How do people end up getting the kinds of jobs they have? How do people figure out what they want to do for the rest of their lives? Do our career choices just appear &045; like magic &045; when we grow up? Or is it more like a journey of discovery, with unexpected destinations?

As children, future careers are part of our pretend play. Along with my friends, I imagined becoming lots of things after I grew up: a firefighter, a police officer, a zoo keeper, or an astronaut. The only careers that were off the list were ones that involved lots of blood, like medicine, or our mothers wouldn’t approve of, like piracy.

In high school, though, I started making decisions about classes and activities based on what I thought would help me find a future career, as many of us do. I loved building things. So I began thinking more practically about how to prepare myself for the kind of work that architects or civil engineers do &045; designing and/or building skyscrapers and transportation systems. I took lots of math and science classes.

High school is when we’re supposed to start making decisions about what we want to do for the rest of our lives, when dreams turn into concrete goals and plans. We take tests and meet with guidance counselors to help us figure out the right kind of education we need to find a job as an adult. We listen (or pretend to listen) to our parents’ advice.

Even before I took the tests, I was confident that getting into college wasn’t going to be a problem. But I was also surprised by some of the results. Although my math scores were high enough to allow me to pursue engineering, my scores for verbal skills (reading and writing) were even better. And so, right at the end of high school, despite all my plans for a career in engineering, I discovered that I wanted to be something different: an English teacher.

In some ways it wasn’t as surprising as it felt like at first. I had always loved reading, and during my last year of high school, I discovered I loved writing. I wrote essays for class, of course, but also letters to the school paper, poems, stories, and satirical articles about school life that I passed around among my friends. Journalism didn’t attract me, and I couldn’t imagine myself ever making a living as a novelist or poet, so becoming an English major and learning how to teach writing seemed the only logical choice.

Teaching, I have since discovered, is the proper vocation for me. Instead of building things, I help students build up their writing skills. I love this job. In college, writing is more than just learning about proper sentences and spelling. It’s during college that most students finally realize that writing is about communicating with other people, not a way to get a grade. There is nothing else I can think of that is more satisfying than seeing a student become better at applying the principles of good writing: understanding the needs and expectations of your readers and knowing what your purpose is.

Teaching writing does have its challenges, though. Periodically I find myself facing stacks of 100 or more research papers or other essays. Sometimes I just get weary from correcting the incorrect use of semicolons or marking misspelled or wrongly used words over and over again. Why don’t they ever proofread their assignments? is the cry that escapes my lips.

The biggest challenge in the classroom for me, however, is not always easy to see; it’s more &uot;spiritual&uot; and the same for teachers of all types. We carry a big responsibility on our shoulders, one we share with parents. In one way or another, students will be different when they leave our classrooms. We have an impact on their lives &045; for better or worse. Through our work with students, we either add to the ignorance and indifference in the world, or we help light candles to push back the darkness. It may not always be obvious, but underneath it all, our real job as teachers is to help our students become better human beings.

David Rask Behling is a rural Albert Lea resident. His column appears Tuesdays.