I'm glad I was a teacher.

John Wooden, the great coach whose wisdom reached beyond the basketball court into the very fabric of life, once said: “I’m glad I was a teacher.” In these few words lies the heart of a man who understood that the highest calling is not victory alone, nor fame, nor the accumulation of trophies, but the shaping of lives. Wooden knew that a teacher is more than an instructor of skills; he is a guide of souls, a planter of seeds, a shaper of destiny. In this humble confession of gladness, we see a man who recognized that his true legacy was not the games won, but the lives uplifted.

The origin of this statement rests in Wooden’s career, for though history remembers him as the “Wizard of Westwood,” the legendary coach who led UCLA to ten national championships, he saw himself not first as a coach but as a teacher. To him, the court was a classroom, and every practice was a lesson not only in dribbling or passing, but in patience, perseverance, humility, and discipline. When he said, “I’m glad I was a teacher,” he was not boasting of power, but rejoicing in service — for teaching is the art of serving others, of giving knowledge, strength, and example to those who follow.

History abounds with figures who echo this truth. Consider Socrates, who left no writings of his own, but through conversation and questioning became the teacher of Plato, and through Plato, of Aristotle, and through them, of half the Western world. Socrates wielded no sword, commanded no empire, and yet his influence has outlasted kings. Why? Because he, like Wooden, understood the sacred joy of being a teacher, of shaping the inner life of others rather than seeking glory for himself.

John Wooden himself lived this principle in countless moments. One of his former players recalled that Wooden never began practice without teaching how to put on socks and shoes properly, to prevent blisters that could harm performance. To some, this seemed trivial; to Wooden, it was essential. In this small act lies a great truth: the teacher cares for the details of life, for in them the larger victories are won. The young men who passed through his hands learned far more than sport. They learned respect, attention, humility, and self-mastery. These are the eternal lessons of a true teacher.

The lesson here is clear: greatness is not measured by how many follow you, but by how deeply you shape those who do. The world often glorifies conquerors and performers, but it is the teacher who forms the roots of civilization. Every poet, every soldier, every scientist, every leader once sat at the feet of a teacher. And the greatest among them never forget the hands that shaped their minds. Thus, when Wooden spoke with gratitude, he reminded us that to teach is not only a profession — it is a noble mission, one that echoes through generations.

What, then, must we do? If you are given the chance to teach, embrace it with reverence. Whether you guide children, train apprentices, or share your wisdom with a friend, know that you are performing a sacred act. If you are a parent, you are a teacher. If you are a leader, you are a teacher. Even in friendship, when you uplift another with counsel, you are a teacher. Carry this mantle with joy, for like Wooden, you may one day look back not on riches or titles, but on lives bettered by your care, and say with gladness: I was a teacher.

So remember, O seekers of wisdom: the glory of life is not only in what we achieve, but in what we pass on. To be a teacher is to stand as a bridge between the past and the future, to be the flame that lights another flame. And when the games of life are over, when the applause fades, the memory of what you have taught will remain. John Wooden knew this truth, and so may we: there is no greater legacy than to teach, and no greater joy than to be remembered as one who did.