My Teacher Is Not My Hero

She Was Everybody's Teacher

“I was told to be professional, and I did. I was told to be patient, indeed, endured the bullying of my students to me. I sacrificed my dignity to preserve the oath. Complaint and heard but wasn’t listen at all. Never in my years in teaching I encountered someone that could trigger my boiling point. A slap and tables are turned and served the culprit. I begged not just for my sake, but for my son’s, too. I knelt. I did. I was heard but neglected by the school and was dumped by a mother just as I was. I could’ve been a little patient. I could’ve saved even as small as a centavo coin. Sadly, I’m no fictional character. I’m human— worth the respect of everyone. And won’t and never tolerate me being trashed as a being. I just could not!” Tears just dropped from nowhere. Here I am being emotional again. I’ve read it for almost every day, and it still drowned me to sadness. 

Saturday. It’s visiting time. Such a good day to play with my mother in the grass, as I push her in her wheels. My mother was a teacher not until she stood for herself. Attempted to meet the deadline, and here she is, paralyzed in the moments of the past, that ruined just everything. 

She is a teacher that nags, because it’s the only way she can discipline students. She is a teacher of patience but was triggered not to. She may have the annoying voice or the uncomfortable face, or volcano-like eyebrows, still she is a teacher, and a mother of passion and love. I’m her first student, and I know her so well. She is not a hero, but she is my teacher. That’s more than enough.