“The purpose of education, finally, is to create in a person the ability to look at the world for himself, to make his own decisions, to say to himself this is black or this is white, to decide for himself whether there is a God in heaven or not. To ask questions of the universe, and then learn to live with those questions, is the way he achieves his own identity.”
James Baldwin, A Talk to Teachers, 1963
The Making of a Teacher
My own teachers have significantly shaped my dreams, instilling in me a passion for educational equity and sensitivity to students as individual learners. In elementary school, the principal, Mrs. Middleton, stood outside the door each day, greeted each child by name and shook their hand. Retrospectively, this simple, daily interaction helped me build confidence and composure. In high school, my freshman English teacher, Mr. Bruneel, greeted each student on the first day of class like Mrs. Middleton had. Once everyone was seated, he looked each of us in the eye and welcomed us by name—from memory—to class. When I ran into him seven years later, he approached me, arm outstretched, and said, “Isabel! How are you?” In the warmth of that moment, I understood that he thought of me not just as a student but as a person advancing in life across time and space. Mrs. Middleton’s greeting gave me poise; Mr. Bruneel’s gave me purpose.
As an educator, I strive to bring children beyond the confines of classroom walls, forging connections among their classroom experiences, their daily lives, and the natural world. I hope to foster a lifelong love for learning and reimagine education as a pathway for opportunity. No child is solely defined by their presence in school: they belong to families, neighborhoods, and communities; they have histories, present-day needs, and dreams for their futures. I believe education should instill self-confidence, passion, purpose, and a unique sense of self in each child.
I hope to foster a lifelong love for learning and reimagine education as a pathway for opportunity.
During my undergraduate studies, I explored the intersection of child psychology and children’s literature. My work as a teacher has been influenced by psychologists such as John Bowlby, Mary Ainsworth, and Selma Fraiberg. Fraiberg (1959) posits that with the emergence of language, children develop the capacity to hold not the object itself but its symbol—a word—in their mind. The relationship between language and thought has influenced the way in which I support young children in the classroom: by narrating their actions and offering them language with which to understand their emotional experiences. In this way language is, as Fraiberg (1959) suggested, like magic: it gives children an opportunity to change a circumstance from one they fear to one they can conquer. This also lays a framework for the importance of naming. Names are vital and powerful as they relate to social justice, activism, and human rights. As an educator, I believe it is important to emphasize names in the classroom in order to create a respectful classroom community. The act of naming gives legitimacy to both the tangible world and to one’s internal world: to one’s thoughts, feelings, and sense of self. Therein lies the significance of the acts of Mrs. Middleton and Mr. Bruneel in my learning experiences. For a child, being recognized by name is linked to being seen as a unique individual with a unique set of experiences, background, and history.
As a teacher, I aim to honor and uplift each of my students’ identities in the classroom, even when they differ from my own, in order to validate their place in the world. I saw the importance of identity in the classroom when I arrived in Rwanda with a Mandela Washington Fellowship to develop and implement an early childhood development center in the small village of Musha, Rwanda. I was aware of the complications of entering an African country as a white American woman. The toddlers had never seen a white person before meeting me. I noticed their movements became subdued when they saw me. To ease the tension, I sat with them in a circle and explained that my skin color was different than theirs. Then I offered to go around the circle and let each of them touch my hand to see how it felt the same or different from their own hands. Immediately, the children relaxed and laughed—how funny I looked, but how happy they were to realize our skin felt the same![1] Through my experiences in Rwanda, I developed a deeper understanding of my ongoing responsibility as an educator to maintain an open mind and willingness to learn and reflect on my place in the world.
After reading Stamped by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi, I understand the difference between being an assimilationist and an anti-racist, and I strive to be the latter. I am aware of my implicit racial bias and am actively grappling with my role in the pervading systems of oppression. Entering communities different from my own poses several challenges which I will continue to grapple with for years to come.
In his book Far From the Tree, Andrew Solomon (2012) describes bell hooks’ theory of intersectionality as the theory that “various kinds of oppression feed one another” (p. 44). The Black Lives Matter movement is intersectional: individual and cultural identities weave and merge together to support all Black lives. Especially in this time of Covid-19 when togetherness is contested and challenged, and when we know Black and Brown communities are disproportionately affected by the pandemic, I believe the intersectionality of this movement is crucial.
Eli Clare (2017) writes, “Declaring disability a matter of social justice is an important act of resistance” (Clare, 2017, pp. 12-13). For me, teaching itself is an act of resistance, a political act, a demand for social change. John Dewey (1897) believes “that education is the fundamental social progress and reform” (p. 8). Understanding the historical and ongoing struggles of people with disabilities, people of color, people who are part of any marginalized communities will support me in working mindfully with all students, regardless of (and with intentional regard for) their developmental and cultural variations. Each day I become more cognizant of the nuances and inequities that exist in our present world, and more equipped to challenge the systems of oppression that work against marginalized communities.
For me, teaching itself is an act of resistance, a political act, a demand for social change.
As a teacher, I hope to find creative tools to meet children where they are—to see the world through their eyes and find solutions that allow them to succeed. I want my students to feel challenged and proud of their accomplishments, and to cultivate a passion for thinking along multiple dimensions. To reach this goal, I will develop leadership skills to articulate my beliefs and visions; think innovatively; work independently and alongside peers, mentors, and students; encourage curiosity; and question myself and the world.
Endnotes
[1] If I had walked into a Black community in the United States, much of that interaction would have been similar—however, I may also have spoken more about the privileges I know I have because of the color of my skin.
Obi Taswell 