Why I Teach
There was a young Asian American student I knew who struggled to fit in with her predominantly White peers in school. She appeared different on the outside, and on the inside, she had absolutely no idea who she was. Throughout her childhood and education, she was ignorant of her identity and culture; she was confused about what was considered American, what was considered Chinese, and what was considered in-between. The Chinese New Year-themed eighth grade dance fueled discomfort and unspoken anger within her as her peers initiated excitement towards wearing kimonos and eating sushi. She kept her mouth shut, and it went unaddressed and widely accepted by peers and faculty (she still decided to attend for the sake of fitting in). I witnessed her detachment in high school as she was taught the glossed-over portrayal of Asian immigrants who faced discrimination and exclusion during the Gold Rush and the construction of the Transcontinental Railroad. I noticed how it carried little to no significance to her; after all, she just needed to know were the dates and reasoning behind how these events built upon the grand idea of America, the melting pot of diversity.
Her identity pierced through the false idea that diversity could survive under the high-pressure heat of the melting pot. The veil began to lift; she began to see herself more clearly in the mirror. The White-washed veil of defining what it meant to be an American no longer restricted her vision or her voice. And this gradual, ongoing process developed the person she is currently, me.
Something ignited though when she went to college. Her identity pierced through the false idea that diversity could survive under the high-pressure heat of the melting pot. The veil began to lift; she began to see herself more clearly in the mirror. The White-washed veil of defining what it meant to be an American no longer restricted her vision or her voice. And this gradual, ongoing process developed the person she is currently, me.
As I continue to discover the depth of identity specifically with the education field, the value of student and teacher testimonies become more and more apparent. My drive is my story, along with countless others, in knowing that this narrative has been untold too many times for comfort, and that several students unfortunately must wait as late as college before uncovering their identity through declared majors or intended classes of study. It disturbs me to see the slow progression of multicultural pedagogy in the extensive list of national or state standards and county-wide curriculum maps and to know that this clear outline of expectations neglects the most important, fundamental standard of addressing diversity.
My drive is my story, along with countless others, in knowing that this narrative has been untold too many times for comfort, and that several students unfortunately must wait as late as college before uncovering their identity through declared majors or intended classes of study.
The young version of myself struggled with the conflict of not being “American-enough” or “Chinese-enough.” The current version of myself often questions if I am enough for this role and responsibility as an educator, a classic example of self-doubt. And to combat this battle of confidence and fear, I have heavily relied on the process of learning and re-learning what was overlooked in my educational experience through seeking post-secondary degrees. Although this pursuit strongly reflects my value and belief in individuals having the identity of being a lifelong learner, this practice has also conveniently and unfortunately conflicted with the idea that students perform out of obsession with grades and validation for future chances of success based on academic performance. There is a piece of me that cannot stay away from the courses relating to educational philosophy and critical, but there is also an aspect of this journey that seems to feed my self-doubt in thinking that these educational opportunities will solidify and validate my identity as an educator in the future. Taking that into account, I pose the question to myself: Then when does the future happen now? When am I fully who I strive to be as an Asian American educator?
I’m encouraged by power that comes with using our testimonies as a catalyst for learning and creating an educational environment that instills a sense of belonging. To an extent, my educational endeavors are critical for my growth as an educator, but my purpose is this: “Be here now,” as Ram Dass says. I choose to share my story now and take control of my learning now so that I may invite students into that very space where they (we) can grow to understand the power embedded in our voices and our stories. I desire to contribute to an environment now where I can be bold, honest, and empowered to question and to speak, so that my students will be able to as well, so that a student like the younger version of myself would begin to understand the value of identity and how it is woven into the complicated American narrative of diversity. This process is not to be delayed until students responsibly initiate this discovery as adults; but rather, this is the calling for teachers of all fields to initiate and ignite now.
I choose to share my story now and take control of my learning now so that I may invite students into that very space where they (we) can grow to understand the power embedded in our voices and our stories. I desire to contribute to an environment now where I can be bold, honest, and empowered to question and to speak, so that my students will be able to as well, so that a student like the younger version of myself would begin to understand the value of identity and how it is woven into the complicated American narrative of diversity.