Why I'm a Teacher

            Childhood memories persuaded me to become a teacher. Being a Mexican-American growing up in a family of ten siblings with an English speaking father and a Spanish speaking mother was the best thing that ever happened to me. I loved living in the riches of two cultures, two languages, and absolutely relished celebrating Mexican and American customs and traditions all under one roof. Little did I know that one of my worlds would be crumbled to shame by my third grade teacher, Mrs. Johnston. It happened during a reading discussion that I decided to share my thoughts about the story we had just read. Mrs. Johnston asked me to approach her desk and commanded that I place my hand on her desk. Without warning she whacked it, hard, with the dreadful "paddle" I never had feared before this day. Her comment, "Don't ever speak Spanish in my classroom ever again. Do you understand?" I replied, "Yes, Mrs. Johnston", but in my mind and heart I really could not understand how the language I loved and used to communicate with my mother, friends and siblings was marked punishable by paddle. I quickly learned, Spanish was not tolerated in my classroom, or school for that matter, and it was not long before I assimilated to the ways of our school system and learned that it was best to forget and dishonor my Mexican culture. My voice as an eager student hungry for knowledge and acceptance turned to the quiet girl that never voiced her thoughts, concerns, or opinions in fear that I would accidentally speak the prohibited language, Spanish, and fall upon the paddle-consequence. My teachers never got to know about the wealth of knowledge I had, my curiosities, who I was, where I came from or, even worse, if I understood what was being discussed in class or whether I was learning. .
             I made it through my middle and high school years as a student stripped away of her Mexican culture, only to find my stripes again as an adult while taking literature classes towards a business degree in college.