Teachers

"Where is Garret, Ma'am Bea?" a Grade 1 student asked me out of the blue. It was their recess time.

"He's having a class," I  replied.  Wondering how she knew Garret, I asked, "How do you know Garret?"

She said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Classmate man mi pag Kinder 1." (We were classmates in Kinder1). She was referring to the time when we let Garret attend mainstream class.

"Ma'am Bea, ang imong duha ka anak kay special?" (Are both of them special  children?)

"Yes, they both are special."

And then,

"Mag teacher sad sila ig kadako nila?"

I  paused. "I do not know yet," I finally answered.

She smiled and ran to play with her classmates.

Will they be teachers too? The little girl asked perhaps wondering if Garret and Morgan, like most children, would want to be what their parents are.

I don't know yet, I answered her. But what I really wanted to say was that my two boys have been my teachers for as long as I can remember.

But how to explain this to a 6-year-old?

Perhaps like this: That teachers are people who make you want to be a better person. Teachers are those who teach you love, kindness, compassion. Teachers are those who teach you to be brave. And they do this unknowingly. In the nameless, wordless acts of everyday.

Will they be teachers too? The little girl asked. Maybe tomorrow, when she asks again, I'll answer very simply,

They already are, sweetheart. They already are.