At First Grade, Miss Acedillo efficiently barnacles our intellectual thoughts and speech for the whole school day. I vowed never to open my mouth in fear of receiving a heap of her undivided preoccupation. I learned to fold my hands neatly on my desk top as we were trained to do and to always punctuate each sentence with the deferential ma’am. Valentin never caught on. Valentin is older than me by three months. “Due to this accident of birth, I have to call him Kuya,(1.)” I mumbled. But what I like about school is that I can call him by his given name. Kuya is a Tagalog verboten word within the school premises.
“Your stupid mistakes are getting more and more original,” the teacher lashes out to Valentin.
“Can’t speaka da English ‘cuz I tink in Tagalog.” He is independently cocky at times. “So, think in English,” she scolded.
Sometimes, this acerbic old spinster can be very profound. She turns to the whole class.
“What grade are you in, class?”
We answer in chorus: “Pers grade.”
“Say first grade,” she enunciated each word clearly to model for us. She lectures: “I’m trying to guide you into your first significant step to formal schooling. Listen carefully, first grade.”
“ Pers grade.”
“Say, first grade, not pers grade.”
“Say pers grade, not pers grade,” we painfully let out.
When the loud bell finally shattered the droning voices of the class repeating after her we dared not show our eagerness to leave the confines of the stifling learning climate until she formally dismissed the class with a sibilant, “Classs Disss-misssed.”
Once outside, our words brazenly come free, thick and fast. I let out a delayed reaction to the daily scolding my cousin receives.
“You’re a coconut-head, matigas ang ulo(2.),” I parrot the teacher.
“Oh yeah, watcha tink. Your stuck up; besides your a ninny,” Valentin counters.
Outside, we encounter Impong(3.) Menang’s favorite sitting area near the fresh madre cacao fence posts wearing lime-green foliage tops. In my barrio, fences bloom profusely.
“Paid any attention in class?" Impong Menang quizzed us, as we tarried over to her papag(4.). “To get ahead, one must learn English," she explained.
“What does she think of you?” she wanted to know.
“Have this inborn inability for English learning,” I confessed my teacher’s assessment.
“Anything interesting?” she forced me to reflect on the day’s school work.
“Dropped my book accidentally and exclaimed: “Ay Naku!(5)” Well, this English Only patrol commander pounced on me. “Singko(6) for every Tagalog utterance in school.” My total fine was ten centavos,” I recounted my misery.
“What if one has no cash?”
“Owes her utang(7) debts. It’s always a problem with that most crime-ridden sector in my class,” I replied.
