In sixth grade I excitedly moved up to the middle school. One of the first teachers I met there turned out to be one of the most instrumental in my development as a person and my decision to teach. Her name was Mrs. Stephens and she taught sixth grade reading. Mrs. Stephens had a glow about her. To me she seemed like an angel. She was about the age of my grandparents, and relatively soft spoken- until you got her to read. She had so much energy when she was reading out loud. There was so much passion and emotion in her voice that I couldn't help but be carried away into other, amazing places. She set my imagination on fire. That year we took a reading assessment. I remember the pride on Mrs. Stephens' face as she told me that I had placed at a college reading level. I remember her telling me that I was a very talented and beautiful young lady. Through my time with Mrs. Stephens my spirits soured. I began to feel like maybe it was a good thing to love reading. I became convinced that being smart was not just desirable, it was cool. I decided that year that I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted so badly to do for others what Mrs. Stephens had done for me.
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