In the unique hierarchy of the academe, I cannot be called a professor. In fact, I barely qualify as a Lecturer -- the lowest rung in the ladder. But I decided to use it in this article's title because, just like in the academe, it has a nice ring to it.
I was still given the opportunity to teach in college despite of my academic credential's lack of a masteral degree. Like every passionate teacher, the five years that I spent as a part-time teacher gave me some of the most frustrating moments, but also some of the most fulfilling highs of my life.
I was able to handle a merry mix of subjects that ranged from Advertising and Public Relations, to all sorts of English and English related subjects, to Writing, to Arts Appreciation, to Entrepreneurship and Marketing, to Literature, and in my last year -- Filipino, three different courses of it. Of all, three remained dearest to me: Advertising, Public Relations, and World Literature.
Teaching Advertising and Public Relations gave me the chance to share my extensive industry experience to young students who aspire to be part of the world that I was once, and now only vaguely part of. Introducing this often exciting, sometimes intriguing, and always cutthroat profession to wide-eyed dreamers, and showing them how they can be part of it given the limited preparation that they have in school, gave me a sense that I was playing an important part in the shaping of still malleable lives -- a grave responsibility that I took seriously, and a humbling realization that I relished dearly.
I was not easy to please when I was teaching these subjects, and my students can attest to this. In fact, whenever I gave my students projects that would require them to apply book theories into simulated real-life applications, I never, not even once, approved a concept or a proposal at the first instance. Everyone had to present a new set of concepts till I was slightly satisfied, by that I mean that the proposal has caught a slim chance of being considered, let alone approved, if my students were part of an Ad agency or a PR firm submitting real life industry-grade proposals to an exacting client. And it was not unusual that I would still be unhappy even with the last and final concept that a student or a group will present.
A consistent dean's lister who got this same treatment commented, perhaps in half jest and the other half in frustration, "Aba'y wala na yatang magaling kay sir, eh!" Well, true and false.
While I did not have high expectations as far as the quality of the materials that the students can produce (They are still, after all, students), I did not see it as a reason for me to lower my standard because I believed that I was preparing them for a future where people are tough, sometimes mean, and often competitive. It would be a dishonor to my students if, after having seen and experienced what it was like in the real world, that I would give them the false idea that what they were producing were good enough where it mattered most -- in real life jobs.
Stringent as I was with my standard, I had to make sure that I did not destroy my students' confidence. So while I thumbed down proposal after proposal, I also gave them glimpses of how they can improve their concepts or pursue angles that they may not have considered. And when they react, "Ahhh, oo nga ano. Ang galing talaga ni Sir!" I smile with supreme satisfaction not because I was praised, but because I know I opened a new door of possibilities.
But the highest form of satisfaction comes not inside the classroom but outside of it, long after the students have become my students. When I would find out that my former wards have landed prime jobs and are in fact doing well, or encounter those who would report, "Sir, kung ano po yung ginagawa natin sa klase, iyon din po ang ginagawa namin sa trabaho." I know that I prepared them well.
I once bumped into the student who complained about my toughness in class. She has landed an enviable job in a prestigious company. However, she said that working for her boss was rough, as if she was always not good enough. I felt sorry for her. But knowing how diligent and driven she was, I know she was going to be fine. I just wish that her encounter with reality was not as harsh. As I always reminded my students, never think that you are good enough, but have a mindset that you can still be better; the former reeking of brittle confidence, the latter underlining one's hunger for more knowledge that fills the gaps that would make one more capable.
While teaching Advertising and Public Relations allowed me to prepare the way for successful careers, teaching Literature entitled me to unlock minds and open eyes to deeper appreciation of life and the written word's power over it and with it.
Again, I am not academically prepared to be a literature teacher. I cannot quote memorable words from the demigods of prose nor drop a line or two from Frost, even if my life depended on it. What I had were questions; questions that made my students ponder and uncomfortable in their seats. I asked questions that challenged what they think, and even believe in.
I was the ultimate Devil's Advocate. I would grill a student no end regardless if I completely agree with his point or not. I did so because I wanted my students to think critically, to analyze and defend their point, to make them see that each issue can be viewed from several angles, and most importantly, I wanted them to grow as human beings whose views, thoughts and ideas are important, and thus need to be voiced out, and instigators of change in their lives and those of people that would cross their path.
I loved to open a lesson with a question that left a quizzed look on my students' faces. The more puzzled or disturbed they are, the more exciting the ensuing discussion would become. And the more ideas and thoughts that flowed and are exchanged, the clearer and more pleasant my students' faces would eventually become. When I see a student's face light up in that elusive eureka moment, or nod, or smile in a sign of agreement -- my heart leaps in utter bliss. It is what I lived for as a teacher. And in my years as one, I've had plenty of those moments -- enough to last me a lifetime.
Students are funny when they are disturbed by an idea, or deep in thought. Some look away, lost in their own world, some fidget or unconsciously make little but repetitious movements like twirling strands of hair or excavating dirt from fingernails. And as the only person inside the classroom facing everyone -- I could observe who would like to share what they were thinking -- those few who may not raise their hand but won't break eye contact either.
One of these was Anne Latayan Lado-ing.
What struck me first about Anne was that she was unusually tall. But when seated like the rest of the class, her attentive gaze and full concentration assured a teacher like me, that there would always be a student to call on to, to share what's on her mind. And she did speak her mind. In fact, she was one of the students that I enjoyed peppering questions because she never backed out of any argument or discussion. She is the kind of student that makes teaching such a joy and challenge.
A former student who never failed to greet me on Teacher's Day told me that a student will always remember a good teacher. And I told him that a good teacher never forgets a good student. I remember him. I remember Anne. I remember a lot of students. And I thank everyone of you for allowing me to be, even for a semester or two, a part of your life.
Like I always say, I'll see you when I see you.
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