People often ask me, “What made you want to be a teacher?” I always chuckle because my origin story feels serendipitous - almost accidental. Truth be told, I wasn’t someone who always knew what they wanted to be. In high school, I couldn’t have imagined myself writing a college essay about my sense of direction. Even as I entered community college, I was unsure. But then, by some grace, I stumbled upon a crystal-clear realization.
I remember the day so vividly. It was a perfect spring day in 2006. I had recently turned 20 and was spending the semester studying abroad in Rome, Italy. On a Saturday, our cohort, along with our professors, went on an excursion to Hadrian’s Villa. The sun was warm, the sky impossibly blue, and the ruins hummed with ancient history. My friends and I, carefree college students, roamed the grounds. We snapped photos - what you might call selfies today - and laughed at the nude statues with the unfiltered humor and maturity of our age.
I can tell you exactly what I wore that day: medium-wash flare jeans, a baby blue tank top, and a leather messenger bag studded with turquoise stones. Most of my outfit had been curated during my time in Italy, and I wore it with pride, loving the European influence on my style. My hair fell in relaxed waves, and I accessorized with large hoop earrings, and a carefree heart. As the tour wound down, we strolled toward the charter bus parked a few hundred feet away. I lagged slightly behind my group, enjoying the moment, when a swarm of children suddenly surrounded me. Seven Italian grade-schoolers appeared out of nowhere, their energy infectious. They peppered me with questions in broken English, and I answered them in my equally broken Italian. Their faces radiated pure joy - genuine, sincere, and full of curiosity. As they hung on my every word, something clicked. In that random, fleeting moment, I felt at ease. Comfortable. Content. They had chosen me out of the crowd to approach, and as I answered their questions, I realized how natural it felt to share knowledge, and to connect. And just like that, they scurried off, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. I stood there, smiling, taking a deep breath. I knew, as I said at that moment, “I’m going to be a teacher.”
That epiphany stayed with me. When I returned to the States after that semester, I proudly declared my major, turning my once-undefined path into a clear road forward. Since then, I’ve never doubted my decision to teach. Do I question the direction of education in the United States? Of course. Do I sometimes worry about the lack of focus, grit, and discipline of many of today’s students? Absolutely. But those are issues for another entry.
Nevertheless, my confidence in this calling has remained steadfast, and over the years countless moments and people have confirmed and affirmed that teaching is where I belong. I first noticed it while working for the YMCA of San Francisco in after-school programming, or summer camp teens. From white-water rafting trips, to herding city kids through the BART and MUNI systems, those moments and experiences always lit me up. At the time, I gained quite the reputation of “Storytime with Barbara” among my college friends, as they were always eager to hear whatever silly situation a kid found themselves in, or me recounting a “kids say the darndest things” moment. Friends loved listening, and I equally loved sharing. The joy and confidence was evident.
When I packed up and moved to the East Coast to start teaching officially in West Philadelphia, my joy remained. And now, 15 years into this career, having transitioned from upper elementary to high school, that joy remains true. It’s the same comfortable confidence I felt on that sunny spring day in 2006 - I truly feel in my element. I feel it in breakthrough moments with my “arch-enemy” students, when a wall crumbles, and real connections are made. I feel it when I pour my heart into creating a classroom environment complete with decorations, couches and even an Alexa, where students feel safe enough to use my room as a kind of “student union,” unloading their frustrations, sharing exciting news, or even just filling me in on the playground gossip - even during my “break.” I see it in the playful banter I share with my students, like when my beloved “Student Tears” mug was one-upped by a cheeky “Ms. Quigley Tears” mug. I had to tip my hat to that kid and laugh. Oddly enough, that “Student Tears” mug mysteriously disappeared. It’s in the harmless pranks I pull that turn into a tradition, and in my students’ hilarious, though often pathetic, attempts to prank me back. It’s in the tough-love pep talks I give to kids on the brink, and holding the line while watching them mature because of it. It’s in the grit required to stay calm when a student curses me out, or when I have to de-escalate a physical tantrum, ushering them to the office with firmness. It’s even in my attempts to keep up with the ever-changing slang, rolling my eyes at its obscurity but sometimes secretly enjoying the challenge - mostly for educational purposes.
Over the years, I’ve heard things like, “Barbara, I’ve never met anyone better suited to be a teacher than you,” or “Ms. Quigley, you’re our child’s favorite teacher.” It’s lines like this that continue to affirm me. Just last June, when I said goodbye to students and families at my previous school, the overwhelming outpouring of love left me speechless and touched - even to the point of tears. And when I’m fortunate enough to stay in touch with students and their families, and to be invited into their lives for big or small moments, it truly is a great honor. They say teaching is a work of heart, and well, given the evidence I’d have to agree.
All this to say, I’m struck by how this moment back in 2006 came so unexpectedly. Until then, I hadn’t given myself the space to explore what I wanted to do with my life. Growing up as the peacemaker in a chaotic family, I often put others first. As a by-product of this role, shyness was my default, and I simply didn’t have the room to imagine a life beyond what was right in front of me. But that semester abroad changed everything - and honestly it was exactly what I needed.
It was a time of discovery and witnessing the thrill of life unfolding in ways I’d never experienced before. Images flash through my memory: meeting classmates on the Spanish Steps on any given Tuesday after class, eating tuna salad outside the Colosseum on the weekend, taking a wrong metro route only to lose ourselves in the cobblestoned streets of Rome before finding our way to class. I think of planning my first weekend away to Germany, navigating hostels and train systems, laughing through ridiculous situations with classmates. Or that time I veered off from my group of friends during spring break in Ireland, armed with just a printed email with crumbs of information; and after a train ride, two cabs, half a Mass, and a payphone call to a total stranger later, I found my great-great grandparents’ grave in the quintessential Ireland pasture of Headford. And then there was the night I turned 20: staying up until dawn, bar-hopping, wandering deserted streets through Vatican City at 3 in the morning, climbing to a lookout over the city, and finally ending at an underground bakery. We sat on the curb with our pastries, gazing at the wall of Vatican City, the dome of St. Peter’s just visible over its edge as we watched the sun rise.
That semester taught me to embrace life and its moments of spontaneity and unexpected joys, but more importantly it taught me to prioritize myself from time to time; outside the role I had growing up. And as it all came to a close on that warm spring day, surrounded by ancient ruins and curious children, I was finally breaking out of my shell and imagining what I wanted for myself - I finally had the time and space that my previous situation hadn't allowed. That semester, and that moment didn’t just shape my career, it shaped who I am.
