Every now and again I think of possible standup routines in my head. Perfect setups and punchlines that I think I stand a decent shot of delivering to a forgiving crowd. It’s not that I truly have aspirations of the career, but rather that teaching affords the same brand of ups and downs as it does a struggling comedian. Clawing for your audience’s attention. Managing the occasional heckler. Finishing a joke with brutal silence. And then suiting up tomorrow for another set, succeed or fail, or fail harder. Teachers, by choice or by force, are performers. Which is why I can’t help but do this:
And by choice or by force, my kids sit through this. Every now and again.
Teaching = Performing
Don’t sweat it
I’m still unaccustomed to the concept of living independently, by which I mean not living in my parent’s home. It’s a mixture of reasons: growing up in a Filipino household, admiring the life of the homebody and proudly living with the label of the mama’s boy. I couldn’t even last six months of an effort to “be my own man” because I missed my lola’s daily feasts waiting for me after a long day. But living with your parents comes with their own limitations, as I’m sure you all understand. So when I woke up this morning, completely buck-ass naked, tangled in bed with a light hangover, every intention to limit my sweat rate in Shenzhen’s spring sauna, I thought, “Damn, sometimes it’s good to be out on your own.”
Tiny marriage traditions
It was a little past eleven in the morning by the time this meal was ready. This time three years ago, I’d still have the pillow over my eyes to block out whatever sunlight made it past the shutters. And then my mom would march into my room again, rollers in, pleading me not to be late for 11:30 mass again.
At 9:30 am this morning, I promptly sprang out of bed, brushed my teeth, and began my new Sunday morning ritual.
Zen and the art of dressing up your students
The many reasons why I love teaching present themselves throughout any day like a revolving door of simple pleasures. On this particular day, spinning through that door was the realization that one day I would be a father.
Today marked the arrival of the Council of International Schools, which meant thirty universities from the United States visiting our high school in Shenzhen for the rare chance of attending an American college fair. Students arrived to their classrooms at 07:40 with pressed shirts and clean jackets, ready to leave strong first impressions, but as I passed by their door, a pair of boys flagged me over in distress. After a few successful attempts of wrinkling, untangling and stretching their ties, the boys’ trial-and-error approach to a proper knot finally lost its charm; they had ten minutes to report to the auditorium to begin the college fair, and desperation was setting.