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.
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