Future elementary teacher with two years beside a second grade classroom, a storyteller's background, and one non-negotiable: every kid walks in knowing somebody in that room is in their corner.
Kids have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I was always the one on the floor with the little ones, the one who noticed the kid sitting alone, the one who wanted to know what they were thinking about. It took me a while to name it, but looking back it was never a hobby. It was a calling I kept walking past.
I'm now pursuing my degree in elementary education at Arizona State University. Switching into this field didn't feel like changing direction so much as finally catching up to something that had been sitting there the whole time.
Before this I spent a few years behind a camera and a microphone — shooting for a student newspaper, producing radio spots, running social media for a baseball club. That work taught me how to tell a story people actually stay for, and it turns out second graders are the toughest and most rewarding audience I've ever had.
Every room has a kid who doesn't feel like they fit anywhere. I want my classroom to be the place they finally do.
Not every kid has a home that feels like one. Some of them walk in carrying a morning nobody should have to carry at seven years old, and school is the steadiest thing they've got. I think about those kids constantly. I want mine to be the room where they're wanted — where somebody knows what they're good at and says it out loud, over and over, until they start believing it themselves.
Because the curriculum was never the whole job. Second graders are also learning how to apologize and mean it, how to keep going after something's hard, how to sit with a friend who's having a bad day. Those are the lessons still doing work at thirty. A kid can forget how to carry the one and still be carrying what they learned about their own worth in that room.
So my measure isn't the test scores. It's whether a kid leaves my room knowing they matter, and with some flicker of an idea about what they want to do with that.
That's the room I want to build — one where every kid knows they belong in it.
Two years as a teacher's assistant in a second grade room — the experience that turned a maybe into a certainty.
Built content calendars and game-day campaigns for a live audience — planning ahead, hitting deadlines, and keeping a voice consistent.
Wrote and produced commercial spots and went live on air. Reading aloud with energy and clarity is a skill that transfers straight to a carpet full of seven-year-olds.
Shot, edited, and wrote community stories on deadline — practice at paying close attention to people and telling their story well.
Three things I'd want a principal to know before anything else on this page.
A kid who feels cared for will take risks, ask questions, and try again after getting something wrong. Learning comes after belonging, not before it.
Explaining something for the fourth time like it's the first is not a detour from teaching. It is teaching.
Reading with a child who thinks they can't is my favorite part of the day. Getting them to the end of a page out loud is the whole reason I'm doing this.
Beliefs are about teaching. These are about the room — what I want a kid to feel the second they walk through the door.
Their names, their art, their spelling mistakes on the wall. A room full of adult decorations belongs to the adult.
Kids relax when they know what comes next. Predictable isn't boring — it's what makes the room safe enough to take a risk in.
The kid who guesses and misses did the brave thing. If that gets treated well, everybody else raises their hand next time.
Seven-year-olds are funny. A classroom that never laughs is a classroom nobody wants to come back to on Monday.
The media background isn't a detour — it's a set of things most first-year teachers have to learn on the job.
Looking for practicum placements, classroom volunteer hours, and schools building the kind of room I want to teach in. I'd love to hear from you.