A Teacher’s Dual Mien

I’d like to believe that teachers have double mien.  Or at least, if I look at myself, both as an ordinary person and as a teacher, I just couldn’t fathom and even reconcile these dual role that I’ve been playing since I graduated from college.  Me, a teacher?  Well, at some point, I envisioned myself as a teacher especially that, when I was a kid, I would gather children who live in the apartment and teach them the alphabet and all sorts of stuff.  Yeah, sure.  I spent  my money buying notebooks and I would always coax my mom to buy me a small blackboard.  But that was just a phase all rubbed out by numerous dreams I aspired while growing up.

http://www.evolllution.com

I already blogged the reasons why I don’t want to be a teacher (click here for the full entry), and yet, it seems that fate prodded me to immerse myself in this so-called noble profession.  And indeed, it is.  Teaching is a noble profession. Not to mention: performatory.

Teaching pushes myself to the limits.  It makes me discover dispositions I didn’t know I possess.  At home, I’m the one who could barely speak, you know, always the shy-type guy.  However, when I enter the classroom, it seems that I’m being transformed into a kind of an actor.  As a person, you might find me uninteresting, always bury his nose in the books or his laptop.  I am an aloof person to begin with.  That’s why, I’ve always considered myself a wallflower.  Anti-social.  Yet, life has its oxymoronic (if there is such a term)  ways that let you defy certain roles, not because it’s a choice, but because it’s something that comes natural to you.

I won’t question my role, my dual role, that is.  Even though at times I find it surprising that I am able to crack jokes or laugh with my students which I seldom do in ordinary days.  But I guess, that’s just who I am.  The classroom is my oyster, so to speak.  Or a stage where I can perform.  As what Shakepeare said, “All the world’s a stage,/ and all the men and women merely players/They have their exits and their entrances/and one man in his time plays many parts.

Teachers have dual mien.  As they enter the classroom, the become performers.  As they egress, they leave marks, before they change into ordinary people once again.

I Am A Teacher by:John W. Schlatter

I am a Teacher. 

I was born the first moment that a question leaped from the mouth
of a child.
I have been many people in many places.
I am Socrates exciting the youth of Athens to discover new ideas
through the use of questions.
I am Anne Sullivan tapping out the secrets of the universe
into the outstretched hand of Helen Keller.
I am Aesop and Hans Christian Andersen revealing truth
through countless stories.
I am Marva Collins fighting for every child’s right to an education.
The names of those who have practiced my profession ring like a hall
of fame for humanity…Booker T. Washington, Buddha, Confucius, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Leo Buscaglia, Moses and Jesus.
I am also those whose names and faces have long been forgotten
but whose lessons and character will always be remembered in the accomplishments of their students.
I have wept for joy at the weddings of former students, laughed with
glee at the birth of their children and stood with head bowed in grief and confusion by graves dug too soon for bodies far too young.
Throughout the course of a day I have been called upon to be an
actor, friend, nurse and doctor, coach, finder of lost articles, money lender, taxi driver, psychologist, substitute parent, salesman, politician and a keeper of the faith.
Despite the maps, charts, formulas, verbs, stories and books, I have
really had nothing to teach, for my students really have only themselves to learn, and I know it takes the whole world to tell you who you are.
I am a paradox. I speak loudest when I listen the most. My greatest
gifts are in what I am willing to appreciatively receive from my students.
Material wealth is not one of my goals, but I am a full-time treasure
seeker in my quest for new opportunities for my students to use their talents and in my constant search for those talents that sometimes lie buried in self-defeat.
I am the most fortunate of all who labor.
A doctor is allowed to usher life into the world in one magic moment.
I am allowed to see that life is reborn each day with new questions, ideas and friendships.
An architect knows that if he builds with care, his structure may stand
for centuries. A teacher knows that if he builds with love and truth, what he builds will last forever.
I am a warrior, daily doing battle against peer pressure, negativity,
fear, conformity, prejudice, ignorance and apathy: But I have great allies: Intelligence, Curiosity, Parental Support, Individuality, Creativity, Faith, Love and Laughter all rush to my banner with indomitable support.
And who do I have to thank for this wonderful life I am so fortunate
to experience, but you the public, the parents. For you have done me the great honor to entrust to me your greatest contribution to eternity, your children.
And so I have a past that is rich in memories. I have a present
that is challenging, adventurous and fun because I am allowed to spend my days with the future.

I am a teacher…and I thank God for it every day.

School Opening Blues and First Day High

School opening always excites me.  Although at some point, I feel like a paper boat drifting in the pool, still, this enthusiasm to enter once again in the University elates me.  I reckon that it’s a normal feeling for a teacher, you know, seeing those faces of the students ready to rock on.

