When I was younger, it was automatically assumed that I would become a doctor. It was where my mother’s passions had always lain and unable to complete her degree, she shared her dreams with me. Oh, I was a proud first-grader carefully penning “I want to be a doctor to help people” and coloring in a scribbled drawing of a somber girl with an overlarge stethoscope swinging from her neck; it was as if I had determined that the only helpful profession was in medicine.

Other kids could be the tooth fairy or Superman but my cape would be the esteemed white doctor’s coat.

My relatives in Pakistan were all supremely pleased, of course. The medical field was the only noble profession, as far as they were concerned, and I had proven myself clever enough that they had high hopes for me. And then, in fourth grade, I switched gears entirely.

Ever since first grade, I’d had some of the best teachers at my school and their constant guidance and encouragement was just what shy, timid me needed to grow, both personally and academically.

When I changed schools in fourth grade, I was prepared to be overwhelmed but my teacher took especial pains to familiarize herself with me and my family so that the year went by more smoothly than I could ever have dreamed possible.

I wanted to be like her. I wanted to help students in ways they might not even understand and touch their lives the way my teachers touched mine. And then, as I helped teachers grade papers, and sat inside at recess to cut out apples for the bulletin board and paper turkeys for our art projects, I would think, “This is something I want to do with my life”.

My parents supposed I was jesting, and laughingly encouraged my schoolgirl fancies, always convinced I would go on to become a doctor.

In high school, I determined that I had no passion for biology, at least not to the extent that would allow me to devote the years required to get into the medical field.

Teaching, however, seemed a much more realistic and pleasant ambition and I began to firmly research what a future career in teaching would entail.

My parents were disappointed but they had always vowed to allow us children to pursue our dreams; my father, especially, was adamant that we follow our passions when deciding upon our careers.

My relatives in Pakistan were more shocked and expressed their shock with their usual blunt forthrightness. “You’re such a smart girl and you’re going to teach”! “You don’t need a degree to be a teacher. That’s the last resort for people without jobs”.

Let me be real with you all. About 90% of the reason I became a teacher was for purely altruistic motives: inspiring future minds, sparking the creativity of youth and following in the footsteps of the teachers that had been my own role models.

The other 10% — and I won’t lie — is to rub it in the faces of every person who has had something narrow-minded to say about teaching, as a profession. I hope, for my sake, for my students’ sake that I become a great enough teacher to be able to do that.