A little teaching history

AFTER graduation, I was hired to teach English in a barrio Catholic school away from home.

Every month, I paid “Ninoy with Cory” (P500) for a spacious room, but I had to fetch my bath water from an artesian well.

My landlady, a gray-haired unmarried sexagenarian, seldom talked but often smiled at me. She would walk silently behind me, as I checked test papers or wrote lesson plans on the ipil table in the living room. She went about doing her chores, always looking up at the clock high on the wall and then at her gold-plated wristwatch dangling loosely from her thin left arm.

She had a big brown dog I rarely heard bark. It bit me in the right leg once. Startled, I gave it a hard kick in the stomach. It winced and limped behind a door.

The landlady gave me a quick frightful stare then let out a crisp Hiligaynon swear word that made me think she had cursed me right then and there.

I thought the landlady’s and my abnormal reactions to that abnormal situation were both normal. Both of us and the dog, too, it seemed, lived through weeks of silence and courteous detachment, among the hollow echoes of the huge bungalow where I was a transient stranger.

By the middle of June, I got Philippine History as another teaching assignment. How would I teach a subject I never liked?

I dreaded memorizing dates and names and acronyms when I was in high school. I disliked drawing maps of countries and continents in grade school.

But though I had not listened much to my high school History teacher, I must say he was smart. He frequented the library, reading back issues of morning papers and magazines, dust blurring the vision from his wide-rimmed tacky eyeglasses.

He began his classes by saying, “One should care enough to know. Knowledge is power.” I realized after high school that my teacher was right all along. I should have known better.

Smart mountain girl

We had a classmate from the boondocks. Every day, she had to trek, even cross rivers, to get to school and back. She always got the highest, if not perfect, score in our History tests. She said she learned from listening to a transistor radio and from reading the newspapers.

We thought she was a Luddite in asylum. We were wrong.

She knew more than the lowland, civilized people we thought we were. She ranted on about politics and social issues while we played piko and skipped rope.

So I signed the revised assignment paper and resolved to teach History with as much love as I had for English. I read every day and also practiced my Filipino.

Live museum

Toward the end of the lesson on the People Power Revolution, I announced that we were having a contest—a live museum.

After I explained the rules and rubrics, the students were grouped to plan the most convincing live museum act.

The outcome was amazing. Every scene we put together created a movie-like image in the flesh. Dressed up, faces painted or heavily made up, with props and all, the students gave me more than I expected.

Teachers liked the activity. They said it felt like Edsa with the vigil, unity and solidarity, doves and rosaries.

I told them I got the idea from an activity in college. I was so proud, I gave my students the best grades they deserved.

In the middle of the judging, a boy fell unconscious to the floor, like a crumbling terra cotta.

The beautiful frozen scene was filled with panic and quiet crying. I was a nervous Nellie in the corner. My class record slipped from my hand and fell. My jaw went numb.

Pale and cold but sweating, the boy lay still, the scene looking like La Pieta as he was held in the arms of kneeling classmates.

I helped fan the boy with cardboard while my other hand checked his pulse. I would be sued and put behind bars!

I looked at my students around me, their faces showing pity and worry. My moment of glory started to crumble.

Thank God the boy twitched and opened his eyes. He stood up and looked at everybody around him, asking, “What happened?”

We all breathed a sigh of relief. The feeling of dread disappeared as everyone cheered loudly and clapped. Such a relief! I found out later my student had asthma.

Apart from learning to read newspapers and watch the news every day, my teaching taught me to be more cautious.

I learned to look at the past, as well as far ahead. I learned to foresee possible dangers even in the most safe and sound classroom activity. I learned to become more protective and caring of every single one of my students.

And, of course, I learned to say this to my students: One must care enough to know and knowledge is power.

Now that’s a cherished little piece from my own history.

Rudolf S. Songcayawon is a Grade 9 English teacher and Journalism coordinator at Barangka National High School, and part-time English instructor at Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Marikina.