What matters most

Identifying what matters most to a person is a simple question that oddly demands a difficult to find answer; a search that entails some soul-searching that begins with the peeling off of superficial layers that cloud, hide and confuse what is truly important, and ends with the humbling truth that the answer is not as grand, ambitious or transcendent as one not comfortable with the self would like to believe has the most weight in his life.

I live a fairly uncomplicated life.  My wife and I shed many trappings of the modern world by turning our backs on the corporate world of Makati and striking out on our own as entrepreneurs in my hometown Lipa.  While there are times when paying the bills still is a struggle, I can say that I am living the life that I want where I have fully invested myself in commitments that I myself chose, and whatever success or failure that comes my way is a result of my own effort or mistake.

I have control over my life and how it is unfolding everyday with the people I choose to be with, the things that I choose to do, and the simple joys that I choose to enjoy.  And that’s important to me.

For some, finding someone who values control may be unsettling, given the selfish nature and heavy-handedness that the word invariably connotes; but to me it simply means that I have clarity over what I want and want to do. 

And what I want is to make myself a positive model and influence to people I encounter in the various social spheres that I involve myself in -- my community, the university, work, school and family.  I believe in the power of self.  When I was still teaching, my students often asked me why I was doing so when I could be easily be involved in something else.  My standard reply was that I want to change the world one student at a time.  I cannot do that if I myself cannot even rein in my life’s zigs and zags or make sense of its ups and downs.

What I want to do is to be able to make the most of my talents, take opportunities where they present themselves, and create new ones where there was once none.  This way, I become invested and, consequently, passionate in my life activities, which then become the means to how I could be a person of consequence for others.  What I do and want are cyclically entwined; one will not be possible without the other.

But what gives me ultimate joy, however, is something that I don’t need to create a grand scheme about or to go great lengths to attain because they are simple and readily available.  I am most happy when I can have quiet time alone with my wife, sharing stories, planning dreams, and simply basking in each other’s presence.  I am deeply contented when I can find the time to sit back and read a book, or to tinker with hammer, nails and wood, or mingle with my bees.  I am privileged when I can ride my bike, explore the countryside, cover new trails and meet random people in the middle of activities that matter most to them.  These are all priceless to me.

There are so many things that may matter to so many people.  I am just happy to be living my life.

This is an essay I wrote for my subject Educational Anthropology under Eufracio Abaya, PhD.

How we are raising tomorrow’s adults

How we are raising tomorrow’s adults

An Essay based on

Detoxing Childhood by Sue Palmer

Written by

Marcial I. Enginco

For

Dr. Grace S. Koo

Professor, EDFD 206 Affective Learning

SUMMARY

Toxic Childhood is a book written by Sue Palmer that details her observations and concerns about how today’s children are growing and developing in a society that does not promote healthy values, views and attitudes through the improper and often misguided use of technology, compounded by a “me-first, me-now” lifestyle as dictated by market forces, and shifts in familial and social structures as an unintended offshoot of inconsistent parenting and growing gender equality in the family and society.

The book examines the toxic elements that critically affect a growing child’s learning and development in areas such as play, diet, education, care, communication and behavior.  The essay Detoxing Childhood contains a letter Palmer and a lobby group of more than a hundred experts and academicians signed to petition readers, especially governments, educators and society in general, to train their sights on  issues raised in the book, with the end view of starting a discourse intended to find solutions to the same.

Palmer is a writer, broadcaster and consultant specializing in children’s education.  She is, according to her words, a cockeyed optimist.

_____________________

At no point in mankind’s history has living been more convenient for humans than now, where everything – including knowledge, food, even happiness or at least how it is defined by today’s generation – can be had at the click of a finger.  The leaps in technology over the past two decades have radically changed society and the lifestyles that govern the mainstream that it has practically ensured that the generation being raised now, those in the age range of 1 to 25 (or those who have opened or will open their eyes to the internet age), will grow into a breed of adults that no one has ever seen before.  And I am not excited to find out how they would fare once they take the rein.

Or maybe, that is just me – having grown at a time when man was transitioning from reading books by flipping pages to scanning the world by rolling the mouse, I, perhaps, am simply caught between the nostalgia of my growing years and the present reality that is strange and largely different from what I was used to.  Or maybe, and I strongly suspect, that I have a legitimate concern that needs to be addressed not by just me, or the teachers, or parents – but the society as a whole, working as a community to undo the entanglements that modern living has unwittingly inflicted on our children.

A lot of the issues that Sue Palmer raised in her book Toxic Childhood, from which she based her essay Detoxing Childhood, strongly resonates with observations I routinely make of how today’s children think, act and behave, and how parents ignore, tolerate and even enable such behavior.

