Spanish...a love story

In first grade I dressed up as a teacher. There was an apple on my jean dress. I also had a pointer to go along with it.

In fourth grade, I learned the basics of spanish through a SAMI named Bryan. He thought my pronunciation was decent. I thought he was going to be disappointed that he had to tutor a girl. I don't think he was, though.

I continued with Spanish in 7th and 8th grade with a teacher who didn't care about grades.

9th grade I took band.

Tenth grade I had Mrs. Schiller. She was a good teacher and I said that I wanted to take Spanish because it was "exotic." It's not as exotic to me anymore, but there are a couple of words that I like.

This was the year that I decided I wanted to be a Spanish teacher.

11th and 12th grade I took Spanish with Mr. Wilson. He taught differently than Mrs. Schiller, but it wasn't a bad different. It was a good different.

12th grade I became the SAMI (spanish tutors to fourth graders). I gave back what was given to me. It was the most amazing feeling in the entire world (there are other good feelings that aren't emotional, too. I guess).

Now this is where the detour comes in.

The first professor that I took at college didn't wow me. Nor did I do well in her class.

It took me a while to find the kind of passion that I had for Spanish that I did that senior year of high school.

I do want to be a certified High School Spanish teacher.

And it scares me to death.

Dreaming takes guts.

It takes a lot of guts to go after something that you really want.

Don't ever let someone tell you that you don't want it.

That's all.

I'd like it if you commented.

Unless this thing isn't on.

It better be.