakespeare Behind Bars at the Illinois Youth Center builds on these foundational beliefs, using the power of literature and performance to help incarcerated youth envision positive futures for themselves. 2. A Brief Fairy Tale: The Teacher Who Saw Light Once upon a time, in a school nestled within the heart of a bustling city, there lived a young teacher named Ozivell who possessed a rare gift – the ability to see light where others saw only darkness. The school was home to young princes who had been forgotten by their kingdoms. These princes carried invisible crowns of pain, forged from the harsh realities of their young lives. The other adults in the castle whispered that these princes were cursed, destined to remain trapped in towers of anger and despair. An aging wizard, fearful of the princes' power, had cast a spell of silence throughout the castle. "Do not speak to them," he commanded. "They are dangerous and beyond help." The princes, sensing the wizard's fear, began to believe they were indeed cursed and acted accordingly. But Ozivell possessed ancient wisdom that told him otherwise. He knew that every prince, no matter how forgotten, carried within them a spark of magic that could illuminate the darkest corners of any kingdom. Armed with nothing but patience, compassion, and unwavering belief, he began to break the wizard's spell. One by one, he approached each prince's tower. Instead of shouting instructions from below, he climbed the stairs and sat beside them. He spoke to them not as cursed beings, but as the royalty they truly were. He helped them solve the riddles that had long puzzled them, celebrated their victories, and reminded them of their inherent worth. Slowly, the princes began to remember who they were. Their invisible crowns began to glow with newfound confidence. They started to help one another, sharing their unique gifts and talents. The entire castle was transformed by their light. When the kingdom's council investigated this miraculous change, the aging wizard tried to claim credit for the transformation. But the princes, now confident in their own voices, spoke their truth. They told the council how Ozivell had seen their light when no one else could, how he had believed in their magic when they had forgotten it themselves. The princes ruled their kingdoms with wisdom and compassion, never forgetting the teacher who had helped them remember their own presence. And Ozivell continued his quest, traveling to other forgotten castles, carrying the torch of belief to other lost princes and princesses, knowing that every child deserves to discover the light within themselves. And they all lived not just happily, but purposefully ever after. --- This fairy tale reflects my core belief that special education is not about fixing what's broken, but about helping students recognize the strength and potential that already exists within them. Like the princes in the story, many special needs students have simply been waiting for someone to see their light and help them remember their own magic.

I chose to answer prompt #1: Tell us about a time when you had a positive impact on a child’s life. During my time as a paraprofessional at Montefiore Special School in Chicago, I encountered a situation that would fundamentally shape my understanding of how meaningful human connection can transform a child's educational experience and sense of self-worth. Montefiore served elementary-aged boys diagnosed with severe and profound emotional and behavioral disorders. These children carried heavy burdens – many were affected by gang violence, substance abuse, and family trauma that no child should have to endure. They arrived at school each day having already faced challenges that would test the resilience of adults, yet they were expected to learn and grow despite these overwhelming circumstances. I had recently graduated with a degree in Multimedia Design when I was assigned to work alongside a veteran teacher who was counting down his final months before retirement. His approach to managing the classroom was rooted in fear and distance. He had established a rigid rule that prohibited paraprofessionals from directly interacting with students. When children struggled with their computer-based assignments and asked for help, his standard response was simply to tell them to "read the instructions on the screen." This hands-off approach created a sterile, unwelcoming environment where students felt isolated and unsupported. The students sensed their teacher's fear and discomfort, and they responded accordingly. They acted out, showed little respect for authority, and seemed to fulfill every negative expectation placed upon them. The classroom atmosphere was tense and counterproductive, with students disengaged from their learning and increasingly frustrated with the educational process. I couldn't reconcile this approach with what I believed these children needed. Despite explicit instructions not to engage directly with students, I made a conscious decision to prioritize their educational and emotional needs over institutional protocol. When a student raised their hand asking for help, I would walk over, pull up a chair, and sit beside them at their computer station. Together, we would work through whatever challenge they were facing. The initial response from students was one of genuine surprise. They couldn't believe that an adult was willing to sit in close proximity to them, engage in conversation, and provide patient assistance. These children, who had been labeled as difficult and problematic, were simply hungry for human connection and academic support. As word spread throughout the classroom that I was available to help, more students began reaching out. The transformation was remarkable. Students who had previously given up on assignments began taking pride in their work. They celebrated getting correct answers and started to see themselves as capable learners rather than troublemakers. I developed a system of incentives and recognition that acknowledged their efforts and achievements, no matter how small. The classroom environment shifted from one of tension and defeat to engagement and possibility. Academic performance improved dramatically. Students who had been failing began earning passing grades, and those who were already passing pushed themselves to achieve even higher levels of success. The change was so significant that it caught the attention of the school principal, who launched an investigation to understand what had caused this remarkable turnaround. When questioned about the improvements, the classroom teacher attempted to take credit for the students' success. However, the students themselves spoke up with a clarity and honesty that was both powerful and moving. They told the principal that I had made the difference by helping them with their work and treating them with respect and patience. More importantly, they articulated how my approach made them feel: supported, encouraged, seen, and heard. What struck me most profoundly was their explanation of motivation. These children, who had been written off by many adults in their lives, expressed that they wanted to succeed because they didn't want to let me down. They had internalized my high expectations not as pressure, but as evidence that someone believed in their potential. They felt proud of their accomplishments and began to see themselves as students capable of learning and growth. This experience taught me that behind every "difficult" child is often someone who has been failed by the systems and adults meant to support them. These students didn't need more rules, more distance, or more fear-based management. They needed what all children need: adults who see their humanity, believe in their potential, and are willing to invest time and energy in their success. The impact extended beyond academic achievement. Students began to carry themselves differently, to interact more positively with peers, and to approach challenges with increased confidence. They had experienced what it felt like to be valued, and that experience began to reshape their understanding of their own worth and capabilities. This experience at Montefiore planted the seeds for my current doctoral research in Learning Sciences at Northwestern University, where I study how interdisciplinary arts can empower marginalized communities. My recent work with Shakespeare Behind Bars at the Illinois Youth Center builds on these early lessons about the transformative power of believing in young people who have been written off by society. The children at Montefiore taught me that positive impact often comes not from grand gestures or complex interventions, but from the simple act of showing up authentically, treating young people with dignity, and refusing to accept that any child is beyond hope. Their courage in advocating for themselves and their willingness to trust an adult who chose to see their potential rather than their problems continues to inspire my work with marginalized youth today.