For one, Palmer points out and I concur that a child’s normal brain development is not just ready to absorb and process (with emphasis on process) all the information that adults bombard him even before he could utter his first word.  The rapid advancement in technology and its ready availability has a lot to do with this.  To illustrate this point, a video recently circulated on Facebook showed a toddler deftly operating an iPad, and when she was handed a glossy paper magazine, she promptly moved her fingers over the page as if it was a touchscreen.  I know that it was just a harmless, meaningless video posted by proud parents but it is an indication that kids are growing more intelligent by the generation, which is not bad at all if this rapid intellectual maturation is equaled in pace by parallel emotional, social and psychological developments.  This, however, is not so.  I know a lot of kids, from three to preteens, whose idea of play is swiping their fingers across a flat, lifeless screen.  And we adults marvel at how children are so quick to adapt to hi-tech without acknowledging that we are compromising their motor skills development which is best honed by physical plays like running, jumping, sliding, crawling and kicking, to name just a few traditional but neglected activities.  What’s even more alarming is that these children miss out on actual, face to face, interaction with other kids or playmates which serve as the basic foundation for inter-personal communication and relationship-building.  It is interesting to note that the more technology-savvy the kids I know are, the less willing and capable they are of sustaining social interaction even with family, and more so with strangers.

It does not help either that parents, as Palmer also pointed out, are increasingly becoming risk-averse.  Many busy parents view any form of activity that would expose their children to any foreseeable physical or emotional harm should be avoided at all cost, and that situations such as bullying or altercations where children’s physical, emotional and intellectual vulnerability are surreptitiously or deliberately exposed, should be dealt with a combination of livid protestations and a protective blanket rather than treating it as an opportunity to equip the young with the necessary tools to face and overcome adversity by explaining to them what the incident was actually about and what they could do in such situations.  No one is ever going to avoid adversity in his lifetime.  I shudder at the thought of future adults cowering from a problem and looking for solace that is not coming.  And I shudder more when I think that these adults will be tasked to shepherd the generation after them.

A related article which recently appeared in Time Magazine entitled “Me Me Me Generation” characterized today’s youths -- which author Joel Stein called Millennials-- as a lazy, narcissistic and entitled batch.  Contrary to Palmer’s assertion that today’s children are angst- driven, Stein describes them as rather free-spirited, and less prone to moping or contemplating unhappy thoughts, which my personal observations tend to support.  This kind of passive behavior, I would like to conclude, is a result of the way these children are raised by over-protective parents in a world where everything should be ready and available at the click of a button.  I see this pattern of attitude a lot in the college students who use my wall climbing facility for their Physical Education classes.  While a lot of them look physically fit for such a vigorous activity, a majority of them would rather sit at one corner and mingle with one another than engage in an exercise that would leave them tired, sweaty and sore all over, never mind the sense of accomplishment that comes with achieving something out of one’s hard work.  The value of hard work and the strength of determination seem to be alien and unimportant concepts to these kids who are so used to the reset button and thus, not worth the effort to discover and experience.  To their credit, they diplomatically turn down the adults’ effort to impart such life-defining traits by smiling and politely saying, “Sir, nakakapagod” before turning to their gadgets to play their preferred games.

I don’t know if this is the kind of spirit that should carry humankind forward into the unknown future.

So what can be done to stem the tide?  There is no one single solution.  But I know that it should extend beyond Palmer’s recommendation that society questions and debates about child-rearing in the 21^st century so that insights extracted from such discourse can be infused in future policies to address the issues.

Some solutions are so obvious and so fundamental that they are ignored because they are so.  To look forward, one must look back at some of the old practices that have been proven to shape truly well-rounded children. I admire parents who have the confidence to keep technology away, instead allowing children to learn the old way – by reading and experiencing, to explore their creativity and discover their potential by dabbling, experimenting and questioning outside of the house, and to grow and gain physical strength by running, playing and, if it can’t be avoided, falling and failing.

To this end, parents should be made to understand, not only by schools but also the government, the gravity and impact of their roles in tempering the onslaught of technology and modern lifestyle in the personality development of an entire generation.  Adults should themselves step back, slow down and assess what truly matters to them, and what values they want their children to have.  Society has dictated that happiness, though fleeting, comes with a price tag and preferably, very quickly.  Such emphasis on the instant has rendered value-formation market-driven.

Nothing is easy.  And that’s the beauty of living, at least in the age I grew up in.  While the rapid developments and breakthrough in technology will no longer be abated, we the adults can still do something about how it impacts the youth, and how modernity should complement and enhance a child’s development, and not allow it to take over their lives completely.

