And I Thought I Was the Teacher

I wrote this millions of years ago but, believe it or not, people still come up to me and ask for copies.. I'm glad it still affects people... here goes..

Tuesday, January 23, 2001 Youngblood, Philippine Daily Inquirer

And I thought I was the Teacher

Up to this day, people can’t help but make sure they heard me right whenever I tell them what I do for a living. I guess my being an elementary teacher is still a (pleasant?) surprise for everyone. One would think I should have joined either the corporate world or put my own business like most of my contemporaries.

However, no amount of persuasion would have pushed me to any other field. In fact, when I was growing up, my playmates would say: “I want to be a doctor!” or “I’m going to be a lawyer like my dad.” Not me. As soon as I walked to my very first classroom at the back of our village church, I knew I was going to be a teacher.

Perhaps I loved being a kid so much that I promised that even if I could not remain as a child forever, I could at least work with them. There is just something about children that is so refreshing. They smile freely, speak their mind candidly, do things without inhibitions. They are so free of worldly attachment that I cannot help but envy their simple life.

The academe is a mixture of rediscovering the wonder of youth and opening a mine of labor. Once, I was asked if my work was from 8 to 4. I was about to say yes when I realized one cannot just drop being a teacher as she takes off her uniform. The love for children, learning and sharing wisdom are all rolled into one and tucked in the heart. That compartment just opens at any given time without warning. It’s like being a mother. Once a woman becomes a mother, that instinct just takes over the old self.

Being a teacher has also given me the gift of seeing beyond material fulfillment. At dinner, family and friends share their excitement over a deal closed or a project completed or the large amounts a merger will bring them. When it’s my turn to share, my lines will invariably revolve around these topics: “Oh, Ralph can now make his nouns and verbs agree!” or “Franz uses appropriate prepositions in his sentences!”

Then they give me the ““big deal” look, but I don’t blame them. For how can I ever let them share my satisfaction over these things when I, myself, cannot put into words how it is to witness a child learning a simple yet, for him, a very new concept?

Nothing can be gratifying than reading children’s letters saying they love you next to their parents or looking at a drawing which calls you the world’s greatest teacher. Nothing can be as satisfying as having parents wanting to meet you because it’s you their children talk about during meals and family outings.

Then there are the everyday occurrences that tug at my heart: little things like notes and anecdotes of self-sacrifice. For instance, I was in a middle of a lecture when Pia darted out of the classroom. I, of course, followed and saw that she was frantically trying to catch a wish feather. When she finally got it, she held it close to her heart and made a wish, her eyes twinkling. After making that very important act, she went back inside the classroom and went to her seat. I laughingly commented that she must have wanted that wish very badly. My heart melted when she answered, “Oh I offered that wish for you, Miss.”

So when my friends brag about the amount of money they’re going to collect at the end of the month, I close my eyes and remember my students’ sincere smiles and the sound of their laughter and I tell myself, “Now, you can’t put a price on those things!” Obviously, there is no greater joy than doing what your heart desires.

Empowered. That’s one of the things I feel when I am inside the classroom. Needless to say, though, along with it comes the heavy burden of responsibility. Understandably, students look up to their teachers. I hear them using my expressions, see them copying my gestures and sometimes even they way I approach a problem. I feel flattered that they have picked up some of my habits although sometimes I worry that they might pick up the wrong ones. I am not perfect even if I strive to act properly when I am in front of them.

Being a teacher also pulls you from the sky of invincibility and plants you firmly on the ground. Just when you think everything’s going right, a student approaches you in despair when she cannot understand why she was to change “y” to “i” and add ‘es’ when she writes about more than one baby, while she can simply add an ‘s’ when she writes about more than one highway.

I almost fell out of my chair when I checked Jerome’s adjective table. He had been taught that fat, _____, ______ can be answered correctly by writing “fatter” and “fattest” on the blank spaces. So you can just imagine my surprise when I saw how he completed the item _____, kinder, ______. His answer: nursery, kinder, prep. Now I know why some teachers just never age.

Teaching has ceased to be a profession for me. It has become an everyday mission. Unlike the typical set up where in there is a benefactor and a beneficiary, in the classroom both parties gain tremendously. What is humbling, however, is the fact that more often than not, the kids don’t know that they have filled a void in a teacher’s life. I, for one, am honored to be given the privilege to share with them what I know. Then, when they use the information to improve their life in school or at home, I can feel no greater joy. Hearing then in the cafeteria saying, “Can I…Oops! May I buy a cola, please?” is fulfilling in itself.

Now I am having trouble with the terms “student” and “teacher” for at any given moment, these roles can be reversed without warning. My “students” have become my greatest “teachers” for they have taught me some gems that I take out from memory to strengthen and inspire me and the people around me. They have given definition and structure to my life and because of them, the urge to improve myself in all aspects has become an ultimate goal. Once we were discussing questions that begin with “wh.” For this activity, I asked them, “If God were to appear before you now and you only have one “wh” question, what would it be?” Knowing ten year olds, I expected most of them to give the same answers as Eric’s: “Why are there only seven colors in the rainbow? Who is stronger: you or Stone Cold? Which country do you sleep in?” Instead, they asked surprisingly relevant questions the answers to which people much older and wiser are still looking for. Questions like: Why did Dad have to die? Why did Mom leave me with Lola? Why am I always sick?

I was once told that there’s actually no right way of dealing with situations such as this except admitting to one’s self that that’s exactly why you’re here: to facilitate and not to be the sole source of learning. Some things just can not be explained inside the classroom. There is a world out there which will teach them everything they need to know. I can only hope that I have equipped them with the tools to know things like moral responsibility, better judgment and critical thinking. They should form part of their “survival” kit.

Superman

Superman. That’s what most children think of their father. But not me. I know he is. My dad solves other people’s problems as a day job. People from all walks of life seek his advice. It is normal in our household to wake up and find complete strangers waiting in our foyer area. Some need a discount in various local hospitals (one couple even named their child after my dad’s first and last names as their child’s first and middle name!), some need assistance to go abroad, some need a miracle to save their once glorious businesses. It was no longer a rush for us to dine with the head of the leftists’ group (he is not so threatening after all, what with his frail frame and all), to exchange pleasantries in our veranda from top government officials to the man who catalyzed the downfall of our country’s former president. We no longer found it highly unusual that my dad would be the only person invited in the most exciting events in the world: once a hostage-taker asked only to talk to my dad, he was the only Filipino journalist officially staying with all the international correspondents during the infamous Iraqi war, and as proof that he can swing from one end of the pendulum to another, I believe he was made an honorary member in different local and international religious sects.

Over and above these, when he gets home, he takes off his Superman cape and responsibilities and manages to be the world’s greatest dad and grandfather. Even after putting in more than 12 hours of demanding work, he, without batting an eyelash, would gladly drive my nieces and nephews to the nearest convenience store to eat and buy whatever they desire for the night. Before they sleep, he would watch wrestling with them. When they wake up, they would wrestle. One of my nephews even insisted that my dad can beat the hell out of the Undertaker!
Just as he would put his wrestler’s gears on, he could just as easily shift to the most gentle man I know. In a house full of women, he is the one who buys and rearranges pieces of furniture. He has the eye of an artist and the thumb of a gardener. Needless to say, he also has a heart of gold. He finds time to listen to our (my sisters and I) grand problems which include (in no particular order) friends, work, clothes and men. When I “accidentally” leave my perennially empty wallet lying around the house, my dad would always return it to me with a little something extra in it. Once, for a birthday, he told me to leave my old car so he can have the radio, tires, wipers and seats changed. That he did and then some. He surprised me with a brand new car and delivered it himself (with my mom) to where I work! That’s how great he is.

Until he had a mild stroke.

One morning, my mom noticed that my dad was slurring. He was immediately brought to the hospital and was admitted for a week. It was the first time I saw my dad so helpless. He would need assistance to go to the bathroom, to eat, drink. Understandable, I thought. He did have a stroke.

When he was released, we had the impression that he was as good as new. After all, he came out of the stroke without impairments. Or so we thought.

Yes, he did come home from the hospital but I later realized that he also left his superhuman abilities there. No longer was he the vibrant man I know. He would leave the faucets open until my parents’ bathroom floods, he would unknowingly lean on either sides when we’re eating and I have to remind him that he’s about to fall. His reflexes refuse to be quick enough and as a result, we have banned him from driving. He broke his Benz’ headlight because he wasn’t able to step on the brakes right away, he reverses on trash cans and just recently, he ended up with a scrape on his face and a slightly broken thumb all because he fell on his bike when it hit a small pebble.

As if these were not enough, his memory was not as it used to be. He would text me the same message twice, sometimes thrice on different times of the day. He would repeat stories and anecdotes 4 times in the span of two days, often the same story in one sitting. And as if losing his Clark Kent-abilities was not enough, he seemed to have acquired my nephew’s whims. Like a child, he would bargain for some things the doctors warned him to stay away from ( my dad who used to negotiate and close deals of gigantic magnitude would plead and argue like a child to have a slice of pizza or a sip of his favorite brandy).

