NOBILITY IN TEACHING
By Marciano Paroy Jr.
I was on my angst-filled mode one day last month and, as usual, tried to use my friend as my punching bag, my pain-absorber. I bemoaned the many arduous tasks that go with the job description of a college instructor.
“Wasn’t it said somewhere that teaching is the noblest profession?”
he started with a conciliatory tone that didn’t match the amused look in his eyes where I can almost read his real message: then why did you decide to become a teacher, you stupid fool?
“Noblest profession and all that blah-blah-blah,” I shot back and sulked even more, sipping my coffee noisily. With my obvious wallowing in self-pity, my friend turned to his monitor and went about his job of designing some steel projections to be used in an energy project he was currently involved with. I sighed as I wondered how delightful it may be to become an engineer.
Ah… teaching. The preparations I have to make before finding myself trapped in front of a green wall called a blackboard, with a sea of expectant faces blatantly sizing me up. Someone, I somehow know, is always waiting for that opportune moment when he could sense the slightest twinge of a doubt in my supposedly blank facial expression and there goes his hand up in the air and, with a triumphant tone, says “But what is the implication of that age-old theory to modern life?”
And there would my hands be, hanging on to the edge of the table for effect, but actually holding it for support lest I lose my balance or, worse, unconsciously give in to the act of scratching my head.
So before a bead of sweat enlarges itself into a vertical lake and cascade down my forehead, I would a whirlpool of abstractions that would give the smart-ass the impression that he didn’t at all lose me, or that I did my homework after all – when, in fact, he ends up befuddled even more. And since he could no longer make tail nor head of my soliloquy, he would feign comprehension with that nodding-head-with-a-pursed-lip stance that college instructors get treated toe everyday.
I even have a scoring sheet for the best nod. Top scores always go to the female student who thoughtfully presses her pen near her lips while she almost unnoticeably nods three times. I also like the tilted head perched on a slim index finger which serves as main support for the nod. It ties with the head perched on a clenched fist – which is exercised by both genders.
I have my doubts, though, on a student who nods with his or her head alone without the supporting effects of the fingers or the pen. For all I know, his or her hand may well be giving me the finger under the desk. Or if he or she appears to be writing while the head does its pre-programmed nod every ten minutes, what’s being scrawled on the notes may be: WHAT A BORE! or, HE HAS A ZIT TODAY! or, HE THINKS I’M TAKING DOWN NOTES BUT I’M SKETCHING HIS FACE USING CUBISM AND DISTORTION! or, THINGS TO BUY THIS PM.
And at the end of a day-long babble called a lecture, I would always be ready to head home, with a heavy briefcase containing papers to be graded. And as I shuffle through the students’ outputs and expect a very refreshing take on The Clouds by Aristophanes, I would find myself staring into a student’s yellow sheet with a two-sentence attempt at explanation before the poor soul had realistically given up and printed neatly at the center of the sheet the words: SIR, YOU ROCK.
For my ability during such moments to maintain an emotionless façade for a few minutes, I really must be noble. I really must be royal.
Yeah, yeah, noblest profession indeed.