Warm remembrance
True, some public school teachers are bad.
Some are disinterested (they let you cheat, sleep, or cut classes). Some are incompetent (they don’t bother to remember the previous lesson and don’t know the meaning of “lesson plan”). Some are entrepreneurs (they spend most of their time selling food, clothes, toys, toiletries). And some are just robotic (they teach because they get paid for it and can’t be bothered outside class hours and course scope).
But that’s not entirely surprising because no other profession is as undervalued and underpaid as teaching in a public school. The tediousness of the job, the classroom packed with noisy brats, the pressure from “stage parents” coupled with problems at home make a poisonous cocktail that can drive even the most patient teacher to the edge.
There are teachers whose names and faces we’ve forgotten, but there are a number who stand out because they provided us with valuable lessons. It is they who went the extra mile, who were passionate about their craft, and who treated us like their own children. It is they we remember fondly.
My English teacher, Erlinda Buenavista, was the school terror, the monster under your bed, your worst nightmare. Batch after batch of GSIS Heights Elementary School students entered her class with knees shaking, and endured dressing downs more suitable in the army. But for all the “abuse,” I never heard anyone complaining, not even the overprotective parents, who knew that Ma’am Buenavista meant business: She made sure that the foundations of our knowledge of English were solid.
I believe that’s the whole point of grade school: for students to be taught the fundamentals of math, English, the sciences—foundations that will serve as support for more complex building blocks that will be laid in high school and college. I think we benefited more from advanced English lessons in high school and college because of the fundamentals that Ma’am Buenavista put in place.
Quite apart from her command of the English language was her dedication. I can’t remember her being absent except when she was on official business (and after assigning seat work to occupy our time). I recall that on our first day in her class, she said she would soon retire because of her age. Her mind was still sharp but her body was slowing down. Then one day she did not come. Someone said she had rheumatism. We were overjoyed and celebrating when, from afar, we saw the silhouette of someone limping toward our classroom. That day we learned the folly of premature celebration.
Being in her class also meant being the last students in the school to go home because she would spend an extra hour with us on the subject of reading and comprehension. That extra hour meant going home at 5 p.m., not awfully late but late enough for us to miss episodes of “Dragon Ball Z” or “Ghost Fighter.” I realized years later, particularly during a brain-draining exam called the UPCAT, how important it is not only to read fast but also to understand what I am reading.
We were expected to participate in Ma’am Buenavista’s class, and even the shiest learned to talk in more or less straight English. She didn’t call students who raised their hands; she picked us out one by one, making sure that everyone would recite. If she missed you one day, you could be sure to be called the next day. It felt like lining up for the gallows, but it boosted our confidence and self-esteem.
It was clear to us that Ma’am Buenavista was concerned about our future. She knew that for us to have a chance in this fiercely competitive and globalized world, we should be able to speak proper English and convey our ideas with confidence.
After graduation I went to a nearby public high school and was editor in chief of the school paper for three years. I also took part in two national schools’ press conferences for news writing.
In college I continued to write until love replaced the pen as my immediate priority. I graduated, found a job, and, together with my team, developed food safety manuals and procedures. I am able to get my message across using this wonderful language because of one teacher I met early in life.
I’m sure each of us has had teachers like Ma’am Buenavista, who influenced our lives positively. These are the people who, by their words of encouragement, the lessons they taught, and their simple example, endowed us with values and knowledge that we now use in our fields of endeavor. These are the people we should thank, or at least warmly remember, as we mark National Teachers’ Month.
John Q. Miro, 25, of Davao City, says he also dedicates this piece to his high school paper adviser, Editha O. Reyes.