I can not remember how many times I would lay awake at night and ask God to restore my dad’s health. Then it hit me. Yes, he may be half the businessman he used to be. He may not have the most commanding voice on broadcast radio anymore. He may no longer drive like Michael in Night Rider. His witty comebacks may have taken a long vacation. But you know what? He remains to be a darling father. He may not drive for me anymore but when I drive for my parents, we would drop off my mom in the nearest entrance and he would stay with me until I find a parking space and then we’ll walk together. Just like before, he would anonymously fill my car’s tank with gas.

He still remembers our favorite things and makes sure we get them: I collect bills of different denominations from other countries and when my dad found out, he contacted his ambassador friends and you can guess what happened next. For Christmas, despite my mom’s orders, he still went out, canvassed and got my nephews’ play station2. He still is the most loving dad I know. He still sends me sweet nothings through texts, gives up the remote control so the kids can watch wrestling or cartoons. And his humor. My goodness. Sometimes, I think that’s what’s all left in him! And I’m glad. There is no money in the world that can replace the never-ending moments that I laugh with my dad.

He is still Superman. Without the cape. Without the powers and strength. But SUPER nonetheless.

Response of Tito Rolly

Of course, I had to show Tito rolly what i wrote, and being the genius that he is, he was able to write witty comebacks in no time! I hope he won't mind me sharing this with you...

We had a fierce argument over the task that you could’ve done better. Iwish I was a fan of mediocrity. But I’m not.
And I'm glad you're not. Nobody wants to be mediocre except for those who are lazy and/or contented with what they have. Greatness does not hold a place for them. The world is full of mediocrity. it is the norm. Learn to deal with it.

You called me inhumane and inconsiderate when I calmly reminded you of your 21 absences. I wish I didn’t care for our institution like you did.But I do.
good point. 21 absences and she questions your judgment? Sheez! @#$$%%bitch! You definitely have to deal with her!

You complained about the numerous readings that could further your understanding of the subject you’re teaching and of the world. I wish I shared your abhorrence towards masterpieces. But I don’t.
A plain character she is. They're not called masterpieces for merenomenclature, aren't they? They are the words of the wise and thecompetent. She just doesn't know how to read, period.We've got a lot of mediocrity around. Learn to deal with it.

You run to our colleagues and talk about the how the management finds ways to occupy official hours. You hold small discussion groups, the aim of which is to lift your person and ravage others. I wish I take cheap shots like you do. But I don’t.
Well, come to think about it, we do, too. Our own cabal hehehe. But you 're right, we don't ravage others just to glorify ourselves. We are "letting off steam" (wink wink)

You accused me of developing an ego because I now hold a position, a position I never wanted in the first place.
So true. I remember you consulted me on this. And I'm glad you took the job. Who do you think would be competent to handle the position? C'mon, our institution is already in a pathetic state. Our students don't read and cannot speak or write good english, what with all the mediocrity around. When I told you to get the job, I didn't say it's a bed of roses, did I? It's alot of work that someone competent has to do. And you're "it". Just works that way, sorry. Let them wallow their sorry asses in mud but they've gotto follow what you say. Deal with it.

Did I change or did your perception of me change? So much so that everything I do, say, or think, you take against me. I wish I was as narrow-minded as you are. But I am not.
True. Sadly, the world of work is like that and will always be. The boss against the worker. You will have to learn to deal with it.

You tell me that I do not feel what a teacher feels for I am now comfortably working behind a desk while you have to teach,.....
There's the rub, sweetheart. They believe your position is nothing butprestige and honor while they are just plain tired and bored. If only wecan learn how to make our job a pleasureable thing to do. Let's face it,there aresome of your kind who does not belong to the position and you are a victimof generalities. You are dealing with mediocres, remember?

.....process and evaluated half of the batch, their works and tests. You are right. I no longer know what a teacher feels because you have deprived me of objectivity, creativity and freedom. Not true. If there's anybody who loves teaching, it would be you and Nancy. And that's because you love teaching. Case in point. How many coordinators substitute for their absent teachers other than you? Uhm ,,,, none?

You have labeled me “enemy” while I toil till the sun sets thinking ofways on how to improve not only our department’s curriculum but our department itself.
They wouldn't know that, sweetheart. They're off at 4:30.Deal with it.

I wish I did not have a vision for us. But I do.
That's why you deserve the position more than anybody does.

I wish I’ll let myself be affected of your unsubstantiated opinion. I won’t.
Good for you.
I wish I had your stomach for that can take the inadequacies you demonstrate and not feel a tad of guilt.
....and their innards and everything in it.

I wish I could talk behind your back, smudge your reputation, if it cantake more, for you have done worse yourself. I can’t. I won’t.
But IT'S SO EASY, darling. Try it. LOL!!

You are not me.
I am not you.
Thank God.

Great ending. OUCH!!! (That was them, okay?)

