I always hated to go to school. I think I was pulled into the world of benches and books as many other children with those invented lines: you will like!, you'll meet new friends!, you are going to play a lot!. I never saw anything fun of being forced to do things with no sense and sometimes it didn’t not matter if I could make it good or bad, because most of the time the evaluation of my performance depended on the mood of the teacher in turn.
When I could begin understanding how to do things, another teacher came. Sometimes the excuse was because as a woman, she had a very bulging belly, or she had refused to kiss headmaster. I believed that male teachers were more stable than female teachers, but there was always an excuse for changed them from sector or fire them. I can't remember all the names of those who were my academic guides. It does not matter anyway. Going to school was just that: a space for being confined by a few hours.
Returning home was the best of the day, but if by some reason I had been in the middle of a problem, or that day the teacher was in bad mood, I should had to get my mom’s firm b and then I hated to return home. I never get a note if I had said something great during the session, or if it had helped to make something amazing, but there was always a note if he did or said something that was considered improper.
Every two months I had the worst nightmare. Scores were jealously hidden and only my parents could see them. Anxiety grew as soon as mother took the scary paper containing the evaluation. I used to Look into your eyes trying to figure out whether I would had a long recitation of my duties as a child or if I would have a little peace at home, until the next evaluation.
Anyone who thinks that being a child is easy, has not lived. Being a child is the worst job in the world. It has nothing to do with the family fun, it has to do with the chaotic world that adults and the rest of the classmates created around. I still don't know how I survived to all that.
I guess that the summers and the winter holidays kept me sane.
So when it came the moment to decide what I was going to do with my life, I didn’t not see the option CEO to the top 10 video games player or Professional television viewer, the following option was science, but at school it was never fun as the Discovery Channel.
I should find something to give me fast money, and I didn’t have high economical expectations, so I did try to take classes of pedagogy and filled out an application to be teacher. I was really surprised but my thought was to do something easy to bother children, the same way I had to suffer when I was growing up.
Courses to learn pedagogy of development were overwhelming, but what should I understand?: Do learn how children learn? Or learn how adults want them to learn?. I hated classes but evaluations were only based on memory. I didn't have to apply my knowledge or understand deep issues, so used memory technics to remember the ABCs of responses. I knew that if I could found employment at a school, practice was going to give me much more than these huge books with unproven theories.
I graduated with the astonishment of all those who know me and I must admit, even I don't know how I did it. But I took the consequences of my actions. I would be teacher, the stricter that might be. But in a very deep part of my mind I wanted to do something to soft the misery of children, if I could teach them something, maybe it would be worth all paperwork and meetings later class that no doubt other teachers would give as an extra of my tiny salary.
Alma Dzib Goodin