I am not a teacher

I love kids. I love them with every fibre of my being. I love play time, lunch and snack times, even the dirty stuff like discipline and bathroom time. But loving kids is not enough of a reason to teach kids.

This past summer, a good friend and I opened up a small daycare in her home [as she had done the summer before] and from 8am until 5pm, Monday through Friday, I got my fill of children. There were usually about six of them, ranging in age from two to six, and they were all beautiful. Some were annoying, some were rascals, and some were just plain bad, but they were all beautiful. But thinking kids are beautiful is not enough of a reason to teach kids.

I tried my best most days to feed even the pickiest of eaters. One mother came at the beginning of the summer with her two picky eaters, saying that if they wouldn’t eat what we were serving, we could give them a grilled cheese sandwich or Kraft Dinner, and they would be fine. Heck no, we’re not cooking three different meals for six kids! We fed them all the same thing every single day, picky eaters and and the ones who licked every plate, no matter what was on it. The fussy ones tried a whole bunch of new foods over the course of the summer months, and I daresay they liked most of it. But wanting to share new things with kids is not enough of a reason to teach kids.

I love kids. I love them enough to know that becoming a teacher despite my lack of passion for the profession would not benefit any child. Sure, they would learn from me. I’m even sure they would like me, and I know I would like spending my days with them.

But it’s just not enough.