From the Boss' point of view

I had this before pa and i just feel like posting it... Tito Rolly had a nice response to this and i hope people will not find out who we are talking about hahaha...

here goes...

We had a fierce argument over the task that you could’ve done better. I wish I was a fan of mediocrity. But I’m not.

You called me inhumane and inconsiderate when I calmly reminded you of your 21 absences. I wish I didn’t care for our institution like you did.But I do.

You complained about the numerous readings that could further your understanding of the subject you’re teaching and of the world. I wish I shared your abhorrence towards masterpieces. But I don’t.

You run to our colleagues and talk about the how the management finds ways to occupy official hours. You hold small discussion groups, the aim of which is to lift your person and ravage others. I wish I take cheap shots like you do. But I don’t.

You accused me of developing an ego because I now hold a position, a position I never wanted in the first place. Did I change or did your perception of me change? So much so that everything I do, say, or think, you take against me. I wish I was as narrow-minded as you are. But I am not.

You tell me that I do not feel what a teacher feels for I am now comfortably working behind a desk while you have to teach, process and evaluate half of the batch, their works and tests.

You are right. I no longer know what a teacher feels because you have deprived me of objectivity, creativity and freedom. You have labeled me “enemy” while I toil till the sun sets thinking of ways on how to improve not only our department’s curriculum but our department itself. I wish I did not have a vision for us. But I do.

I wish I’ll let myself be affected of your unsubstantiated opinion. I won’t. I wish I had your stomach for that can take the inadequacies you demonstrate and not feel a tad of guilt. I wish I could talk behind your back, smudge your reputation, if it can take more, for you have done worse yourself. I can’t. I won’t.

You are not me.

I am not you.

Thank God.

Thoughts on being a woman and single

Christmas is just around the corner (can i be more cliche than that?) and of course, amidst the endless preparations that go with it (xmas lists and shopping for friends and "friends"), spending it with someone special is such a pressure that society poses to women my age. You see, i am a woman who belongs to a family who loves love and laughter, a woman who goes to work with unbelievable enthusiasm (who won't be when you get to exchange humor, creativity and wisdom {not just knowledge!} with peers and students), and a woman who has wonderful friends who can actually argue beyond the topics of sex, politics and religion. But guess what? Apparently, i am not complete yet. This filling up of imagined voids by people around me started when i turned 18. There was a rumor going around that one must have a boyfriend at this age ( I did at 15 hahaha). When i turned 24, people told me i should already have a stable career (did that at age 22), and now that i turned 27, there's still another opportunity that i haven't grabbed yet...so they say...

You see, I am still unmarried...(can you hear the "awwwwws" and "ummmmms" of the oldies and feel the stares of the married hypocrites that say " poor lady"...?) and for some unexpected reason, this state makes me less successful than the woman next to me who has signed the contract of love. Imagine! She may or may not be happy with her life but she is in the upper ranks because she's married!

I have nothing agaist being married. I envy my parents' devotion to each other, sprinkled with heated arguments here and there. I have friends who are married and truly never seem to go past their honeymoon stage. I have faith in love and family. BUT should it mean that if and when i turn a certain age, i should get married. I am in an exclusive relationship and i truly adore him. Will i marry him? Maybe. Will it be in the near future. No. Why? Because i don't see the need for it yet. We are steadily building the foundations of our respective careers and believe it or not, not being each other's immediate priority doesn't mean we're not in a solid relationship. We are not halves of a whole but we are two wholes joined together. More like a Venn diagram than a pizza divided in two.

A well-meaning colleague recently commented that Wilma, in her early thirties and unattached, and I will probably never get married because we're so opinionated. HUH?! That's a fault now?! Apparently there is (and i hope it's rare) a breed of human species that believe a woman, in order to be loved and respected, must be submissive. Hey, i can be submissive if my partner has a logical and acceptable point. But meekly obeying and serving just so i can be wife material? Nah, I don't think so.

I think my partner, and a good number of my male friends, enjoys the fact that a woman can actually do things on her own and can make efficient decisions without bothering the "man." I am no bra-burning feminist; I am just an ordinary, capable woman. Sure i enjoy having the privilege of a comfortable seat in a crowded area, sweetly talking my way out of a minor traffic offense with the MMDA and being excused if i'm moody (they always assume it is due to the monthly period, but i never had those mood swings because of that...hahaha...shhhhhh), however, i also revel in the freedom of driving myself in and around the city (Alfred might not admit this but i possess better parking skills than he has), going out of town with buddies to dive and indulge in a heated debate on whether or not this country will ever overcome the prejudices set by the "superior" races.

So, yes i may not be spending this Christmas (or the next) with a husband but neither will i sulk in one corner crying about it...

I am single AND a woman AND YOU KNOW WHAT... I'm enjoying it!