How My Sister Molds Me of What I Am Now

In my time, there was no preschool or kindergarten. A grade school children had to go through the rudiments of learning by a strict, disciplinarian teachers who looked like a tiger or a fierce animal when discipline is concerned. Children learned out of fear.

Inday Sita

My first teacher is my eldest sister. She was 23 years old when she handled my private lesson or tutorial in writing, arithmetic, and reading when I was in grade one.

Inday Elesita, our eldest sister followed up my writing lesson at home when my mother was busy or out to market.

And Inday Sita was of no difference from those teacher I mentioned although she had no teaching experience for she just my tutor. She was too strict, too cruel. She used to hit me when I couldn't catch up what she was teaching me.

She was also a strict disciplinarian. In learning to write my name, she had to put me on top of the table which was too difficult for me to get down when I wanted too for I couldn't reach the floor. I had no choice but to do her bid. I had to write my complete several times in several pages of the pad paper with no mistake.

Me and my first cousin Vicky

The Tutorial or Torture

I had to bear the pain I receive for my right hand from a ruler if I could make or write every letter of my first name. I struggled to perfect them while I was crying. My tears flooded my pad paper. I had to replace it with a dry one. We had a writing session around six o'clock in the evening after we had eaten our supper.

Since I was a beginnner, new experience, I couldn't hold the pencil properly. I couldn't make my handwriting straight or align with the lines on the paper. Before I finished a letter or two of my first name, I could imagine how fast the pencil eraser was consumed. I could also imagine how pieces of grade one pad paper were wasted and crumbled and thrown.

The Recollection

The day I Graduated from BEED with my eldest sister, Inday Sita

These scenarios of my early schooling were relayed to my sister while we were having a breakfast outside in one of the eateries in our place together with my wife, youngest daughter and grandson. As I recounted those challenging formative years of mine, she just grinned, smiled.

I was too grateful for her for what I am now, not only for her diligence, patience and moody attitude of teaching me or molding me to be a good writer of my name, but I was also very thankful to our later mother who taught me to be a practical mathematician, music lover, and teaching me the values of life.

Inday Elesita will turn 80 on October 6 while I will be 64 on October 13.

Inday Sita and me eating together at eatery