An example of an autobiographical essay

1. A TEACHER LIKE ME
Last night a student of mine tried to commit suicide. She slit her wrists. The night before that she tried to hang
herself. She didn’t succeed either night, and I don’t think she was trying to kill herself because of anything I did,
and suicide attempts by my students are not a regular occurrence. But this incident does expose some of the many
complicated problems my students come to class with; and, therefore, the wide range of professional skills I never
received training for; but I, nevertheless, must have.
Teaching is a crazy profession. I love my work, but it is a crazy profession. Education is more and more
important to our nation, but in several states the janitors who clean the rooms after we leave make more
money than we do. We are also asked to prepare lessons for students who in any one class can have second-
grade to college-level skills, we fill out endless paperwork, and then we grade papers late into the night. And
for our efforts, we are sworn at, sneered at, and laughed at by many of our students, their parents, and the
school administration, especially if we teach at the junior high or high school level. So why do we do it? Let
me try to explain.
To understand a teacher who truly loves teaching, you have to understand that that teacher is really just
an eternal student—someone who is and always will be fascinated by a million things and wants others to feel
and value that fascination for its own sake and for how it will help them in their futures. So throw some
problems at this person. We wince, and then we rise to the challenge. We think, “Perhaps I can learn some-
thing here and help someone at the same time.” And only in the calm of our summer breaks do we step back
and go, “Oh my God, I can’t believe I dealt with all that.”
Consider that I’ve had many young girls come to me hysterical and pregnant or abused by a boyfriend or
a family member. I’ve also had students whose brothers or sisters or parents were murdered in robberies or
drive-bys or by another family member. And, of course, there are the runaways and students totally dis-
traught over poor grades and what their parents will do when they find out.
My response? I do what I can. I grope for something relevant to say to these people who are falling
apart. And then I try to steer them back to the lesson at hand, so that when the crises pass, my students will
find that they still made forward progress. I smile, I joke, I fume, as the lesson (and my ideas on how to pro-
voke students to novel thought) dictate. I can’t help it, and neither could you if you were a teacher like me.