I started this journey just over 10 years ago, and with all of the setbacks and triumphs along the way, every last step led to where I am now:  Exactly where I belong.  Actually, it started earlier than that.  It all started with a conversation.

On an average evening well over a decade ago, I found myself deep in a conversation with my ex’s mom that changed my perspective, and my life, for the better.  As she was making dinner, she brought up the fact that she wished she’d gone back to school to become a nurse.  All I could think at the time is that I would do everything in my power to prevent having such a regret later on in life.  Somewhere along the line, as I drove by Saginaw Valley State University’s beautiful campus, it hit me:  As much as I wanted to deny it, I am a teacher.

In fact, that fact became a bone of contention.  When my ex, our relationship already in shambles, found out that I planned to go back to school to become a teacher, he knew exactly which buttons to push, exactly the wrong thing to say.  He felt that I wanted to become a teacher simply because my mom and sister are teachers.  He had it exactly wrong.  I wanted to become a teacher in spite of that fact.  I knew intimately the challenges teachers face and have faced for decades.  I know how little respect teachers get within our society.  I grew up hearing how ineffective teacher preparation programs were and can be.  I know how the sausage is made, and yet, I still wanted to be a teacher.

Above all, I am not my mother or my sister.  My interest in education is not the same as theirs.  Both were meant to be elementary school teachers.  Me?  Never!  I adore young children, but I much prefer to work with teenagers, particularly older teenagers getting ready for the next step in their lives.  My mom fell into the profession, and fortunately for her, it suited her well and worked out.  Even though she’s been retired for well over a decade, I know what a wonderful teaching legacy she leaves behind.  In fact, I am proud to be a part of it.  I landed in her 6th grade social studies class.

My sister Erica, on the other hand, knew that she wanted to be a teacher her entire life.  We’d play school frequently.  With my love of books, I’d be the school librarian.  Erica would be the teacher, of course, while our much younger brother Garrett would be the one and only student.  Erica may still have some of those early report cards that she made for Garrett.

It is certainly true that teaching is in my blood.  My sister and I come from a long line of teachers on our mother’s side going back at least five generations.  As interesting as that is, it doesn’t stop there.  Both of my mom’s grandmothers taught.  My mom’s older sister Tara taught for her entire career.  Grandma B. earned her teaching certificate, even though she never taught, choosing instead to stay home and raise her five daughters.  Her younger sister, Joyce, taught for decades in the earliest grades.  I could go on.

My dad’s family valued education as well.  Both my dad and his sister married teachers.  He has several cousins who work (and worked) in agricultural education and special education in various capacities.  Even though my paternal grandparents never had the opportunity to pursue college educations, they encouraged their children to do so.  In fact, my grandma valued her education so much that her school memories were some of the last to go in the face of dementia.  Stories I will never forget.  In fact, I doubt I would have had the opportunity to go back to school to earn my teaching certificate without Grandma Reid’s influence.

So, why did I go back to school to earn my teaching certificate?  It is quite simple.  I knew that if I didn’t, I would regret it for the rest of my life.  My life would be unfulfilled.  It has not been an easy journey, to say the least, but I am now exactly where I am supposed to be.  Stay turned.  This is just the beginning.