(no subject)
I was never one to think of myself as a teacher. Growing up as the youngest of four, I was a sponge. I soaked up what my kith and kin had to offer. My brothers would do, and indirectly taught me not to do, because I saw they suffered consequences. Around my friends, on the other hand, I was always the “smart one” or the “one who knew how to do it best” and I was obligated to instruct my colleagues nonetheless. Demands were thrown at me like a pitcher throws a fastball, and I was the quivering batter who had no time to think; I just had to swing. I would mumble somewhat of a disheveled arrangement of instructions, ending in the not so insolent phrase, “Well, uh, I’m not a very good teacher.” My bewildered questioner would depart perplexed and empty handed, while I would be left with no more of a teaching ego than I started with.
Ironically enough, I was offered a job as a swimming instructor, because I was (and currently am) a certified lifeguard - all four-foot-eleven-and-a-half of me. I love those snot-faced little munchkins. Not only do they scream my ear drums to a beat never before strummed, but they also chum up the chlorinated pool with all three courses of lunch. In other words, they eject the contents of their stomach through their mouth, or merely vomit. By the end of the week, I am usually missing patches of hair and skin, and am fortunate enough to have only a black eye or two.
Despite the actions of those select novice swimmers, I have found that this job has helped me to realize what it takes to be a quality teacher. Seeing students of mine - some of which I have had for over a year now - doing laps of the competitive freestyle, the relaxing backstroke, the gracious breaststroke, and even the intricate butterfly, puts a smile on my face from ear to ear. I don’t mean to sound trite, or the least bit cliché, but it makes my heart skip a beat. Not only have I taught (yes, I taught!) these kids a skill they will use forever, but one that can ultimately save their lives as well. For instance, a parent told me of a horrific event in which her daughter was pushed into a pool. With her newfound skills, she swam to the edge of the pool and climbed out. It might not sound like much to the average Joe, but to me the feeling is indescribable. It’s touching. It’s life-altering. It’s a sensation only a genuine teacher could know. Surely, being a teacher doesn’t mean I am all-knowing either. These kids have taught me more than I could have bargained for. I went from being a relatively indulgent person, to an extremely patient teacher. They instilled in me a love for my job deeper than one normally has.
The gratitude I have for them is immeasurable, for they have taught me to teach. I am no longer that shuddering girl at bat, swinging aimlessly at a ball of ambiguous uncertainty. I am a swimming instructor, a teacher, with more of a teaching ego than I started with.