This is inspired by Taylor Mali's poem What Teachers Make.
For a long time I don't think I had a good explanation for why I teach. I started teaching when I was already in my thirties. I had done a lot of things, and I was working as a carpenter building a house in November in the Pacific Northwest when I decided I wanted to go back to school to get my teaching certificate. If you've ever lifted a bundle of wet cedar shakes out of the mud and carried them up a ladder, only to repeat that action a hundred times, you'll understand why.
I remember meeting someone early in my career who asked what I did for a living. I said "I'm a teacher now." She said what do you mean now, and I explained that I had been many things and now I was a teacher. It was what I did, not what I was. I remember the odd look she gave me.
But as the years went by, and the first class that I had as freshmen graduated and went off to work or college I started to feel a change. Every so often one of them would write me a note, or send me a card, thanking me for helping them in some small way. Sometimes they came out of the blue, years later, describing some small but meaningful thing I had done; often a thing I had no memory of.
I've been here 27 years now, and I have kept all those notes. When I get a little low I pull them out and read them again. Some of them were written by students who are now the parents of my students. When I see them at Back to School night, they tell me how glad they are that I am teaching their son or daughter. Often neither one of us can remember exactly which subject I taught them, but there's a warmth. We like each other. I helped them grow up.
So now the answer to what I do is unequivocal: I am a teacher. I make a difference!