So today’s the beginning of the new academic year, and for the first time, I woke up early in the morning to prepare myself to go to school and attend to my class at 7:30. My first time in two years coz I usually start like 9:30 or even at a later period.  As I was about to cross the street, the students were forming a heavy line that reached almost up to the gym. Almost like a scene from the mall entrance or a concert. And entering the University, I noticed a very festive and agog mood lingering around while I walked my way towards the Chair Office to get my teaching load.

But, unfortunately, my excitement got hampered when I checked the classroom only to find out that it is being converted into an internet section. Wait, what?? Where am I going to hold my class? So I informed the office and they had no idea, though they told me that they’ll just post the new room assignment.  Ok. I had to let it pass. And so I waited for the next period. Philippine Literature class.

Here’s the thing. The room assignment was again transferred.  From the ground floor to the fifth floor. How amazing is that?  If this is what they call “first day high”, then I literally experienced it myself!  I almost lost my breath climbing the stairs from Aguirre Hall to Mendel Hall.  At least the room was not empty.  And there they were: the students all seated in their armchairs.  Ready to discover what the class has in store for them.  Seeing those timid eyes and silent whispers as I started my orientation, I knew, this is going to be an exciting ride.  I forgot all the blunders.  The classroom once again, becomes my sanctuary.

Why I Did Not Want to Become a Teacher

I’m not gonna start my entry with a quote about teaching.  It might be too obvious that, since it’s Teachers Month, I’m joining the bandwagon like those who lift themselves up on the pedestal, declaring that they are the best teachers their students could ever have.  No.  I’m not gonna write about teaching.  I’m gonna write about the reasons why I did not want to become a teacher.

photo credit: http://www.zazzle.com/those_who_care_teach_postcard-239462496480472002a

You really think I wanted to become a teacher?  NO.  I grew up having teachers around.  For one, my grandma was an elementary teacher.  As a kid, I would find my lola keeping herself wide awake writing her lesson plan until wee hours in the morning.  A lesson plan is a boring set of redundant outlines of the activities and, of course, lessons a teacher has, of course, planned out for the rest of the periodic term.  Everytime I took my vacation at home (vacation meant being absent from my class.  I hated school when I was a kid you know) on weekdays, lola would bring me to the school where she was teaching.  Bringing me to her school entailed an ala-Death March scene, a several kilometer walk from the school to our house.  I was a kid then so I enjoyed the long walk and considered it as a sort of an excursion especially that we would pass by the seaside.  Such picturesque view.  Anyway, I hated that teachers had to wear uniforms.  I could already memorize what my lola had to wear on that specific day.  The moment she brought me inside her classroom, I felt like a fish out of the water.  Her students would look at me lurking on the corner.  Like I was some kind of an alien.  But deep inside, I thought of myself as someone better than them.  For a brief moment, I became my lola’s student. And I was at the top of the class.  I reckoned that it was better for a student not to worry about getting high grades or being frightened that the teacher might punish him or her for not giving the right answer as to when the Philippines was discovered by Magellan.  I appreciated the classroom more because I knew my lola would not give me a failing grade or let me stand at the back for refusing to answer her question.

I frequently got absent during my elementary days.  I wouldn’t want my mathematics teacher to strike my fingers with her long stick just because I could not memorize the multiplication table.  I wouldn’t want to buy a sandwich from my english teacher and would soon discover that a cockroach is buried in that very thick peanut butter filling.  Yucky, right?  When I think of my elementary teachers, I would always feel lucky I was able to survive that stage in my life.  I had the best and the worst teachers during that moment.  I would remember my teacher in grade one who, despite ruling the class with her iron hand (bless her soul), taught me the value of reading.  After our class, she would lend me one book from the shelf and let me take it home.  My love for reading sprang because of her.  I just wondered why a teacher could be so stringent when she had all the love to give to her students.

In our apartment, I would gather the kids from the neighborhood and we’d pretend ourselves inside a classroom.  I was the teacher, of course.  I didn’t know why the screech of the chalk seemed like music to my ear and the sound of the word “sir” jolted every nerve in my body.  And I’d always look forward to the next meeting.  That was like twenty years ago.  Perhaps I forgot how it really felt, but I know until now, a part of that recollection holds a significant influence in my life as a person.  As a teacher.

