BY EDISON MARTE SICAD
STUDENT: “Sir, how can we apply this topic in real life? You teach us math as if we will become math teachers. We are taught English as if we will become grammarians. And science? Our teacher is not even a scientist!”
This attitude may seem to question the teacher’s competence or authority; and justify in labeling the student as smart aleck, kulang sa pansin, or plain snooty. But really, what makes studying this or that subject useful in real life?
For the student is only pointing at the elephant in the room that some “competent authorities” in the education sector refused to acknowledge: RELEVANCE.
To be honest (playing devil’s advocate), the teacher’s subject is deemed important because he was employed to teach it. In other words, the subject is relevant only because he is teaching it. The appreciation is self-serving—or contractual: perfunctory—nay ministerial; it could even be just for monetary reasons (which is reasonable enough).
Now, don’t get me wrong. I am also a teacher. However, the whole idea of teaching and learning becomes one-sided when we objectify our subjective selves: if a student says that math is useless, then that’s it, rebel; if a teacher says that math is important, it must be so, take it or leave it. Our ploy to rationalize is usually based on our presuppositions (which the other side may not fully grasp).
I have experienced these impressions from both sides. And I am tempted to conclude, “Let’s call a spade a spade.” The student must realize that the value of things is not always based on personal whims or judgment. He has to learn (and accept) that in real life, people do things out of duty and not out of expediency. However, the teacher must also admit that the student is partly correct. After all, it is his life that we are talking about. And in life, it is not just all about fact-checking—or memorizing; it is also about making meaning of those facts. In short, relevance.
Some teachers lament that even the teaching of history has somehow become a class drill of memorizing—a routinary quiz bee contest: instead of making sense of the details (ang saysay ng kasaysayan), the class is compartmentalizing the correct answers, preventing “discussions of oppositions and connections.”
As what historian Ambeth Ocampo wrote in his PDI column, “As I matured as a teacher I began to teach history as a formative rather than an informative subject. I learned that the magic of history was not in stray data but in connections that make the trivial relevant (italics mine).”
In my case, I have appreciated these connections or relevance of learning by reading books.
OF FINDING MEANING IN BOOKS
“A library card is more important than a report card.”
When I was a student, the library was my refuge: a sanctuary; sometimes an asylum. I felt at ease in its imposing silence; learning was self-directed; and reading books introduced me to ideas that freed my mind and made me realize that we could also be prisoners of our own minds.
By reading books, my learning became non-linear. And without the pressure of grades and limitations of class-time, reading made learning more organic: a sort of democratic endeavor: I chose what I wanted to learn; I knew why I was learning this or that subject; and, more importantly, learning became meaningful.
What else did I learn from reading books?
1. Despite its benefit, it’s no guarantee that the others would also love reading. As Harold Bloom exquisitely explained in his book How to Read and Why,
“…The pleasures of reading indeed are selfish rather than social. You cannot directly improve anyone else’s life by reading better or more deeply. I remain skeptical of the traditional social hope that care for others may be stimulated by the growth of individual imagination, and I am wary of any arguments whatsoever that connect the pleasures of solitary reading to the public good.”
The “selfish” pleasure that reading gives may not be suitable in a school setting.
2. Reading books could be educational; but it may not thrive in an educational system.
Why so? For Reading is not just a subject: fixed lessons and scheduled assessments. It is a way of life: self-paced learning and more reflective. That’s why Reading is not just a program to be implemented and evaluated; it is a culture to be cultivated and nourished. In other words, you cannot “program” students to appreciate reading books. It has to be taught by example: by the teacher’s own love for reading.
But the “zing” in reading may lead to an existential angst.
3. “So many books; so little time”. -Frank Zappa-
How I wished that I could just live my life reading books. I would even imagine that in heaven, there is a library where the reading happens for all eternity; and that in hell, there is a corner where the tearing and gnashing of books are glorified. Then, reality sets in: I won’t be able to read all the books that I wanted to read (The Great Books of the Western World canon is one among many).
So, how do I inspire students to read books?
I don’t (well, not directly).
In class, I would relate the lessons with the books I’ve read. Sometimes, a student would share his own readings.
There were times that an alumnus would ask me about book recommendations or engaging reading materials. I would then reply,
“Try reading The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho, and learn about your Personal Legend.”
“You may read Aquinas’ Five Proofs for the Existence of God to substantiate your reasoning about Faith.”
“The book of Helen Keller, The Story of My Life, may spark your interest in reading and motivate you into writing (For despite her disabilities—deaf, blind, and mute—she was able to write 14 books and over 400 speeches and essays).”
Sometimes, I question my career path: Am I really a teacher? or more suited as a librarian?
IN CLOSING, I hope and pray that teachers, in more ways than one, may continue to be relevant—especially in this Age of Copy and Paste—as students find personal meaning in their own learning./PN
