(Posted Nov 30, '07 8:33 AM. I was still working as a call-center trainer and part time insurance agent when I wrote this article)
It was the early 90’s.
The never ending quest for the lost diary of Anna Luna was still on the air.
“Hataw Na” by Gary V. was the national anthem and “The Gwapings” the National Heroes. I was a new student in this secluded Catholic School- Grade 5.
Classes started at exactly 6:30 am.
Way back then, it was considered “cool” to use the song of Basil Valdez “Sinong dakila? Sino ang tunay na baliw?” during declamation contests (I have a scary feeling this tradition still lives in some institutions to this very day).
You can separate the fashionistas from the commoners by the number and color of beads in their ID laces and the kind of pencil case they have (does it have a built in eraser, pen, ruler, magnifying glass?).
We are required to carry almost a dozen textbooks on top of the almost a dozen notebooks on a daily basis. The “It” bags of the day were those with WHEELS (probably as a preventive measure against “paralysis”).
The red sea parted every time the nuns appeared while the teacher’s path was made of Gold.
It was in that school that I met my Math teacher.
She was a strong, old maid brazened by years of teaching experience.
In fact, I believe she was one of the pillars of that institution… a pillar whose very foundation was laid straight from the scorching fires of hell (sorry ma’am, that was just a figure of speech).
Fear was her right hand and terror her left. Nobody dare cross her path.
Unfortunately for me, I did.
After a couple of lapsed school assignments I found myself the target of her verbal attacks. It did not help that I had challenges coping with the lessons and was one of the slow learners. As such, I was labeled the black sheep on that subject- or at least, that was how I saw myself.
Math became a desperate uphill climb. Until I became tired of climbing and my mind just logged off every time numbers and formulas are mentioned.
It was also in that school that I met my History teacher,
Her name was Mrs. Camba.
She was a working mom who had a fierce reputation of silencing bullies in the class.
But beneath the toughness was a tender touch.
She had a penchant of threading personal stories with history..
I enjoyed listening about her life in the province, about the first time she came here in Manila (Luneta Park was then considered the 8th wonder of the world), etc.
She always acknowledged my opinions when talking about current events as if my thoughts do matter.
There was one time when I was sick and I had to stay in the clinic. She found me there by coincidence. What she did was she took a wet towel and took care of me as a mother her own child. She even asked the nurse if there was milk in the clinic- a question that would catch every school nurse in the entire country by surprise.
One of the highlights of my Grade School life was when I became the object of ridicule by the whole school because I was not able to attend the Saturday classes in preparation for the NEAT exam (mandated by DECS before you jump into high school). The reason for my absence was because we have Saturday activity in my previous church… And in my highly spiritual upbringing… the church and its activities equated with God himself and should be considered top priority above all others. The nuns and the other teachers did not take this decision lightly and they were expecting the worst for my NEAT exam.
But not Mrs.Camba.
During one of her lectures, after scolding my other classmates, she told me in front of the class, “Vadillo, even if you are not attending our Saturday classes, show them that you can do it”. She believed in me. Honestly, I was slightly embarrassed by her strong belief in me. But it was an embarrassment that inspired me to prove her right. True enough, I passed the exams with flying colors. When the nuns ask me how I fared, I answer them in soap opera fashion, “Sister, I got 91%”.
Haha… what a sweet revenge (Lord forgive me for such a thought).
Believe it or not, I did graduate from Grade school.
But my fear of numbers haunted me for the rest of my scholastic life. All throughout high school, 75% was my goal for Math- a goal I continuously almost never met except through the mysterious grace of God. In college, I only failed two subjects, 1st is College Algebra and the 2nd is Introduction to Economics. I ran away from numbers as far as I can by taking up Communication Arts.
On the other hand, I also grew up with a natural love for history- for stories.
Even without studying (and even while sleeping in class), I tend to excel in literature and social studies (WARNING: This stunt is done by a trained professional. Children do not do this at school). I developed such a strong confidence expressing my views and opinion which made me part of the leadership of many major organizations in high school and college. Teaching became my passion- a passion which followed me up to this very day.
I don’t know to what extent my Math teacher contributed to my fear of numbers (and I won’t even dare blame her for everything). I don’t know as well how much Mrs. Camba influenced me to be the person I am today. But one thing I learned through it all is the amazing power of grace at work in people’s lives.
When my Math teacher used the law (an authority she is expected and entitled to use) to force me to learn the subject… I responded with fear which led to hopelessness until I just ran away from the subject altogether.
When Mrs. Camba believed in me (A belief I felt was undeserved and was beyond her call of duty)… I responded with obedience and unwavering gratitude for her. Her passion for people and history became my own passion as well.
I believe the same principle applies as to how God relates with his people. It’s not the 10 commandments that really attracted me to Christ. It’s the undeniable truth that He loves me in spite of me. Through all my mistakes and shortcomings His promise is to make me as white as snow. This love of the Father, a love beyond understanding and logic… a love beyond whatever I could ask for or think of prompts me to stay and cling to his arms no matter what.
I don’t know what happened to my Math teacher.
As for Mrs. Camba, the last news I’ve heard from her was she already resigned from our school to work as an OFW in Singapore.
In an ironic twist of fate, I’m now working as a trainer for a financial account… teaching agents how to calculate finance charges and the formula for minimum dues. I’m also involved in financial planning… presenting important concepts like income protection, investments and mutual funds. Apparently, God was able to redeem my fear of numbers and is now using me in my area of weakness.
So I’m writing this article in memory and gratitude for both of my teachers…
Wherever you are… thank you...
Your work as Grade 5 teachers were never in vain…
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