Make your momma proud

I was watching a noontime show on TV with my mother the other day when Juris Fernandez of the famous acoustic band M.Y.M.P (Make Your Momma Proud) came out and sang one of their sentimental hits, Tell Me Where It Hurts. When I first heard this song a couple of years back, I liked it so much that I actually bought their CD. Apart from sometimes being “Huuu! Sobrang cheesy!” (as that overloaded pizza commercial proclaims), I was also intrigued by their group’s name. I understand that it was in honor of band founder Chin Alcantara’s mother. Chin’s mother had apparently died of complications from breast cancer when he was only 17. Eight months ago, my own mom had stared death in the eye. Fortunately, the grim reaper blinked. But although she survived, she has since then been bedridden. I cannot imagine the boredom that she endures lying down in bed practically the whole day with nothing much to do except watch TV. Watching the boob tube with my mom can also be very dangerous to the ears. Her hearing has already deteriorated so much that everything has to be loud, as in SENSURROUND. At least she can’t also hear me mangle Juris’ and Chin’s tune. During my youth, I remember her chiding me on occasion in our native Pangasinan dialect for being tuneg (out-of-tune). Nevertheless, it pains me that I can’t really do much to amuse her when I visit except to hold her hand while we watch Wowwowwee.

I was therefore so excited the other week when I found out that I had passed, at the “tender” age of 46, the Licensure Examination for Teachers (LET). Before she married my dad, my mom had been a teacher herself. My late father actually also taught, but it was more of a sideline for him; he was primarily a lawyer and farmer-leader. My mother, on the other hand, took up education at the Philippine Normal School which was one of the most prominent schools for teachers at the time. And while the teaching profession remains respected today, I think that teachers were held in much higher esteem then. This was particularly true for the public school teachers. There was no LET requirement yet, but teachers had to take the Civil Service exam. My mother was only about 17 years old when she passed it and she was immediately assigned to teach music and the fourth grade in Mangatarem, Pangasinan. When the Second World War broke out, she was transferred to our hometown of Alaminos, Pangasinan where she taught at the Central School and at a nearby barangay school in San Vicente. After getting married in 1949, she stopped teaching and focused her tutoring skills on us her children instead. She was really a teacher at heart and took considerable pride in our academic achievements, particularly those of my older brothers. And so I couldn’t wait to tell her that I had passed. I thought that she would also find it especially sweet since the expectation during my younger years was that I would eventually take up law just like my dad. She glowed when I gave her the news and when I told her that I ended up like her after all. 

Of course, I’m not a real teacher yet. All I’ve done so far is to pass a test. I’m not even sure if I’m better off in the Admin office than in the classroom. Becoming a real teacher takes a lot more time and commitment than just taking the required additional education units and passing the LET. I like the way the faculty of my children’s school approach it — you are not a real teacher until your fellow teachers (and your students) say you’re one. 

These are very challenging times for teachers, too. In addition to the economic difficulties teachers face, even some of the old guards are losing hope in their noble profession given the apathy and moral degradation that has infected Philippine society. They worry that teachers might not really be able to make a difference in their students’ lives anymore. For if the pond has already become so polluted, what is the use of raising young fish? What is the use if they’ll only end up dead or contaminated anyway? Indeed, how can I and the over 13,000 other new teachers maintain our passion for education amid today’s harsh realities? How can we prevent ourselves from giving up too early, from compromising so soon, and from letting society rob us of our idealism without a real fight? I can’t really think of any good answer right now except perhaps to just soak in all of our mothers’ pride. Soak it all in so that we’ll never forget. So that maybe when the challenges and temptations come, we’ll remember how our mothers smiled and how proud they once felt. And how, by our actions and the choices we make, we can all still keep on making our mommas proud.

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