THIS year, 90 of my students will graduate from high school. They're not a big batch, it rarely is for Davao Christian High School, but I prefer it that way. It certainly becomes easier to know your students and feel a stronger sense of connection with them, as opposed to if I taught in the largest high school in the world, Pasig’s Rizal High School with its population of approximately 20,000 students.
Our school's graduating seniors have just returned from a two-night retreat filled with copious crying, terse open forums, and awkward last-minute confessions of sins and affections. More than a decade ago, during my own Senior's Retreat, our class' notorious hell raisers shocked us on the last night by suddenly crumpling to sobbing heaps.
Ahh high school... there is something about saying goodbye to high school life that pulls the heartstrings of even the most stoic of classmates. Seniors will view their last year in high school as an inevitable rite of passage that induces a huge ball of mixed emotions seemingly lodged somewhere in their guts, growing more and more conspicuous as the last day of classes approaches.
This March 29, I will see my 8th batch of seniors graduate. I admit graduation holds a different meaning for me as a teacher compared to the students. What I feel now is different from what I felt when it was my batchmates and I marching on the stage to receive our diplomas.
As a teacher, there is less apprehension of the unknown territory beyond high school. Yes, I am fearful of how the excesses and temptations of college can derail their lives. I am tremble at the thought of teenage parenthood, chronic academic failures, and addictions to partying, drinking, smoking, or drugs. But at the same time, I have to acknowledge the limits of my control as teacher, and how I now need to trust in God's purpose and guidance and my students' wisdom and values to guide them through the pitfalls of college life.
For teachers, the general vibe during graduation is more of thanksgiving, especially for students who graduated amidst red marks or death of a parent. It is wonderful to see students who used to run around the classroom as precocious sophomores with sweaty uniforms now wear their pristine white caps and gowns. There is also a quiet pride, and a hope that somehow, someway we've made a dent in their hearts and minds, that they would look back at their high school life and remember their teachers with fondness.
My student, Kit, wrote this note for me on our last class meeting. "I've often had this thought: For teachers, there will be a batrillion smart, pretty, interesting, memorable, amazing students -- batch after batch, bagong stock. But for students, nag-iisa si Maam na teacher sa science nung 2nd year, si Sir sa physics, si Maam nung entrep. Walang bagong stock, never malaos. Irreplaceable. I am always stung by this thought na unfair, kayo, special, once in a lifetime sa 'min. Kami, seasonal. Dami pang choices."
I want to end this piece with a response to Kit and her graduating batch. I cannot promise remembering all the names of my students five years from now. I cannot promise recalling all the funny or tearful classroom memories we've had. I cannot promise knowing all the plans and secrets they've told me through the years. This is just the same as how students will not be able to remember all the high school lessons they've had through the years.
However, there will always be only one Kit for me, one Wes, one Samantha, one Beverly, one Altoz, one Marie, one Sol, one Therese, one Jeremy, one Jose, one Earl, one Krishelle, one Hannah, one Dave, one DCHS Seniors Batch 2009. The lessons may stay the same, the activities may be similar, the students' jokes and antics may be recycled, year after year after year, but each batch will never be considered a 'stock,' like faceless merchandise moving down an assembly line. Each batch, each student is irreplaceable, unique, a treasure.
Amongst my co-teachers today are two veterans who were my teacher before and were teachers of the parents of some of the graduating seniors. It amazes me that after more than two decades of teaching, Maam Juezan and Sir Oca, can still reconnect with their old students. They might have forgotten some of the names, but their eyes still light up upon recognition and they still feel close enough to their former students to listen to their current problems, dispense advice, and pray for them.
Graduation is a rite of passage that may seem like goodbye for many, but for us teachers, it is just a temporary break for our students to explore the great world beyond. The connection, if the student desires, will never be broken. To our students, you may learn from new teachers, go to new cities and countries, and attain new successes, but you always remain part of our lives. We, your teachers, will still be here for you.
*****
Jocy L. So-Yeung teaches at Davao Christian High School.
I ask you to read this not because I can see my name there and I know I can relate to this article. But because we are batch 2009. This is inspired by us, this is made for us.
And if you need words, see if they matched mine. This is a comment I placed on the article online:
One and only Maam J ;p
I cried. I didn't expect you to actually mention our names, and all.
But it wasn't that. It was knowing for sure, in a way, that we would always have a home at DCHS. We will never be forgotten. And somehow, we're not really leaving, but we will leave something behind.
Thanks. ^.^
Batch 09.
♥