I was going through my garage last summer, and I came across one of my assignments from third grade. It was a simple fill-in-the-blank question that asked, “What is your favorite thing to do after school?” My answer wasn’t particularly exciting by most third-grade standards, but what I wrote makes a whole lot of sense to me today. I wrote that I liked to be home by four so I could work on puzzles and watch Oprah with my great-grandma Sylvia. 

Looking back, I can’t help but smile at that little girl. She had no idea where she was headed. She didn’t know she would become the first person in her family to graduate from college. She certainly didn’t know that one day she would find herself back in a classroom, only this time, as the teacher. Those quiet afternoons puzzling with Great Grandma, with Oprah playing in the background, became one of the grounding points I carried with me on my scenic route to education. 

My path to teaching was full of back roads, unexpected turns, and stops that didn’t seem particularly important at the time. Looking back now, I can see how each one was preparing me to become the student-centered educator I am today. My journey so far has taught me that who someone is in one moment tells us very little about who they might eventually become, and it is my mission to collect the pieces that help me personalize each student’s learning experience. 

From age 14-19, one scenic stop was a job at a local hardware store and lumber yard in my small hometown. I was young and still figuring out where I fit, but that job introduced me to all kinds of people. People who could calculate measurements in their heads, people who could build things from their imaginations, and people whose intelligence might never have been fully captured in a traditional classroom. I learned early that being capable and intelligent can look a hundred different ways, and I fell in love with trying to find those special pieces of each person that I met. 

A few years later, after trade school and a career as a pediatric dental assistant (2008 to 2014), the scenic route took another turn when I went back to school as a single mother. I carried responsibilities, doubt, and a persistent case of imposter syndrome that liked to remind me that maybe I didn’t belong there. I wondered whether I was smart enough, whether I had waited too long, and whether someone with my path was really supposed to be in those rooms. 

Those experiences changed the way I see students because I know what it feels like to be the person sitting in a classroom from humble beginnings with insecurities. Every student who walks through my door brings so much with them, too: their experiences, responsibilities, interests, fears, strengths, and hopes. The student I see today is only one version of the person they are still

becoming. Therefore, I often remind myself to keep the student—and all the pieces that make them who they are—at the heart of my craft. 

I think personalization coupled with proficiency is where the sweet spot is. It means taking the time to know the person behind the grade while still holding high expectations for what they can achieve. A grade captures a moment, but growth tells a story. Just as none of our lives could be summarized by one snapshot of who we were at 8, 14, or 28, a student cannot be fully summarized by one score, one assignment, or one difficult semester. And maybe that’s what I love most about personalization in education: not expecting every student to follow the same road, but helping each one recognize the value of the road they’re traveling. Now at 38, I've learned that some things take time, some lessons require a few wrong turns, and there's more than one way to get something right. 

My scenic route has taught me that students don’t need me to decide who they will become. Instead, my role is to know them well enough to help them recognize the roads available to them and accept the unique pieces of themselves and their path. Because sometimes the kid working at the lumber yard at 19 becomes a first-generation college graduate. Sometimes the single mom wondering whether she belongs in graduate school becomes a teacher. And sometimes the third grader who just wants to be home by four to puzzle and watch Oprah with Great Grandma is already collecting the pieces of a story that, 30 years later, will teach her to appreciate the beauty of the scenic route.

Back