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Teaching won't get me a Nobel
Prize, but it makes me happy
By
Whitni Webb
November 9, 2007 | It's a well known saying that college
students will change their majors twice before sticking
to one, but if you ask them how many times they've changed
their minds throughout life, they probably couldn't
even count it on both hands. I'm no exception, and I
certainly ended up in the last major I expected. At
least for now I have.
Growing up in my family, my sister was the pretty
one, my brother the funny one and I was always labeled
as the smart one. I suppose it was a correct label,
I was always doing well in school, testing off the charts,
winning prize after prize, and before long it was just
an assumption that I was destined for some prestigious,
glorified career. By fourth grade my parents were already
buying me Harvard sweatshirts, and my teachers were
recommending special programs and schools to join.
It was in that environment that I first began to fuel
my ego, believing I too was destined for greatness.
I soon began imagining myself as some sort of scientist
- chemist, biologist, you name it! - winning the Nobel
Prize or making some great discovery. Then I soon became
an award-winning novelist, joining the ranks of John
Steinbeck and Charles Dickens. I fantasized about a
career in politics, out on the campaign trail. I suppose
every child had those kinds of dreams in some way, but
for me it seemed everyone around me also thought it
was a reality, and were pushing me to take it seriously.
By High School I had decided what I wanted to do with
my life. I was going to be an award-winning journalist,
working for National Geographic, mingling with both
political giants in the Middle East and poverty stricken
refugees in Africa. It was a sound plan in my mind,
and I had a lot of support from those around me. My
teacher began sending me home with literature about
prestigious journalism schools back east, and nominating
me for scholarships and awards around the country.
Soon after my 16th birthday, I got a job working for
the local newspaper, the youngest one working there
by 10 years. I was named the Editor-in-Chief of our
high school newspaper, and that year we won quite a
few awards state-wise and nationally. I spent a week
in Washington, D.C. with a well-known program centered
on media in a democracy. At sixteen I had met political
greats and spoken with the Editor-in -Chief of The Washington
Post at the time of Watergate.
I simply knew I was going to make it. I was going
to be acknowledged, make a difference, and make a stamp
on society. Then, high school was over, I quit my job
and moved up to Logan to get some generals out of my
way before I moved to Boston, went to Boston University,
and got a position with The Boston Globe. It
was all on my to-do list, and it seemed so possible.
Aweek into my semester, I went into The Statesman
and got my first, and only, assignment. I felt I did
a nice job, but my heart was certainly not in it. Somehow,
randomly, I had grown tired with all this planning and
ladder-climbing and pressure. I was simply going to
enjoy my time in school and focus on my classes. And
soon, I had a job working with children after school
and tutoring them in class. It didn't even feel like
work, but like I was going to go play with my friends
for seven hours a day and get paid for it. One of the
teachers said they were very impressed with my work,
and said I should consider a career in Elementary Education.
Instantly, I was terrified. My heart stopped. That
wasn't part of the plan. I had been, and was going to
be, a journalist for over three years. I had taken steps
to secure my place in Boston, all my awards were in
journalism, everything in my life had centered around
the fact that one day I would be a famous journalist.
But once you let curiosity seep in, it takes control.
I soon began envisioning what my life would be like
as a lowly Elementary School teacher. It certainly wouldn't
be prestigious, I'd never be famous, and I'd never make
any money. But still, my mind kept wondering back to
the idea. Did I like my tutoring job more than my old
journalism job? Surprisingly, yes. It made me infinitely
happy to be around the children, and I never felt any
sense of stress over my job. I loved what I was doing,
and soon I couldn't imagine doing anything else.
But with this realization, I somehow felt a sense
of guilt. I was betraying everyone in my life that had
supported me, that had taken the time to seek out scholarships
and awards and had pep-talked and believed in me. I
couldn't even bear to tell my parents. A first-grade
teaching job was no place for a smart girl. I felt I
had let everyone down.
It was then that I had another realization. I had
done nothing in my academic life for myself. None of
awards or prizes were won for myself; they were won
so the people around me could be proud of their accomplishment.
I had lived my life for everyone else. I didn't need
to be award winning or famous, I just needed to be happy.
That should be enough to appease everyone, that's what
they should want for me. And if they didn't, the shame
was on them, not me.
So now, after deep soul searching, I'm soon to be
an Elementary Education major. Then an Elementary teacher.
I will live the average life of a mom and wife and teacher,
winning no awards and having my work only admired by
my school children. I am no longer the smart girl meant
for greatness, but the regular girl looking for happiness.
Though, I must confess, I have my eye on Teacher of
the Year.
NW
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