𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Lesson Told by Your (Second) Parents” by Mary Elizabeth Luzon

 

Published by: Faith Villaluna

Date Published: October 5, 2023

Time Published: 12:17 PM

CATEGORY: Prose

SUBJECT: Teachers, lifetime lessons

They’ve said before that a child has two sets of parents–-one at home, one in the classroom. One set is born with them for life, they’re connected by blood. The second set, however, is one they’ve made in their life. You know who they are, you remember them.

Surrounded by children your age, you and other children were instructed to follow the guidance of a woman, a man, or whomever it may be at the front of the classroom. They are the ones who talk as children are the ones to listen. This system goes on long until you’re in your early twenties or even your later years. However, what’s important is what you truly learned in your early days.

You think back and remember your first lessons; colours, shapes, cursive writing, these are all the things you’ve learned, right? You aren’t wrong, of course. It’s just that isn’t what’s important.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” they asked, asking in a gentle voice that encourages an answer. You’d say, astronaut or chef, sometimes police officer or singer, occasionally your father’s job or your mother’s. The answer varies from each child yet the teacher’s response stays the same; questions were born out of curiosity followed by words of encouragement. To them, it often does not matter what you say or what you’d want. The idea of having a dream was something they asked of you.

And they’d ask you, “How was your weekend?” because they want to know if you’ve been alright. They’d tell you, “It’s okay if you fall, just get back again,” when you tripped in the playground. If you’d been bad, they’d nudge you, saying, “Can you apologise? Will you forgive them?” and then it will be alright.

These words are what built your childhood. Whatever they said struck true to your heart because you were innocent. You didn’t know anything about the world and so you believed them. Children had spent half of their years in school learning. Not about mathematical equations, not about the powerhouse of a cell. They’ve learned to feel because of the people who guided them to their hearts. The people are those teachers who spent their years understanding practical education while being born with the knowledge of emotional intelligence.

Once these children grow—once you’ve grown—you may come back to your teacher with a fond smile. They’d ask you who you were, that hurts because you’ve done this and that because of their words. Or they remembered you because of something particular you did or say. Still, you’d tell them the great they’ve done for your life. They’d ask you what they did, and you told them words they’ve told you. Maybe they’d remember, maybe they won’t.

But they still look at you with great fondness. They’d look at you as if you were their child for years. Maybe they don’t remember you, maybe they do. That doesn’t change the fact that they’re proud of what you’ve become.