Palmer considers herself as a cockeyed optimist.  I, too, am an optimist.  But my eyes are open and they blink and squint because they see that the signs are ominous – a new generation will be taking over the world, one that was raised by a generation of parents who care and mean well but simply just don’t have the benefit of a manual on how to raise 21^st century children.  Parents and adults now, I think, are simply overwhelmed by how fast things have changed, and are thus left aware of what’s happening to their children but powerless to do anything about it, like a deer crossing a road that has become immobile because its eyes caught an oncoming car’s headlight.

Until the next generation discovers how ill-prepared they were to face tomorrow’s complex adversities can they truly comprehend the problem and its consequences, and in the process painfully acquiring the knowledge and experiential wherewithal to formulate solutions based on known variables.  I suspect that the children being raised today by a minority of parents who believe old school is still the best pedagogy will be most suited to steer their way emotionally, socially and psychologically across the labyrinthine landscape of the future, and that the children who are today allowed to wander aimlessly into unknown terrain will look up to them for guidance, leadership and how to raise children the old fashioned way.  Then, the next generation will be in better hands.

For Aira

I write this piece not because I was inspired to do so, but because I was compelled by an unmoving circumstance.  If you know the feeling that you need, and I mean desperately need, to do the number 1 when you are inside a very cold bus stuck in traffic, or worse -- and God forbid – the number 2? That’s how I am feeling.  As they say, you got to go when you got to go.  A mere bump on the road, or a slight nudge from your snoozing seatmate can erase any happy thought that you might have conjured to try to lure you away from that sinking feeling that something needs to be done: ASAP!  And when the dam breaks for 1 or 2, or worse and God forbid, both – hoooh, I leave it to your imagination to complete the picture.

I can’t afford not to do this.

So while I’m in the middle of preparing my grad school report, which should have been finished a few yesterdays ago, and in between yelling at student belayers using my wall climbing facility for their PE class to “PULL THE ROPE!”  I’m composing something that should hopefully suffice a demand from a fretful someone.

It’s a friend’s birthday, and her earnest request in place of a surprise party (she knows everyone is too busy to pull off something that would amount to a surprise) is that a blog be specifically written for her. Yes, she could be very demanding. 

I call her Kidong, and she calls me Ninong.  She was my former student in Creative Writing where she had shown flashes of her colorful imagination and unique writing style.  For some seemingly prearranged twists of circumstance she, along with other youngsters, has become one of my and my wife’s dearest friends.

It is not in writing that Kidong has found an outlet for her creative passion.  She is a dancer, a ballerina, as graceful and lithe as they come.  She teaches ballet at the British School in Taguig.   And as if that is not enough to occupy her time, she still manages to accept dance teaching jobs on weekends, and on occasions dabbles in online English tutorial to Oriental students till the wee hours of the morning.

Kidong is quirky in many ways.  One of her endearing/irritating whims is when there is the presence of a camera, she won’t hesitate to pull into a pose (the more absurd, the better she likes it) anyplace and anytime she feels like it, often imploring those with her to do the same.  Mimay, her younger sister who looks up to her, sometimes obliges; while Lester, her college age brother who still has the hangover from the awkward early teen years, would shoot an annoyed look at her, which of course would not dissuade Kidong from doing her impromptu photoshoot.

Kidong can be downright funny without meaning to.  In fact, her moniker is a product of her penchant for creating new words that sound like real words or passable alternatives.  Years ago, Ondoy wreaked havoc on the country.  Followed shortly by Typhoon Pepeng, with international code name Quedan, which my ballerina friend called, you guess it – Kidong, which stuck.  And which couldn’t be a more inappropriate nickname for a very pretty, very prim lady.

The first time we, as a barkada, had a get-together, Kidong was very quiet and simply observed the goings-on.  She smiled every now and then, managing to engage in small talk at times.  When she finally got the courage to speak what was on her mind, she said “Ang saya-saya.  Ngayon lang ako nag-enjoy ng ganito.”

It wasn’t long that she began to lighten up, and to open up.  She pretends that she hates showing affection, or to admit that she misses our company.  But she wouldn’t let it pass that there is a barkada gathering without her presence.

When around her barkada, Kidong loves to be babied and showered with attention.  She revels in this and we oblige her because it is her only time to be treated that way.

