On Teacher Appreciation Week

It’s hard passing up the opportunity to say Si Yuus Maase to our teachers in both public and private schools. These are the dedicated group whose specialty they convey generously with enthusiasm to our children between Kindergarten and high school.

Over 56 years ago, I met my first teacher at what’s now Sister Remedios. I remember her name as Madre Pia. She wrote the lyrics and music to the song Hago Inan I Lañget. I still sing that song today and miffed at artists between here and Guam who never did justice to my teacher’s original music composition.

I salute my teachers (many of whom have gone to claim their trophies in that goldmine in the sky) and the few who are still around. Individually and collectively, they have molded my character, worked on my academic development facing the challenges they had to endure as teachers in the late ’50s through the ’60s.

I learned my written Chamorro in grammar school. We started English in the third grade. Si Yuus Maase to Nan Che (Merced Torres) for her tutorship in the written vernacular and the late Mrs. Andrea C. Tenorio for her patience as she started us out with our first lessons in English. I started appreciating music when I met Mr. Frank Chong. He was one grand teacher who took us through the ropes, daily.

Most of our teachers understood the need to guide us through rudimentary lessons. None of them wasted time. They certainly understood the difficulty our parents had to endure when the naval administration turned the NMI over to Interior. One of my teachers stood out in mind (she paid for my tuna sandwich and Kool Aid) at a class Christmas Party. Eh, I went home announcing that I ate tuna sandwich. I’ve eaten it before but never knew it’s called a sandwich.

Those were the tough days in destitution. Many of our parents were fired from work when the Navy left the island. Yes, it was back to subsistence lifestyle, uprooted from the convenience of a money economy. We were very poor. Everything I wore was donated—shoes, pants and shirts. So poor that on graduation day, I bought myself a pair of safety shoes. You know, the one with a metal plate in front. My dad, an auto mechanic, thought I bought it for him. I said, “No way. That’s my graduation shoes, sir!” Safety shoes?

Indeed, my prayers to those who are no longer in our midst, including those who are still with us. Bien felis para hamyo. Ni ñgaian `nai siña bai` nanalo i likido na animon miyo yan dedikasion pot para in` kreansa ham fitme gi kareran mame antes. Si Yuus Maase!
[B] John S. DelRosario Jr.[/B] [I]As Gonno, Saipan[/I]