Teaching comes from the Old English word taecan which means “to show, point out, or to give instruction.”  There is a bit of misconception when one considers teaching as an opportunity to impose authority or flounce condescension to the students.  Hegemony in teaching starts when a teacher takes on the role of a pseudo-Brahmin, one with all the titles pinned on every part of his body, and assumes that he  has the edge over his co-teachers, worst, his students.  When I was still a college student, a presence of this particular teacher sent shiver down my spine.  Everytime I submitted my work, I conditioned my mind that I’d get a very low rating from him.  On the first day of school, he shouted at me for not following his instruction.  Teachers can be monsters for no reason at all.  They can unleash their fangs just because they want to.  Just because they can.  Yeah, for the record, this is not an original assertion.  Sorry. I just remembered a line from The Freedom Writers. At least the “just because they can” phrase.  Anyway, going back, I already forgave that teacher.  So no reason to linger on that memory.  There are other teachers worse than him.  How worse can they ever get?  The one who would let us draw the map of the Philippines during exam.  The one who did stand up comedy or storytelling that, most of the time, lulled us to sleep.  The one who’d caress the boys and blurt out vulgar curses (how redundant can I get?) during panic attacks.  And the one who lectured on this and gave the exam on that.  You know what I mean?  Well, talking about showing, pointing, and giving instructions.

Honestly, it has never been my dream to become a teacher.  I have a different way of defining a teacher.  And one person has embodied my definition of a real teacher.  And she is someone worth emulating.  She lived, she breathed, she walked, she talked, she commanded, she loved as what all teachers should be. That instruction and compassion are necessary ingredients in order for one to become a good teacher.  If only for her, I really really wanted to become a teacher.

And so I did.  And mind you, teaching is not an easy path to tread upon.  Most of the time, I wade through  a very strong current of uncertainty, not to mention being confronted by these questions: “Do you have an M.A.?” , “How much is your monthly salary?”, “So when are you getting married?” Yes. Seriously.  Even that.

In a premise where academic titles overpower meritocracy, I still question myself whether or not embracing this noble profession was the right thing to do.  Yes, it is necessary for a teacher to pursue further studies, to improve himself or herself and stuff like that.  But sometimes I just find it rather hilarious that some whom we consider “Brahmins” prove themselves worthy…to occupy the bottom step of the ladder.

Finishing this entry, still, I could not think of any quote that would sum up my writing.  Just as I promised, I did not start with a quotation about teaching or about teacher for that matter.  In the first place, I never wanted to become a teacher.  And yet, the screech of the chalk and the sound of the word “Sir” jolted every nerve of my body.  Just like twenty years ago.  Now, I still find myself looking forward to meeting my students.  Always.  Everyday.

Today in the Classroom: More than Words

Undeniably, I had a great time in the classroom today although there were few annoying encounters with students in my remedial english class.  Despite feeling a little bit dizzy, I forced myself to attend to my classes.  The dilemma of the delayed contract still preoccupies me, but as much as possible, I wouldn’t let this worry stand in the way of my responsibility being a teacher.  I would always remind myself to think of happy thoughts, and I was glad my students put a smile on my face especially during my Philippine literature class.  I realized that, sometimes, when I find myself paddling in the mud, little gestures of enthusiasm from my students can somehow ease the burden inside.  I try to shift my paradigm, but I couldn’t help but believe that money, though important as it is, can never replace passion.

The blogger and his students during their humanities art exposure

So, here’s a recap of what happened inside the classroom:

• Quiz on the function of noun as a subject.  It’s saddening that most of the students cannot still identify the subject in the sentence.  They earned disastrous scores and they demanded a retake.  I gave the simple rule and they complicated it.  Just underline the simple subject.  They also underlined the modifiers and the prepositional phrases.  What is so difficult about asking “What or who is being talked about in the sentence?”  But the redeeming value of it all?  They realized their mistakes and they wanted to have more exercises. That determination and eagerness to learn are good enough for me.
• It’s more fun in the Philippine literature class.  I assigned my students to choose one hurubaton (proverb) and they had to think of a situation that illustrates the proverb.  Such creative minds.  Such invigorated spirits.  Although one group interpreted the proverb “Together we stand, divided we fall” literally and I was like “Are you kidding me?”  But one group kind of blew my mind.  I think everybody’s mind, and brought us all to giggles.  So their proverb conveyed the message of resilience.  It’s about a couple drawn apart by a tragedy.  As the wife struggles to move on, a man “eggs” himself on the former until his persistence eventually yields result as the wife finally opens herself to another shot at love.  I thought it was cute.  And I really admire all the groups for showcasing their creativity and sensibility to come up with commendable presentations.
• The perks of being a teacher. We talked about books in my English 101 class.  Imagine the excitement of the students when I asked them to share their favorite novels.  Although I came up with a generalization that in this class, there is a group of readers and a group of non-readers.  The group of readers are those who won the Hangaroo game (wherein they had to guess the title of the books/reading materials), and the non-reader groups are those who stayed passive during the game.  In the end, I reminded them that it really pays to read.  What really elated me was one of my students guessed the longest title I had in my list: The Perks of Being a Walllflower.  That made them won the game.

