thomsen.

Someone asked me one day this question: How did I get into teaching? I paused. I let my brain take a moment to reflect my past with billions of images as it tried to connect the dots of how I got into teaching. After few moments, which felt like nanoseconds ago, I was ready to answer the question. A long, long, long time ago...

I remember my favorite teacher of all time. Mr. P. (for the sake of privacy, it’s just better to call him Mr. P anyways). Mr P was one of those extraordinary teachers that you had wished when you were in middle school to nominate for the Presidential Award for the United States Best Teacher, but you were not matured to do so in the first place. If you were to ever choose any history class at Magsig Middle School, it was extremely well-known that Mr. P was the number one choice. 

His creativity, flexibility, intelligence, and just his love of history, he essentially flaunted to everyone in his class. Nobody knew what the next day of class was going to be like. Like the day that Mr. P walked into the classroom dressed as a Roman soldier. Or the other day when we entered the classroom and there were shield and swords against the wall. Or the day when he jumped on the desk in recital of his favorite ancient historian. 

History class with Mr P certainly was not easy. His expectations were set high. You were expected to memorize and recite certain assignments. It was expected that your hand would be tired from never scribbling notes in your notebook. Quizzes were at least once a week. The tests were the hardest I’ve ever taken during either middle or high school, yet, it was worth it. 

Why? 

Because still to this day, I remember everything. When Julius Caesar died. When the Roman empire died. When the Black Plague occurred. When Christopher Columbus sailed and found America. When and who was important during the renaissance period. 

It was after taking his class that I decided that one day I’d like to do what Mr. P did: 

Teach history or to teach something.