Once in a while I get to bump into students in the past years. Some find me in the net and blogs. They get to say thank you at the most unexpected time in my life. Times when teaching has taken the back seat. Times when I thought I got nothing worth coming back to, notes of gratitude and mushy gestures come flowing in. And you know most of them are sincere because they take pains in finding their literature teacher to say what they have been wanting to say, now that most of them are teachers as well.
It does feel good. An affirmation or two that you have given plain justice to what purpose you are to serve in any corner you are dumped into does wonders. I don't necessarily hope for them. But it brought the mush down home.Thirteen years in the service could have been enough to say not anymore. In those thirteen years, I buried my face to semestral class records, test papers, and lectures; took all the chalk dusts and let out zillions of litanies from Old English literature to nostalgic Afro-Asian modern literary creations which until now ring afresh in my head (and continue to still give me the itch to do a lecture or two which I could not to my toddler, at least not just yet). I even took the beatings the usual young teacher gets and more--all those students who would do stunts to send their English teacher to Timbuktu and yes, how could I miss all those unthinkable stunts that work mates perform to get me shaken up. It took a while though to get used to the not so pretty things in a classroom existence. Indeed it took years before the zing became a stubborn itch. Ah, what a "high" it is to teach.
But if there is one woman that deserves what I get right now, it's not me. Definitely not me. It's my Sunday School teacher who happens to find bliss in teaching elementary public school children. There is no one that I have known thus far who is as meticulous and as creative as she was and is in her classes. Her classroom is always a wonder. Her students remember her fondly. Parents look for her to take care of their kids even if their kids are already past her grade level.
Needless to say, because of teacher Myrna Villalon, I look at the teaching profession as a noble woman's job. I am dazed by what magic tricks a teacher can do with her chalk and pen as her magic wands.There is no ifs and buts. When one chooses to be a teacher, he plunges his heart and soul into it. Sleepless nights are to be the routine. And in a topsy-turvy schedule a teacher has to juggle, it amazes me how Mrs. Villalon is able to keep her family well-taken care of. All her kids are straight A students in top universities and are all in one faith. Ah, such is a feat I sure hope I could duplicate. Aside from the charm in her smiles and the warmth of a mother that people find in her, she does have the gravitas and grit only a godly woman has. I don't know what special strategy she uses in her class and with people everyday, but it works for her in tremendous ways I can't explain. All I know is that her steadfastness in the church ministry is unparalleled.
You don't find her charms in her words though. She is as blunt as a thunder when she rebukes. There had been days that I get to have the bitterest reprimands from her. Her words were not too easy to the chest. But taking them in like they come from a parent were worth it.
She remains my teacher regardless of time and distance. At times when the frail girl in me does not see much reason to see more years in teaching, I think of her and the other professors who spend their lives to see boys and girls become men and women of integrity.
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