First day of class

In my mind’s eye, I see it clearly, the first day I entered a classroom as a teacher. That was almost four decades ago. Many of my former students probably have children and grandchildren of their own by now. I had very little teaching experience then, just a few months of tutoring a handful of public school children when I was in high school immersion. I was engaged to teach the college-level Rizal course at 7 a.m., a time slot that tenured faculty passed on to a part-timer who had no choice. At that ungodly hour, nobody was expected to be wide awake, but I was fortunate to have a class of Computer Science nerds, who were diligent even in general education subjects outside their interest and specialization.

Twenty-five pairs of eyes followed me from the door to the desk. When I spoke, they clung to every word I said. They read everything assigned. In one case, they read way more than they should have. I passed the college Rizal course using the komiks version of “Noli Me Tangere” and “El Filibusterismo.” I knew the outline of the story, I knew the ending, but not the details. I was literally a few chapters ahead of my students, and this went on happily until one student raised his hand and asked a question about a chapter way beyond what I had prepared for. My knees went weak, but I thought quickly on my feet and replied, “Hey! That’s a very good question, but that’s not up for discussion today. Let me give you a detailed answer next meeting.” One overachieving student provided my epiphany. That weekend, because my life depended on it, I read “Noli Me Tangere” through to the end. Only then did I discover what a wonderful and funny writer Rizal could be. I was taught to revere Rizal’s novels like holy scripture and extract from them patriotism and love of country, instead of enjoying them first as literature.

My world is different from Mary H. Fee, one of the American school teachers who volunteered to teach in the Philippines in the early 1900s. Her memoir “A Woman’s Impressions of the Philippines” (1910) is often read today for its historical and ethnographic value, helping us to go back in time to see Filipinos transition from Spanish to American colonization.

Fee was assigned to Capiz, and her first day in a boys’ school should be required reading for any idealistic Filipino teacher entering a classroom for the first time. As she approached the schoolhouse, she heard “a noise which resembled the din of a boiler factory … the noise was the vociferous outcry of 189 Filipino youths engaged in study, at least in a high, throaty clamor, over and over again, of their assigned lessons. When I went in, they rose electrically, and shrieked as by one impulse, ‘Good morning, modham.’ They were so delighted at my surprise at their facility with English that they gave it to me over and over again, and I saw that they had intuitions of three cheers and a tiger.

“It stays in my recollection as the most strenuous five hours’ labor I ever put in. Only two personalities were impressive, those of the pupil teacher who aided me, and who has since graduated from the University of Michigan (agricultural department), and of a very small boy who had possessed himself of a wooden box, once the receptacle of 48 tins of condensed milk, which he used for a seat. He carried the box with him when he went from one place to another, and more than one fight was generated by his plutocracy. He also sang ‘Suwanee River’ in a clear but sweet nasal voice, and was evidently regarded as the show pupil of the school.”

Mary Fee and I share the same experience, despite being more than a century apart; teachers usually remember those who stand out. They can be the very bright ones and those that need improvement—lots of it. Fee also wrote that:

“The school was popular not only with boys but with goats. Flocks of them wandered in, coming through the doors or jumping through the windows. I soon found that Filipino children are more matter-of-fact than American children. Nobody giggled when our four-footed friends came in, and until I gave an order to expel them, their presence was accepted as a matter of course. When I suggested putting them out, I found the Filipino youth ready enough at rough play. The first charge nearly swept me off my feet and turned the school into a pandemonium. After that, the goats were allowed to assist in the classes at their pleasure.”

We have a care dog on campus that students can hug; lots of stray cats, too. But imagine a five-foot python that a student brought out of a gym bag for show-and-tell. After his report, I asked how the snake was carried around during his other classes. It was quite heavy. My student calmly answered that he had left the snake in the bag check of the library until he went home. Thus, for many years afterward, my syllabus included the prohibition of open flames and live animals in the classroom. Education is a connection between teachers and students that has not changed over the centuries.

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Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu