The “Thank you” was given on a Sunday, May 11 2008. The author said, “I had to read/speak (I didn't have time to memorize it; I trashed everything I wrote before Friday -- it just wasn't working for me -- and managed to finish that one on Saturday at 5:00 in the morning.) I don't think I went over the allotted 5 minutes. And apparently, it caused some of my teachers to go teary-eyed. I've had several people point out that I sounded different. I haven't seen the video, so I'm not sure if it's good or bad. When I was speaking, I was too busy making sure that the words don't come out slurred.”
Good afternoon.
I was rather paralyzed by the thought of addressing a crowd of 1400 people. In fact, I lived in the fear of pulling a Janina-esque stunt. Although it could serve as an ice breaker and an easy joke, it never occurred to me to consider even a parody of it because that is not what I was brought up to be like by the people I am honoring this afternoon: the parents and the teachers.
Our parents began teaching us from the day we were brought home. They taught us how to walk, talk and play nice with other kids.
They gave us everything we needed and more; back then and until now. A constant gift from them is their presence, as well as their understanding, support and love; our parents are those who relentlessly supported us, unconditionally cared for and loved us. They tried their hardest to understand us and make us understand them.
They carried us proudly when we were wrapped in blankets and will be escorting us on stage today as proudly as they did back then.
They never forgot or will forget about us and neither should we forget them, what and how much they've done for us, despite the times we demanded, yelled or blamed them when it seems as though we’re not quite on the same page.
Somebody once said to me, “walang kurso na nagtuturo kung paano maging magulang.”
That somebody was a teacher at this institution. She was formerly my English teacher.
Inside the classroom, she taught me how to write essays, research papers, and stories. She made me keep a journal which she would read every week and write comments on. I kept every paper I wrote for her classes; each paper has annotations written in red ink on the margins. A daily dose of an essay and a journal entry is the reason why I have accomplishments in writing. Outside class hours, she would ask me to walk with her. Outside the classroom, she would continue our lessons over lunch or drinks, about things of a more personal nature. She made me write, listen, ask and talk. Actually, she’s still trying to make me talk. She told me of her troubles and listened to mine. She valued my opinions as much as I valued hers.
She was officially my teacher at this institution for six months. But she remains as my teacher still. Two years and I’ve only quite recently thanked her for it.
Of course, I also value what my other teachers had done for me. I spent 10 hours every day for the past four months in the faculty room, trying to complete my 400 hours. They greeted me every morning, invited me to eat with them at lunch, exchanged stories, and insisted that I join them during scrabble matches and escapades of getting late afternoons snacks. Although they’re a mismatched bunch, they can be construed as a second family.
I've been reading a book, in which the character was asked by his college professor how he would like to be called as. The character replied by giving him his nickname; a name his friends know him as, the character said.
And the professor told him, “I hope that one day you will think of me as your friend.”
That is the kind of environment we have at this institution; we have teachers who are approachable, people we can sometimes share a laugh and a meal with. People we turn to for help. People we can be on good terms with, as long as we don’t forget ourselves.
They can be our friends. As long as you do your homework and turn up for classes.
But sometimes, students forget; they become demanding tyrants, presumptuous, overconfident and manipulative. They start taking teachers for granted.
Our teachers are brilliant minds with families and lives of their own - yet they spend precious hours, days and immeasurable effort to educate us. I've seen teachers who had taken the time, patience and effort to land us where we are at. At the beginning, they helped with our schedules. Now, they are making sure that our graduation goes smoothly.
I've had teachers at this institution who are intelligent, skilled and even overqualified. However, they chose to remain and endure because they wanted their students to learn despite the times when students are insensitive, oblivious and inconsiderate.
My former English teacher taught the students because she wanted them to realize that through education they will learn how to consider the opportunities presented to them; learn to ask how and what they can do to contribute to the betterment of the community, of the society, of the country.
Graduates, we can only imagine the times we drove our teachers crazy and can only be in awe to see them still.
Teachers are our parents inside the classroom, just as how parents are the teachers inside our homes; they’re both mentors. They taught us respect and responsibility. Both our parents and our teachers unquestionably cared for us and our well-being. They are the ones we turn to for help.
Both parents and teachers are the picture of dedication. Unfortunately, both are equally overworked and under appreciated.
Quoting the character I mentioned earlier, “We all need teachers in our lives. And mine was sitting in front of me.”
I see mentors celebrating with us today.
Yet, we rarely voiced our gratitude.
So I stand here, honoring our parents and teachers. On behalf of Class 2008 -- I thank you for everything and hope that what we choose to become henceforth, will be a fitting tribute to you and the things you've done for us.
Thank you.
The “thank you” was written and shared by Sara Garces.
[And you know me, I just love making people scream in horror (next best thing to making them talk or rant) so of course I had to share it here.]
Sara would have kept her silence about the speech (besides her informing me about when it would be delivered, the horror of trying to write one, and that she wished she were in my Oral Comm class).
Except on a Monday, May 12 2008, I received a message from someone whom Oso used to fondly call Jollibee, “Hi mia! How r u na? Twas our graduation yest. Sara gave a speech as tribute to parents n mentors. Mostly twas about u J u shld hav bn der. Twas very touchng. Naiyak nga ako :)”
So I told Sara, “Post it.”
Why didn’t I go?
I didn’t want to cry in front of 1 400 people.
I chose to cry instead in private and that meant in front of five cats.
So, to Sara Graces (and in behalf of parents and teachers) congratulations on your Leadership Award and we would like to thank you. I personally would like to thank you for being one of those people who can reduce me to bawling happy tears.
[Recently, it was Biboy clearly saying to me, “I love you, Inay. Miss you.”]
And someday Sara will choose to become a teacher, too…
And God save her students.
[Okay, Sara’s screaming already and Kev’s diabolically laughing.]
To the graduates, go forth and multiply like Gremlins, hack the world to save the planet, and wreak beautiful havoc! Yeah, unemployment!
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