would have broken out), if my ranking was not the highest in class, if my grade did not confirm her estimation of my abilities, she would ask for a parent-teacher conference. I never flunked a subject in grade school, but my mother had more parent-teacher conferences than parents whose kids were actually failing. A less than sterling academic record was considered an insult to her, my mother’s, abilities as a teacher and a parent. The only subjects in which my IQ and her teaching skills were impotent were PE and sewing—the first because I am a natural klutz, the second because we both loathed sewing. Occasionally, my father would wonder out loud if my mother’s frequent consultations with my teachers would not lead other parents to question my academic standing. They might suspect that my grades were the product of, how shall we put this, coer- cion. The notion was inconceivable to my mother, who argued that her vigilance was the very opposite of bribing teachers to give me good grades. She did not understand why other parents seemed so cavalier about their children’s report cards—that is, not meeting with their children’s teachers every quarter. She did it, and she had a job, secondary jobs, and a household to run. I wonder how she would view the state of education today, and the effect of absent OFWs (overseas Filipino workers) on the children’s development. If she were teaching today she’d probably regard the situation as apocalyptic. Strangely, I’ve never had the slightest inclination to become a teacher. I’ve always preferred to work alone; I do not have my mother’s rapport with people, and I never liked kids, not even when I was one.
Made with FlippingBook flipbook maker