Let's Talk About Me Part 2
And so back to my not-so-Gotham-like world. I remember sitting in a student's chair, and the bell for the ten-minute leeway given to students for tardiness rang. No student in sight in my first class as an instructor. So I got up and went to this table set on a platform and started writing my name on the blackboard. Then it sank in, the students came in the classroom tentatively, looking at me strangely as if to ask, 'you're kidding, right?, you are not the instructor.'
I have always wanted to teach. When I graduated at 19 years old (yes, I need to brag about that), I applied for teaching jobs to no avail. I was hired by this electric cooperative as research assistant, mainly because I was a Mayor's daughter. By research assistant, it meant typing whatever the whole freaking day, my nails broke. It meant running to the nearest drugstore to buy medicines for an ailing boss. I was content, as long as I had a job. I gave my first pay envelope to Papa, whose reaction to that act cannot be described.
I decided to take up a masteral degree in business administration, as suggested by Lolo Panieng. So I attended classes after hours, with this brilliant and enchanting woman as professor. I guess I impressed her, aside from her confession to me later that she was intrigued by my hairstyle (I had my hair cut really short but had a strand of hair hanging long at the back, like a tail), that she offered me a teaching job in the same college where I was having my masters. Turned out she was the Dean of the College of Commerce. Of course I jumped on the chance.
At first it was fulfilling my dream, teaching. Then, it became a reason to survive. My pay for teaching went to two of my siblings' tuition. They went to the same school for college. In fact, both were students of mine. Oh they hated me. I would intentionally call out their names for class recitation, and they would answer with dagger looks, well, at me. They could not get 'leaks' for exams at home, I was very careful where I kept my papers.
But most of my students became my friends at the same time. While some had the guts to court me, too, a whole bunch of them I had a good time with. I was this naive, young instructor who like them, literally jumped above a closed gate at night to escape to the nearest club. Up
until now, I see them everywhere, having jobs in banks, etc. They still call me Ma'am Christianne, or Ms. Castillejos. Those times I feel really proud I have been part of their life, at the same time I feel, ok, old.
I was working on my grading sheets one night and Papa was hovering behind me. He saw I was about to fail a few students. He pulled a chair, sat beside me and said, 'Please do not fail anyone, anak. Pity their parents who work very hard to put them through school'. Ok, what do you say to that if you were in my place? So, I did not fail anyone. I gave borderline marks but no one failed in my class. Word got around I did not fail anyone in class, so you can imagine how full my classes were.
Teaching is such a fulfilling job. It gives you this sense of self-worth and importance, that you give a little of who you are to others. I was not exactly a role model. My smoking was an issue. The school president, Fr. De Boeck, whom I avoided each time we would cross paths in the hallway, told me one time, 'Good morning, Ms. Castillejos, even if you pretended not to see me. By the way, you need to stop smoking. The students might think it is right, but you see, it is not.' I did not know what to say to that, I was so nervous I felt I was going to pee in my pants.
I learned from Papa that one night he talked to me about grades,
this valuable lesson: you do what you can to help, the best you can, the rest of the job is with those you
helped. I think I did that in my two years of teaching. And so, having that lesson in my heart and in mind, I continue to help, the best I can. What of those I did help?
I have always wanted to teach. When I graduated at 19 years old (yes, I need to brag about that), I applied for teaching jobs to no avail. I was hired by this electric cooperative as research assistant, mainly because I was a Mayor's daughter. By research assistant, it meant typing whatever the whole freaking day, my nails broke. It meant running to the nearest drugstore to buy medicines for an ailing boss. I was content, as long as I had a job. I gave my first pay envelope to Papa, whose reaction to that act cannot be described.
I decided to take up a masteral degree in business administration, as suggested by Lolo Panieng. So I attended classes after hours, with this brilliant and enchanting woman as professor. I guess I impressed her, aside from her confession to me later that she was intrigued by my hairstyle (I had my hair cut really short but had a strand of hair hanging long at the back, like a tail), that she offered me a teaching job in the same college where I was having my masters. Turned out she was the Dean of the College of Commerce. Of course I jumped on the chance.
At first it was fulfilling my dream, teaching. Then, it became a reason to survive. My pay for teaching went to two of my siblings' tuition. They went to the same school for college. In fact, both were students of mine. Oh they hated me. I would intentionally call out their names for class recitation, and they would answer with dagger looks, well, at me. They could not get 'leaks' for exams at home, I was very careful where I kept my papers.
But most of my students became my friends at the same time. While some had the guts to court me, too, a whole bunch of them I had a good time with. I was this naive, young instructor who like them, literally jumped above a closed gate at night to escape to the nearest club. Up
until now, I see them everywhere, having jobs in banks, etc. They still call me Ma'am Christianne, or Ms. Castillejos. Those times I feel really proud I have been part of their life, at the same time I feel, ok, old.
I was working on my grading sheets one night and Papa was hovering behind me. He saw I was about to fail a few students. He pulled a chair, sat beside me and said, 'Please do not fail anyone, anak. Pity their parents who work very hard to put them through school'. Ok, what do you say to that if you were in my place? So, I did not fail anyone. I gave borderline marks but no one failed in my class. Word got around I did not fail anyone in class, so you can imagine how full my classes were.
Teaching is such a fulfilling job. It gives you this sense of self-worth and importance, that you give a little of who you are to others. I was not exactly a role model. My smoking was an issue. The school president, Fr. De Boeck, whom I avoided each time we would cross paths in the hallway, told me one time, 'Good morning, Ms. Castillejos, even if you pretended not to see me. By the way, you need to stop smoking. The students might think it is right, but you see, it is not.' I did not know what to say to that, I was so nervous I felt I was going to pee in my pants.
I learned from Papa that one night he talked to me about grades,
this valuable lesson: you do what you can to help, the best you can, the rest of the job is with those you
helped. I think I did that in my two years of teaching. And so, having that lesson in my heart and in mind, I continue to help, the best I can. What of those I did help?
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