When You’re Happy But You’re Broke

“That same night, I wrote my first short story. It took me thirty minutes. It was a dark little tale about a man who found a magic cup and learned that if he wept into the cup, his tears turned into pearls. But even though he had always been poor, he was a happy man and rarely shed a tear.”-Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

According to UNICEF, 22,000 children die each day due to poverty. And they “die quietly in some of the poorest villages on earth, far removed from the scrutiny and the conscience of the world. Being meek and weak in life makes these dying multitudes even more invisible in death.”

In the Philippines, the crises, both man-made and natural, have led to the major setback that the country is facing right now.  Reyes and Tabuga in their article “Poverty and Growth in the Philippines pointed out that “the poor is not a homogeneous group. There are chronically poor people and there are those who were previously not poor, but, because of certain shocks or crises, fell into poverty (transient poor). The majority (52 per cent) of the poor are transient poor. The chronic poor need more long-term interventions that would give them the capacity and opportunities to move out of poverty. For a large segment of the population, appropriate safety nets during times of crises may prevent them from falling into poverty (www.http://www.eastasiaforum.org/2011/09/06/poverty-and-growth-in-the-philippines/.)”

http://educationfarts.blogspot.com

I’ve been floundering up and about for answers that might somehow alleviate this dilemma: It’s already July and I haven’t received my salary for the whole month of June.  Since my compensation relies on a contract, it leaves me no choice but to wait until my empty wallet hires a lawyer and sues whoever is to be sued. Of course, in reality, that would never happen. An empty wallet is always an empty wallet. And a poor teacher gets hungry and languish without receiving a penny for his passion and hardwork.

A grumbling stomach cannot defy the essence of a teacher.  I believe that salary is not the be-all and end-all of teaching.  I know it’s a very ideal thing to say, but my mentors would always remind me of that.  My former teacher who already passed away epitomized love and compassion in the way she taught and treated her students.

Every time I bump into my students and look at their faces while they tell me, “Sir, we miss you…We don’t like our new teacher.”  Or, “Sir, we miss your class”, it’s a kind of reaffirmation on my part.  I don’t impose myself as a model teacher.  I’m just being myself.  I don’t forge friendship with my students.  I let rapport take its course and I’d like to believe it  happens successfully.  And this makes me realize that no amount of money or academic rank can surpass this kind of happiness.  It is the real compensation a teacher can ever receive in his life.

So, just in case the contract isn’t released yet by this week, well. there’s always a way to find money you know.  But one thing is for sure.  I will never die of hunger. I’m a teacher. I’m immortal.

Today in the Classsroom: A Matter of Delicate Balance

I wish to thank my bosses for the teaching loads packaged with diverse students–from rawdy to retentive, from gaudy to well, a little bit reserved.  Really, I’m not complaining, except for one minor concern.  When can I have my ‘effin class lists? I haven’t completed filling out my load form yet coz I haven’t figured out how many students are in my classes. Don’t leave me broke until the end of the month. I still have to feed myself and my savings get thinner and thinner.

This day, it’s all a matter of delicate balance,  as the line from the poem “Fruit Salad” by Jaime An Lim posited.  Indeed, other than life itself, classroom is one big bowl of fruit salad.  It’s sweet, it’s sour, it’s fresh, it’s rotten.  Just when I thought that one class would stay as good as I expected it to be, how now, a disaster loomed over.

Here’s a wrap-up of what happened inside the classroom the whole day:

• I gave a quiz to my remedial english class this morning.  I don’t know if it was all my fault, dictating the choices, but the quiz turned into a disaster.  Most of them got very low, probably because they didn’t know the spelling of certain words like nitty-gritty, secretary-treasurer or even the name of their teacher (yes, I even asked that one).  So, to save them from the debacle, I let them think of a word that if linked to the words I wrote on the board, would form a compound word. And my throat almost popped out from explaining.  What word can you connect with lamp, script, and mark so that each word would form into a compound word? One answered birth. Seriously?
• In my Philippine literature class, I discussed the use of sensory language in poetry through the poem “Fruit Salad.”  After culling out the essential elements contained in the poem, I let my students prepare the fruit salad based on what the wife has prepared for her husband. I just thought that they enjoyed it and captured the real taste of life through the flavor of each ingredient. I’ve been doing the activity since last year. I hope I won’t be dubbed as the fruit salad teacher.
• I wasn’t sure if my students in English 101 were awed watching Freedom Writers, but as soon as I cut the movie, they were all dumbfounded and I had to say, “Guys, it’s time already.”  Or maybe because they didn’t want to go out.  The speechlab is airconditioned.
• A Pakistani student in my other remedial english class just stole my attention.  My students kept asking him and he was really gracious to entertain them.  At least, among my well-deserved students who take the subject, someone interesting stood out. This bunch is kinda rawdy especially that they’re acting like elementary kids.  I kept on reminding them to behave like college students already. But one who came from a special education school really showed how special she is.
• And my day at school ended in a ballyhoo inside the speechlab.  It was my first meeting with my students in my other English 101 class.  I had it right when I followed the activity as stated in the skillbook.  Effective enough, and I had fun with my students actually.  Except that when I asked them to describe themselves, most of them used the same adjectives– black hair, brown eyes, skinny, talkative.  Surprisingly, they could recognize one another.  Yeah, we played guessing game inside the speechlab.  They had to guess the name of their classmates who fit the descriptions.  My own way of introduction.

Just a parting note, whoever encoded the first part f the skillbook, kindly check some grammar and spelling lapses.  Be sensible.  Not sinsible. Thank you.

What’s In Store this Week

I must say, summer is really over in the Philippines. After worrying whether our department chair would give me teaching loads or not, now I can really heave a sigh of relief. And it happened too early. Having a full load is not new to me, and honestly, it’s a challenge again to face my students and to deal with their diverse personalities. I’m also thankful that I’ll be back to teach Philippine literature and creative writing.  I got one load for art appreciation.  but it’s okay though.  It would also be my first time to teach grammar. I know it sucks, but yeah, I have to teach grammar whether I like it or not.

Generally, this semester is kinda exciting. I have a lot of things to look forward to.  And besides, we have a new university president.  I wonder what changes would unfold during his term. My tenure perhaps? LOL. And I’m planning to pursue my M.A this time. I’m returning to my alma mater.

Wish me luck!

What is a Grade, Anyway?

One of the tedious tasks of being a teacher is to solve the students’ grades. Basking in the eye strain causing lines of the class record (yeah, I don’t use MS Excel. I’m old school) and computing all the components that make up the class standing and the exam scores are no laughing matters. In my case, I have eight loads which means I have to solve the grades of the eight sections I am assigned to teach. Apparently, I just finished solving the prelim grades of the two sections.

Every term, the admin sets the deadline for encoding the grades, but thankfully, the MIS broke down so I need not hurry. But since my students are already “demanding”the “numbers” due to them, I have no choice but to perform my responsibility as a teacher, that is, solving grades. Also, I am fully aware just how much grades matter to students. And I could not just assert my ideals, as I remember my mentor’s words regarding grades. “In a spiritual world, what is a grade anyway?”

So, I wasn’t so surprised of my students’ reaction when they knew their grades in Philippine Literature. Cliche as it may sound, and I hope that they are aware of this: students are the ones who make their grades. I just solve it. And I give what is due to them. Yes, I give grades as high as 95.

Students may wonder why I give this kind of grade. I think, one greatest factor that influenced me is the fact that I am teaching a subject that deals with subjectivity, which gives emphasis on human feelings and ideas. My students are capable of doing both: to feel and to think. That’s what literature does. Most importantly, literature nourishes our soul and makes us realize that there are other noble desires aside from aspiring higher grades.

What I Really Wanna Say Is That…

This has been an incredible semester. In retrospect, I could say that life has drained the hell out of me. It has actually inundated me with memories which I could truly treasure, although some were not worth remembering about. I don’t know. It’s crazy, right? The first few months were a blast then it suddenly gravitated to an almost nightmarish crash that blasted shards of lessons to learn from. My teaching experience was freaking awesome! The bliss of imparting ideas and knowledge to my students provided me the strength to continue despite pressing issues lurking on the periphery. What really mattered to me then was the fact that being in the classroom and being with my students served as my refuge against the dreadful system of the university.

I was the little voice amid the many voices that cry for change. But still, I realized my voicelessness. I believe that my role is not to battle against the nearly collapsing edifice of what once we considered the cradle of virtue and science.

There is more work to do inside the classroom, I suppose. For me, teaching matters. For teaching, to borrow it from my late mentor, is a matter of love. And there in that four sturdy corners my love, my voice could resonate, and the din and the cacophony would never silence my desire to teach.