The eldest daughter of OFW parents who left the Philippines when her younger siblings were not yet old enough to form recollections, Kidong learned early on that she should serve as the de facto parents to Lester and Mimay.  Thus, she makes it a point to act like a strict father and a supportive mother to the younger ones.   She also never fails to remind her siblings that their parents love them so much and are sacrificing a lot so that they will have the opportunity to get a good education and hopefully, a brighter future.  She always tries to be a strong presence for her brother and sister.  Only when she is with us does she show her vulnerable side, one that demands being babied.

So when the baby demands that a blog about her be written on her birthday, I can’t say no, nor tell her I am too busy.  I can’t afford to disappoint her.  Not today.

Happy Birthday Aira Katrina Algenio Isleta.  I know you won’t like the sound of this -- Ninong and Ms Kay love you.

The Heart of Teaching

The Heart of Teaching

An Essay based on

Bridging the Heart and Mind: Community as a Device For Linking Cognitive and Affective Learning by Maureen P. Hall

Written by

Marcial I. Enginco

For

Dr. Grace S. Koo

Professor, EDFD 206 Affective Learning

College of Education

University of the Philippines Diliman

With various personal concerns and modern distractions such as the internet with its amazing array of youth-oriented web and social networking sites, gadgets, gaming applications and whatever is in in popular culture plaguing the consciousness of today’s students, getting them to pay attention long enough to engage in meaningful, sustained learning is getting more and more challenging for the classroom teacher wishing to impart cognitive-directed lessons.  This alarming reality can be observed in schools everywhere where many students enter the classroom showing pedestrian interest in enriching their minds in the manner by which the subject teacher deems fit and appropriate in a learning environment; such students instead give more time and effort on superficial concerns that make their young life relevant to themselves, their peers and the times.

If the mind is the final frontier in education, then it has certainly moved to a place where it has become more difficult to reach.

I agree with Maureen P. Hall’s assertion that one of the most effective accesses to the mind – for cognitive learning and I say also for psychological development -- is through the heart as a gate, or across it as a bridge.  But perhaps due to her singular focus on the positive and ideal applications of the concept, she did not broach the idea that affective classroom experiences may also result in negative implications, and thus teachers should be wary of their speech and actions because they do carry weight in the young’s mind and will essentially serve as a kneading pressure in the shaping of his still developing psychological makeup.

My youthful schooling was characterized by restlessness, apathy and general disinterest in classroom proceedings.  However, I recall separate instances when appeal to my emotions either encouraged or forced me to sit up, pay attention and learn something new.

When I was in Grade 2, I was a fairly quiet and observant student.  I generally kept to myself in my seat at the last row where I did my time, being one of the tallest.  While I was not a nuisance inside the classroom I was also neither a star in class discussions and activities.  I was just a boy who stood up or participated only when called to do so.  One time, I was busy twirling the ends of a plastic straw under my desk, hidden from view of my teacher Mrs V who was busy writing something on the board.  When the straw had turned into a tight cord with only a small air bubble trapped in the center I knew the twirling part was over and the exciting finale – the bursting of the air bubble with a violent flick of a coiled finger – must inevitably ensue.  The climax was signaled by a small but sharp exploding sound that caught my teacher’s attention, and ire.  She looked at my direction, and because my seatmates were also looking at me, she readily knew who the culprit was.  She threw a lengthy rant at my direction but the only thing I remembered was her telling me in a shrill voice “Sabi ko na nga ba makulit ka, eh!” which surprised me because until then I never knew that quietly working on a project constituted kakulitan.  I have witnessed some of my teachers let out steam before but they were mostly directed towards a collective misdeed by the class or a particular group; never have I experienced being singled out which brought a feeling of embarrassment and the equivalent of a psychological christening that I was a mischief.  Branding made me learn that I was.  Until now I don’t know what triggered that conclusion; perhaps she noticed something in me that stewed and brewed suspicion inside of her, which boiled out in a convenient outlet in that single innocent moment.  I know that things could have been different had she been more tactful, composed and non-judgmental in her treatment of me.

Mrs V was not alone in misusing the affect to create a cognitive effect.  Miss M, a large woman with a menacing stare and a frightening demeanor taught me, and practically all my classmates in Grade IV, how to do a proper squat: the more it hurts, the more we are doing it right.  She made us do this for any missed assignment, wrong answer or any perceived misdeed which she thought can only be redeemed when our knees began to tremble.  When we gained enough strength in our limbs because of repeated training, she upped the ante by placing books on our outstretched arms which ultimately accomplished her goal of seeing trembling knees.  She did not only keep an eye on me inside the classroom but also outside of it.  I was an energetic kid who loved to run and jump, jump more particularly.  Once during a recess, I gave in to the urge to reach a gumamela flower perched high atop a branch.  I did manage to bring down the flower, along with the entire branch.  I was feeling some sense of accomplishment holding a nice little flower attached to a four-foot long twig when Miss M came along, introduced two of her fingers to a select few of my hairs in my developing sideburn so that I can better hear how she was vigorously telling me that I was such a destructive little gnat.  I learned that day that even boys can freely cry, bawl if needed, when subjected to severe physical pain coupled with extreme fear and humiliation.  Last I heard of her, she became a Missus then a Miss again when she mistakenly believed that a hammer may also be used to create a lump in a husband’s cranium.

