It was a spring day when I was in second grade.

My teacher, young and with long dark hair, was the most beautiful woman I knew. She shared strawberry candies with me, and I adored her.

That morning, we had a lesson unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

She sat us on the olive green shag rug on the floor, turned off all of the lights, and turned on a machine that shined a bright light onto the wall in front of us.

And there, in that bright spot of light, she showed us how to make the cursive letter “d.”

And I knew, right then and there, that I wanted to grow up to be a teacher.

So that I too could write on an overhead projector.

 

 

Why I Became a Teacher
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