From a very young age, I dreamed that I would, one day, help people. My endless list of things I wanted to be when I was older all revolved around being of service to others: mom, baby doctor, vet, counselor, and coach. Even dreams of becoming a performer stemmed from the desire to provide others with something they did not have before and use my talent to inspire others.

I have always been a people person, or people extraordinaire if you will. My social skills were through the roof since I was just learning how to talk (an exaggeration, but you understand my point) and my social and emotional intelligence has always been acute. This is the personality I was born with, one where I love people, and, even more so, I love being with people.

Because of this love of social interaction, I have also always loved school. I’m sure that five-year-old me was incredibly excited to go to school once I was finally old enough to do so. Up until that point, I had mostly interacted with just my immediate and extended family-- my aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents. I had no siblings or cousins for the first four years of my life, so I had the attention of nearly everyone around me whenever I wanted it. I became really skilled at talking to people and sensing their emotions because of my interactions with solely adults. When I went to school, I made friends easily because I knew how to pick up on social clues that some of my classmates may not have learned yet. I was also only five, so friendship was a much looser concept than it is at the age of *almost* twenty-one.

I also had really good relationships with my teachers. They were the only adults in a room full of young children, but I stood out. I would ask my teachers questions and always volunteer for whatever activity we would be doing next. I knew how to talk to adults, so I had conversations with my teachers without fear of judgment as I’m sure many young kids have.

Even though I found it easy to interact with my teachers, I intensely admired them. You could even say that I adored them. I found their excitement and optimism incredible and amazing. And the way they could encourage us, students, to learn and grow? Outstanding.

I have many memories from my early childhood of wonderful experiences with my teachers. For example, Mrs. Skripco, my teacher for both kindergarten and first grade, taught us a song that helped us count by threes. She would stand at the front of the room and tell us this story about a television program she had seen when she was a girl. She told us that there were football players who ran across the screen wearing the multiples of three on their jerseys. The song counted all the way up to thirty, like so:

“Three, six, nine

Twelve, fifteen, eighteen

Twenty-one, twenty-four, twenty-seven

THIRTY!”

Each of the football players leading up to thirty were scrawny, skinny men, Mrs. Skripco said, but number thirty was a big, muscular player, hence the loud finale of the song. Mrs. Skripco would loudly grunt “THIRTY!” and flex her skinny arms laughing. She had even made a joke one time about how her arms were flabby, not muscular. I also own a stuffed teacher bear from Mrs. Skripco. She had been holding a yard sale at her house and, for whatever reason, my mother and I had visited. I believe she even gave me the bear for free.

Mrs. Brixius was my first-grade teacher, and I loved her. I remember it was in her classroom that I read aloud in class for the very first time. It was a Frog and Toad story, and I can still see the very textbook page in my mind when I think back to that day. Perhaps even more incredible is that Mrs. Brixius made sure to give me her school email address when my family and I moved away to Michigan. She told me to keep in touch, and I did. She and I exchanged emails back and forth every few years since I was in third grade. That was twelve years ago. I would email her about my new school, my worries, and my classes. I emailed her asking her to say hi to my friends back in Pennsylvania, and she obliged.

My favorite memory of Mrs. Brixius actually comes from her reply to an email I sent her in eighth grade. In the email, I told her I was deathly afraid of going to high school. I knew it would be a huge transition and that there was absolutely no way I was ready for such an adjustment. Classes would be harder and I wasn’t sure I could keep up. Her reply went something like this,

“On your first day, walk into that school with your head held high like you own the place. No one will know you’re afraid!”

Every time I am nervous or scared to walk into a building, whether it be for an interview, an evaluation, or simply a discussion, I follow Mrs. Brixius’ advice. I have been walking in like I own the place, my chin up and my head high, ever since. It has stuck with me for all these years.

Both of these teachers were incredible first educators. They were the best teachers I could have been blessed to have for my first three years of school. My fourth year, third grade, was no different. Mrs. Reimer was my teacher for third grade, and it was her first year at Pine Grove Elementary School. I don’t remember how young or old she was at the time because, well, I was eight and not a good judge of age anyway. You were either my age or a grown-up. There was no in-between.

