Yes, over the years I had other teachers and some of them marked my life, being, later on, extremely important for my professional choice.
I usually say that the profession chose me, polished me, trained me and only when it had confidence that I was ready, did it let me walk on my own two feet. Until then I had another profession and a series of questions… An infinity of very particular questions and anxieties and a terrible fear of not being able to write my professional history.
But then I remembered my teachers… Each one with their own style, each one bringing their message and their truth. Dedicating part of their lives to teaching, to showing a world of knowledge and an interesting path. The preschool aunt with her unusual patience and readiness for her little apprentices. I remembered the exaggerated seriousness of the math teacher who, at the end of the year, turned out to be a joking and amusing young man. The then tough Portuguese teacher who, after the first two difficult classes, became a fun friend of the group of almost thirty students.
There were so many examples, so many styles and so many subliminal messages during the classes, that I thought of just being like them: people of flesh and blood, living their lives and dedicating themselves to teaching, complicity and commitment to a common intellectual interest. and from there establish a routine relationship.
Wise are the ones who make this relationship a pleasant coexistence.
I am proud to be a teacher, to have teaching brothers and friends and fellow teachers… Viva!
When people ask me why I wanted to become a teacher, I say that the knowledge I seek is tireless and that's why I'm a teacher: because I never get tired!
To all apprentices… Long live!
