By Justin Harper, Guest Columnist and Ann Arbor Education Association
(Reprinted with permission from the Michigan Education Association (MEA).)
Readers of the MEA Voice may remember me from the August–September issue, where part of my story was featured in an article about addressing educator shortages.
I was celebrated for completing my degree and certification after three years of night classes, all while working full-time as a paraeducator and co-founding a youth program in the wake of COVID. It felt good to be acknowledged — but that wasn’t the whole story.
There is another part of my journey that I left out. It’s harder to talk about, but more important.
It’s the part that explains how I went from being considered a “troubled student” — one who disrupted class, struggled academically, and eventually dropped out at 16 — to becoming a special education teacher in the same district I once struggled in.
As I grew up, school was not a place where I felt successful. I remember the frustration in my teachers’ faces. I remember the suspension slips, the office visits, the moments of anger.
In third grade, I punched the glass on a fire extinguisher case in the hallway. In fourth grade, I was standing on desks looking for the class’s attention. In fifth grade, I told my teacher he was a punk and to “shut up,” expecting punishment, but instead he showed up for me — literally.
He started attending all my basketball games, supporting me with the game I loved. He showed me that I mattered. That I was worth sticking with. That seed took years to grow.
There were others. After-school childcare staff encouraged me, especially one aide who trained me in basketball and made me proud of my strengths.
And Mr. Pipkin, a legendary teacher who taught African-American Studies. His class was the first place where I felt seen — where my identity was honored, where I earned an A because I cared.
Even then, I still struggled in every other class. Back then, I couldn’t explain why. Now I understand: Educators plant seeds that do not always sprout right away. Sometimes the harvest comes years later, in another season entirely. But the watering matters. The tending matters.
My turning point came after a fight that nearly cost me my life. Recovery forced me to reflect — on my choices, my influences, my future. I saw who was truly there for me. I understood what I wanted to become. The seeds planted in me finally began to grow.
I went back to school, then received my diploma. I became a lunch aide. I worked my way up to paraeducator. And eventually — with patience, mentorship, and belief — I became a teacher.
Today, I teach from a place of empathy, not judgment. I know firsthand that shame never inspired anyone to become their best self. Kids make mistakes — sometimes big ones. My job is to stay in the work with them. To help them understand themselves, regulate their emotions, and build character.
I listen. I offer choices. I hold boundaries with compassion. And I follow through.
The truth is: my students inspire me. They remind me daily that no one is fixed to their past. Growth happens quietly, slowly, and sometimes unpredictably — just like seeds.
I am living proof of what can happen when educators plant those seeds and refuse to give up.
And now, I get to plant them, too.
MEA member Justin Harper is in his second year as a middle school special education teacher in Ann Arbor after working as a paraeducator for 15 years. He also serves as director of CLR Academy, a youth program he co-founded.
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