What I do remember is that her classroom was amazing for the four months I was there. My family moved following Christmas Day. Mrs. Reimer’s classroom was where I learned to play the flutophone (No idea what that is? Look it up. It’s like a recorder/clarinet hybrid.) that I can still play “Hot Cross Buns” on to this day. I remember that she had a big decal on her desk that said “Irish” in big green letters with a drawing of a Leprechaun, so I assume she was really into her Irish heritage. When she found out that my family was moving, she set aside the last day of school before Christmas Break for a party in my name. I honestly did not realize just how much that meant at the time, but I truly appreciate it now. There were cupcakes and food. A really close friend of mine, Ryan, had gotten me a gift he had picked out with his mother. (I still have the necklace. It’s beautiful.) But Mrs. Reimer gave me the greatest gift of all. Along with a card she had gotten all of my classmates to sign, she had bought me a journal with cute animals on the covers. On the inside of the first page, she wrote,

“Tyessa,

You are such a wonderful writer, I know that someday you will be a published author. Use this journal to write about your feelings and experiences at your new home in Michigan. All writers keep journals. It is often where they find ideas for stories and even books. We will miss you. Please keep in touch.

Love,

Mrs. Reimer”

I could never have asked for anything more encouraging. I actually used the journal as she recommended for a few years. It’s still not full, but I’m bad at regularly writing in a journal. I cry every time I read her note because it inspires me to never stop writing and instilled the belief in me that I could be a published author someday. In fact, I plan to be, and it may all be because she made sure to tell me how great of a writer she thought I was.

I actually emailed Mrs. Reimer a few years ago. She was still teaching at my elementary school and was ecstatic that I remembered her and my classmates, that I used the journal, and that she encouraged me beyond belief. She told me that she was so excited that she had received an email from a student she had taught so many years ago that she ran to tell her fellow educators all about it. She told me that, as a teacher, you never know if what you did made a difference in your students’ lives. You never even know if they’ll remember you. But she said that my email was a beautiful reminder that encouraged her to keep on teaching and being incredible and that it inspired her coworkers as well. It was confirmation that what teachers do between the ages of five and eighteen does make a difference.

I have had so many wonderful teachers since third grade too. Don’t get me wrong. Every single educator I’ve ever had the joy to learn and grow under has changed my life for the better in one way or another. Each has made a difference in my life. They’ve been kind, caring, and willing to do anything for me. There’s nearly nothing a teacher would not do for a student.

I focus here on my teachers from my first four years of school because those early years are a pivotal point in a child’s life. A good teacher can be the factor that turns dark to light. For young me, my teachers were an inspiration. If I had not made the special connections and relationships with my teachers, who knows if I would have even liked school?

It probably comes as no surprise to you at this point that I am on the path to becoming a teacher myself. Perhaps it was fate that the profession I looked up to more than any other is the one I am taking on. I never saw myself choosing to be a teacher, though. I always thought that was a job that just wasn’t for me. Working with stubborn students? Gross. But now I can’t wait to get back into school and be what my teachers always were for me – a beacon of encouragement, hope, and inspiration. I owe it to the future generations of our world to give back to them what was given to me. To not do so would be selfish. My teachers have blessed me beyond belief, including those I have at college currently and the advising teachers I meet with in local classrooms. I want to help students learn and grow as brilliantly as they can just as teachers have done for years without complaint, remembering that their job is one where you don’t see the results right away. To quote "Hamilton: An American Musical," “It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

Mrs. Skripco, Mrs. Brixius, and Mrs. Reimer all planted seeds in me that they have not seen. None of them know my plan is to join them in the field of educators. Were they to find out that the life I have chosen is because of them, they would finally see the beautiful flowers and fruits of their labor blossom.

I want to teach because I am willing to sacrifice my life to sowing seeds into the future children of the world knowing that I may never see the beautiful people they have become. Just knowing that I gave it my all and have maybe even changed just one student’s life will be worth the years to follow until I die.

Here’s to my teachers. They are the reason I am here today. Thank you.

Dedicated to Mrs. Skripco, Mrs. Brixius, Mrs. Reimer, Mr. Braun, Mrs. Neeb, Mr. Osentoski, Mrs. Hedley, Mrs. Wolverton, Ms. Roth-Guza, Mr. Decker, Mrs. Chumbler, Mrs. Breault, Ms. Coon, Mr. Johnston, Mrs. Paganini, Mr. Decker, Mrs. Piotter, Mr. Adams, Mr. Nowak, Mrs. McIntyre, Mrs. Bingham, Mrs. Anderson, Mrs. Kervin, Mr. Schmitt, Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Smith, Mr. Varner, Mr. Tuckey, Miss Britt, Mrs. Howard, Mr. VanTiem, Mrs. Knarian, Mr. Trusock, Mrs. Wencel, Ms. Byrne, Mrs. Hirn, and Mrs. Steinbis, my K-12 teachers.