The shoulders we stand on

"MISS Lim, Miss Lim, do you remember me?"

Early enough, as a child, I learned to associate that greeting with my mother's former students. I used to think they probably numbered in the millions, considering how we seemed to run into them everywhere, in the market, in banks, at restaurants, on all kinds of social occasions.

My mother started teaching as "Miss Lim" and stayed on for about 15 more years, first in the Quiapo Anglo-Chinese School and then at Saint Stephen's, both schools for Chinese-Filipinos. Because she was part of a then rare breed of young Chinese-Filipino graduates of exclusive girls' schools who were fluent in both Chinese and English, my mother was assigned quite a few courses, including English, math and home economics. Her students weren't quite into the millions but I'm sure they reached several hundreds over the years.

Now I find myself in a similar situation, running into my former students in all kinds of places. Because I've taught for some 20 years now, and because my professional background is so mixed, which means I've handled a variety of subjects here and overseas -- anthropology, public health, gender and sexuality, even veterinary medicine -- I do run into former students even more frequently than my mother.

I once boarded a plane in Tokyo and was greeted by a flight attendant, "Sir Tan, welcome!" Another time, while waiting at Manila's airport for a flight to Puerto Princesa City, a man approached me and said he was my former student and that his wife had requested him to make sure I got on the flight!

Most encounters are brief and fleeting but others may involve long conversations, sometimes over a bottle of beer or two. Some encounters can be quite emotional. I've met former students who were so excited they gave me bear hugs and squealed in delight, "Do you remember me?" On such occasion, skinny old me wanted to grunt back, "I would if you'd let go so I can see who you are."

Writing for the Inquirer has definitely increased the chances of "meeting up" with former students, at least by e-mail. Every now and then, one of them writes in, to comment on a column and to tell me they took one or some of my subjects "way back." Some keep a running correspondence, often alerting me to issues that matter to them, as parents, as business people, as Filipinos.

There are funny stories as well associated with all these encounters. One time I was checking in for a flight and the woman behind the counter told me she had taken one of my courses. Absentmindedly, I asked if it had been the "sex course," referring to Anthropology 187, a Sex and Culture subject that I handled for a few years, and which, you can imagine, was a rather popular course. Well, not for this woman. She was obviously quite offended, giving me an "Excooooose me" look. I've become more careful since then, allowing students to tell me what course they took.

Former students remind me how fast life moves on, especially when I can't remember their names, which is most of the time these days. And in an even more telling case, some time back I asked a new batch of students to tell me why they enrolled in my course, to which one young girl volunteered, "Sir, because my mother was your student and she told me to take you."

On a more serious note, the best occasions are those where you find former students are now peers. During a recent roundtable conference on a particularly complex public health issue, I found myself beaming with pride as participants -- all acknowledged experts in their field -- introduced themselves because a third of them turned out to be my former students.

I am most touched when approached by students whom I pushed quite hard in my classes (or, among graduate students, with their thesis or dissertation) but who still come back and actually thank me for not allowing them to take the easy way out. Surprisingly, quite a few of them come back asking for a letter of recommendation for a job or for graduate work and even if they got relatively low grades from me, I reserve the best of my letters for them, pointing out their tenacity and willingness to learn, and their ability to overcome all obstacles.

Former students tend to sustain me, especially during the times when I feel like teaching has become tedious. Academic institutions have their own share of mean-spirited people, and early this year I was about ready to throw in the towel, totally demoralized from harassment. Word spread about my plans but former students began to call or write in, urging me to reconsider. One student's advice was especially sagacious: "Don't even bother to fight, sir. Staying on and doing what you've been doing all these years will be enough to show you're right."

These encounters with former students, especially when they brim with wisdom, remind me of the cycles of teaching and learning. I think of the teachers who have made a difference in my life. Among the photographs I keep on my worktable is one of my doctoral adviser, Sjaak van der Geest of the University of Amsterdam.

Then, too, recently I had two rather unusual reunions with former mentors. Both occasions were symposia where I had to give a talk, and my teachers were among the audience, there to listen. I had mixed feelings knowing. On one hand, I did feel quite proud that they, the best of my teachers now well into retirement, had gone out of their way to come to my talk. But I was terribly humbled as well, realizing I still felt awed, and awkward in their presence.

To Dr. Teodulio Topacio Jr. and Dr. Virgilio Esguerra and all the great "Sirs" and "Ma'ms" in my life, this is an opportunity for me to say what I should have when we met: "Marami pong salamat [Thank you very much]. If each succeeding generation is able to do more, it is because there are shoulders to stand on, allowing us to look further afield. You let me stand on your shoulders, now others will have my shoulders." And I mean that, arthritic as those shoulders may become.

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