This story originally appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer on May 11, 1999.
Every day during school days at 7:45 a.m., I am greeted with the sunshiny smiles and bright faces of my four-year-old kids at school. I have been a preschool teacher for almost five years now and every day is refreshingly different from the other. Each day holds out a different bag of surprises. I’m sure a lot of teachers’ drawers are filled with a handful of ”masterpiece” drawings of their students.
Often, I get a drawing or two from my kids–brightly colored rainbows, kaleidoscopic flowers, puffy-green trees, a dazzling yellow sun, or a smiling teacher carefully scrawled on the paper. When they hand me their magnum opus, they always beam with undeniable pride and say, ”Teacher, I made that for you!” And what’s school without play time? My kids and I always go outdoors and play at the tree house. At the end of play time, I am likely to have kids tugging at my blouse saying, ”Teacher, I love you!” and I am honored with glorious bouquets of wild flowers, weeds, leaves, and yes, even grass. When I receive such simple love offerings, I feel much happier than a winner in a beauty pageant. I have my share of dark and cloudy days, though. Teachers also become impatient at times.
Once, when I was explaining the different community helpers, I asked the kids what they wanted to be when they grew up. Many answered they wanted to be a doctor, a nurse or a fireman. Many hands were raised and everyone was answering excitedly. But one of my little girls kept on waving and calling out, ”Teacher Mobsy! Teacher Mobsy!” I casually brushed her off because I was rushing our discussions. I had a lot of things prepared for them that day and I desperately wanted to finish on time. After class, the little girl came up to me. ”Teacher Mobsy,” she began with a lot of impatience in her voice. ”Okay, okay, what is it?” I asked. The little girl replied with her innocent eyes staring straight into mine: ”Teacher, when I grow up, I want to be just like you.”
Just like you. The words almost drowned me with shame. Here was a little girl who looked up to me and who accepted me unconditionally. Just like you–a subtle reminder that we should all serve as role models to others, to be the best we can be, to set an example, to live life and love as the Lord want us to. Time is a precious gift if we have the chance to stop for a while and listen to what others have to say, to receive the affection we just might have missed the first time. In moments like this, it’s the adult who learns from the child.
In a place where laughter, smiles, hugs, kisses and ”I love you’s” are given freely by children, we adults should also learn to take a cue from them. The magic phrase ”I’m sorry” should also be said without hesitation, whether you are saying it to a child or to an adult. I’m sorry, Cheska. And I thank you for teaching me the value of slowing down. Sometimes I cannot help but think of each school year as some kind of pregnancy. Like a pregnant mother, the teacher nourishes her pupils for nine months, until the time is ripe to let them go and make their own mark in the next grade.
When the school year ends, the teacher is sometimes hit with the equivalent of post-partum blues. But once the blues are finally shaken off, the teacher feels very proud of her kids. Whenever acquaintances ask me what I do and I tell them I’m a preschool teacher, they always gush, ”Oh, how cute!” Yes, it is ”cute” being with children, but being a teacher can also be tough. What can a teacher say when her kids tell her things like these: ”Teacher, I won’t go to school anymore because Mommy and I will live in my Lola’s house. Mommy doesn’t love Daddy anymore.” ”Teacher, I saw Mommy and Daddy fighting last night. Mommy was crying because Daddy was angry and he pushed her to the floor.” ”Teacher, I brought my family picture, but Daddy isn’t in it because he doesn’t live with us anymore. Do I still have a family if Daddy is not with us?”
Kids often come to us to show the little boo-boos on their fingers, arms or knees. These are very easy to heal with a Band-Aid. Sometimes all it takes to soothe the pain is a kiss. But it is always heart-wrenching when they come to us with big boo-boos in their hearts that can’t be healed with Band-Aid. Like I said, sometimes it is tough to be a preschool teacher, but nothing compares with one’s inner fulfillment. Now I can’t picture myself anywhere else doing some other job. I have found my niche, my place in the sun. This is the vocation I have chosen to pursue. Today, most of my college batchmates have either made it successfully in the corporate world, ventured into their own thriving business, or even piled up their first million. Most of them are already married and have kids of their own.
Some have the ”Dr.” or ”Atty.” attached to their names. Me? I don’t have much money but I’m rich in meaningful experiences with children. I’m happily single but I have been blessed with 176 pupils whom I am proud to call my children. I may not have an impressive title, but I am called ”Teacher”–the very same noble title Jesus Christ has. I hear my children calling me, and I smile because I am a teacher.
