American schools haven't always been the temples of encouragement ("you're a special snowflake") they are these days. Only a hundred years or so ago, schools in America seemed to be modeled after those in Charles Dickens novels: places of discipline, manners, and awkward knee-high socks. 

In those days, no one pulled any punches. If you got a question wrong, you were punished with a dunce cap and a timeout in the corner. If you acted out, you received the switch (what you might call a stick) hopefully on your hand but possibly on your butt.

 

Nail in your foot? Walk it off. (Source)

This was a time when most school-aged kids were probably already pulling down a full-time job. If you were lucky enough to be able to afford schooling, you were expected to be perfect little privileged persons―even if your dyslexia and mild stutter made communication with "normal" people almost impossible.

Thanks to modern inventions such as "caring" and "child labor laws," we now understand that children need to be nurtured as well as disciplined in order to be successful. That's where the Educational Psychologist comes in. This is a profession built around the how, when, and why children and young adults learn (source). 

It looks at learning disabilities as a workable personality trait rather than an annoying defect. It enhances and supports individuals instead of trying to force them to fit a system. And at around $75,000 a year on average (and six-figure possibilities), it can be completely worth your time and effort (source).

Educational psychologists aren't really clinical psychologists, a.k.a. the couch-and-clipboard style doctor who spends most of the hour making stick figure drawings and responding to your tears with the occasional "mm-hmm." 

The tasks and responsibilities of an educational psychologist extend way beyond a simple question-and-answer session, and can impact the lives of hundreds of people who are disabled or angry or just plain confused about stuff.

They're also not the same thing as child psychologists. While both deal with, you know...children, educational psychologists will often deal with adults as well, and tend to make the classroom the central focus (source). Really, the key word here is education. EdPsychs focus more on the learning issues, problems, and disorders a kid has, while ChiPsychs tend to look at the broader picture.

 

Except for Happy, who isn't technically employed by or attending the school. (Source)

What you'll be is a direct line between students, teachers, parents, education, learning, and personality. This is not an easy task. Each interaction you have, from mediating an argument to training teachers in compassion (not always their thing), will require every bit of your attention and focus so that you know how to deal with the situation. 

Every person you'll see, whether student or parent or teacher or depressed clown that somehow got hired for a school assembly, is an individual with their own issues and struggles. And you'll have to navigate through those issues to help that person succeed in the educational environment.

This isn't about babying kids, but rather giving them an emotional hand up―a high-five to the heart if you will. Wait...that sounds painful. Never mind.

Some have serious problems that seriously get in the way of their ability to learn, and it'll be your (often thankless) job to help them through it, from daily consultations to crafting full plans and routines. This is life coaching without the whistle and overbearing sense of superiority (or reality show).

Make no mistake: this job is not for everyone. You have to have patience. You have to have empathy. You've got to know when to speak and when to listen. And you've generally got to care about the students who come to your office every day. Helping them should be the number one reason you do this.

Oh, and you'll probably need at least a master's degree, if not a Ph.D (source). That's a whole lot of extra schooling just to spend the rest of your life at school. But this way, you can call yourself Doctor and never have to see a drop of blood―at least until your first elementary school recess/riot. Ten-year-olds bite hard.

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