I can really surprise myself with how much I can remember from my childhood. It's the first of August, and around twelve or thirteen years ago, I had my first communion on this day, at Christ the King Church along E. Rodriguez. Don't ask me why I remember it, because I don't know! It doesn't even matter anymore, given the current state of my religious beliefs, or lack thereof.
I was such a pious child back then. I was so fascinated with the lives of saints; I owned a book about them---I bought two copies, because the first one was confiscated in class and was never returned to me. They became the subjects of my drawings and paintings. I was scared that my sister would ridicule me for drawing saints, so I always claimed that I was doing it for a class project. I would even draw stars or write teachers' remarks on my drawings to make it seem more convincing.
Naturally, I wanted to be a nun when I grew up. I would say my prayers and talk to Jesus every night, before going to bed. I made sure that I attended mass every Sunday, and I was very convinced that I was going to hell if I broke that habit.
Things have changed so much since then. I am glad.
It also suddenly occurred to me that August 1 is my third grade English teacher's birthday.
(I guess the fact that these events fall the first day of the month make them stick to the mind more easily.)
Her name was Leticia Jacinto. I still remember her short gray hair, her petite frame and her glasses that made her look stern. Many of my classmates thought she was a tyrant, but I thought she was nice. She was around 65 when I became her student. She never married, and she didn't have any kids. She lived with her relatives only a few blocks away from us, along Chico Street.
Ms. Jacinto taught at our school for such a long time that all four of us Pabellano daughters became her students. She was very acquainted with my family. Looking back, I find it terribly embarrassing how much of a brat I was back then. I remember one instance when I cried out loud in the classroom while quarreling with one of my classmates. Considering that she was a family acquaintance, I expected her to defend me and shower me with attention. (I apologize for my eight-year-old self.)
Having her attention wasn't always positive, though. She had an annoying habit of pointing out in front of the entire class that our family was very well-off because my parents owned a travel agency (they own a recruitment agency, by the way). The news even reached the other sections in my batch! She really made the word get around. I didn't see the point.
I will never forget her for her unique way of saying "thank you"---she pronounced the A in "thank" like one would pronounce the O in "tongue", and she insisted that all of her students say it in the same way. "Goooood-BYe and THOUUUNGKE you!... MISS. Ja-cin-TOOOO!" we would chant in robotic unison at the end of each class.
Sadly, Ms. Jacinto has been gone for a long time now. I still wonder where she got that idea of pronouncing "thank" in that way. Perhaps that was her own self-concocted way of making herself be remembered by her students. There were other remarkable things to remember her by, though---she was a great teacher. I no longer remember exactly what she taught us, but it would suffice to say that she left that impression.
So long, and thank you, Ms. Jacinto.
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