Teacher-Stalker

Still on the subject of students becoming teachers, my cousin Carlyl’s favorite teacher is RV, incidentally a student in a History or introductory PolSci class, I can’t be certain anymore.

C started freshman last year and one time he visited me at RTR Hospital. Too weak to even speak, I managed to wrangle this tidbit. Almost leaping from the hospital bed in mild excitement, “I know that guy – dusky, knowing smile, a carpet of chest hair?” Poor cousin with his perplexed expression, “ambot lang, Te.”

RV, a self-confessed stalker, bwahaha, is an excellent writer. More than the chest hair, I remember the writing (don’t worry, I’m not set out to commodify you). Here’s proof:

“I am saddled with sadness at your state but at the same time am glad to have known a great mentor like you. Yours is a life well-lived for you have embellished the lives of so many hungry minds.”

Pastilan, this fellow wants me dead. Or just too efficient perhaps? He has written an eulogy for me in advance. Wow!

Another shot: “Relishing my college years isn’t complete without remembering how good you taught us. That only inspires me to craft the same level of standard in my students.”

Salamuch R for this thoughtful note. This made me smile. I am happy and proud that my cousin appreciates your passion and integrity. Good taste runs in the family, doesn’t it?

I don’t have a penny so let me loan from Douglas Coupland, once It-boy/author of “Generation X”: “There are 3 things you can’t fake: erections, competence, and creativity.”

Be guided accordingly, as your favorite ROTC instructor might express it.

The Itch to Teach

“Titser, genius ka kaya?
Bukod sa lesson plan, may thesis pang ginagawa?” Inang Laya, “Titser”

In her youth, my mother slugged it out teaching abakada to 7-year old kids at a public school in Tamboan, a barrio in Carmen, Bohol. Some of her students remember me as the fat brat who tagged along garbed in outfuckingrageous outfits. Argh! My kid-photos are a constant butt of fashion-catastrophe jokes in the family. Picture this: Fatso in a skimpy dress displaying those boxer arms and a worm-plagued belly. Completing the fashion disaster was a pair of white boots adorned with red feathers. Where’s the marching band, get the drift?

That’s my beef with grunge, it came 2 decades too late. Anyway, up to this day, I am referred to as “anak ni Ma’am” even if my mother abandoned teaching for a government hacking job.

When an opportunity to teach formally presented itself, I initially nixed the idea – I didn’t have the personality, my lifestyle was far from scholarly, and a thousand and one legit reasons. As they say, the rest is history. A more powerful philosophy outweighed the thousand reasons. What philosophy, bitch? “Obey first before you complain.” Of coursefuckingnot. Me, a fascist?

Emerson, the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, raised the cup of consolation, dispelling the bowl of reservation (oi, na-rhyme): “Let us bravely breast the winds; ‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.”

Formal teaching was indeed, a new world. Teaching human rights modules to peasants was not exactly the same as standing in a classroom of young people who were made to believe they were crème of the crop, pastilan. All this elitist indoctrination of being the so-called “chosen few,” correct or otherwise, steered a motivation to animate what was otherwise dull, flat, torpid subjects.

Years later when I was back to my NGO roots, a dear mentor Sir D in one of his epic-letters, offered a fount of wisdom in dealing with students that was very reaffirming.

I quote: “Must exude a cultivated air but no pedantry, humor but no flatulence. Most of all, integrity and passion. Both must be present; lacking these two, all the erudition and the elegant diction in the world avail us nothing.”

Then paraphrasing the Psalmist, the letter continued, “a clean heart and a renewed spirit, this is what we must try to have.”

Bereft of such elegance, let this letter stand as guidepost to former students who have become teachers themselves. Been needling RP who’s teaching Philosophy these days to let me sit in but he adamantly refuses.

Hey, I can take no for an answer but I am not resting my case yet. Maybe, I should camp outside RP’s classroom with my old handy thermos filled with kape and home-made egg sandwiches. Fun, fun, fun.