And there were more who contributed to my treasure trove of dread, rage, disdain and discomfort inside the classroom.  But for all the Mrs V’s and Ms M’s of my school life, there were also those who engaged my cognitive mind by warming my heart and making me feel secure and appreciated.  Sense of security and feeling appreciated are hallmarks of students that, according to Hall, are more open and motivated to learn.

There is my Grade III teacher, Mrs Encarnacion who was firm but gentle, patient and reassuring.  She was the first teacher who made me feel at ease, secure and at peace inside the classroom.  I felt appreciated when she consistently gave me high marks and praises in the only subject that I truly liked and was good at – Arts.  And it was only under her tutelage that I managed to crack the Honors’ Roll for the first and only time (lasted for a single grading period), not because I was particularly impressive but because, and this is only my conclusion now, she thought that I would be more motivated to study harder if I knew I was good enough to be officially considered as part of the top of the class.  Unfortunately, there was a lot of turmoil and uncertainties happening in my personal life that made such a desired change of heart difficult to actualize.  As I look back, I know that if all was well in my home front then that would have been the perfect time for me to pick up my interest in school.

There is also Ms Katigbak, whom we called Ms Grammar, who despite her silence-inducing stare and low droning voice, singled out my essays as impressive and aligned me on a long trajectory to a field where I will be part of someday; Mr Katigbak (Ms Katigbak’s brother) who cracked jokes and made us laugh at our mistakes and frivolities us we orated, “Friends, Romans, countrymen… lend me your ears,” and inspired us to read the newspaper, particularly the editorial, because he was confident and intelligently conversant in so many issues and topics, and; Ms Millendes, our pretty Social Studies teacher who recognized that I had something important to say when she called on me during recitations where no one among my classmates had answered correctly or sufficiently, and who advised me, in a caring tone, to prove that I have more between my ears than I would care to use or show.

I always believe that the teachers whom students remember best and learned most from are not necessarily the most intelligent nor the most organized and prepared, but rather those that have shown the most passion inside the classroom, who wore their hearts on their sleeve and filled the classroom with emotions and feelings.  Intense feelings are what help students to be engaged, to learn and unlearn, or to be inspired and driven.

My first brush with teaching came when I served as a volunteer tutor for the wards of Tuloy sa Don Bosco, a foundation that took children off the streets, sheltered them, and provided them with education with the end goal of integrating them to mainstream society as productive and responsible members.  Volunteers like me -- professionals willing to devote 2 to 3 hours after work, once or twice a week -- served as the link between the street-toughened kids and the tough real world.

The tutorial sessions were very informal, consisting mainly of an hour of lessons and a medley of conversations, sharing, counseling and prayers.  Surprisingly, the kids gravitated towards me; freely revealing stories they kept from other volunteers, which made them more open to accepting guidance and of course, learning their lessons.  Soon, the core group of volunteers began assigning me to the most difficult boys; those who have committed crimes but cannot be jailed because they are minors, the violent ones who a lot of volunteers try to avoid, and those that rarely talked or displayed their emotions.  I managed to connect with them cognitively by establishing an affective affinity.  But that was years before I had the urge to teach in a formal educational institution.

In many ways, I felt like a man outside looking in when I started to teach for real.  My lack of formal training in education exposed me to a strange world of structures such as syllabus, time and classroom management, planning lessons and modules, test constructions and many others which I all had to learn on the fly.  Not surprisingly, it was my ability to connect on an affective level that helped me create a learning environment that worked for me and my students.

Inside my classroom, I encouraged my students to ask questions, share ideas, make mistakes, explore possibilities, take on challenges, challenge me, criticize me, laugh, cry, get angry, feel frustration, empathize.  In short, I regarded them as valuable individuals with important options and decisions to make – not just mere students programmed to receive and follow because they are equally capable of giving and teaching if they are empowered to do so.

The modern time has made it more difficult for teachers to penetrate the students seeming blanket of apathy towards learning.  But one thing hasn’t changed, connect with the heart, and the mind will open up.