Joreb, my four year old, is officially a nursery student though he had already learned his alphabet, his first hundred numbers, colors, shapes, and more since he was two and a half to three years old. He can read one-syllable words and have memorized word for word at least two of his books. These books are not ten-pagers or less, either. These books are over twenty pages. He could also speak English, Bicol and Tagalog. We made sure that he learned his Tagalog first, especially since Filipino was one of my worst subjects in elementary school (along with Physical Education and Home Economics).
He cried the first day of school. I also did. I cried because I was not given the opportunity to bring him right into class. I had to helplessly stay inside the cab while my son, accompanied by my mom and the nanny, entered the gates to his school because I had to head on to work. I had to attend to my 7 am class as a college instructor.
Joreb did not just cry, according to those who witnessed it. He actually threw a tantrum. He kicked the doors of his classroom and was difficult to contain during the flag ceremony. From then on, I knew that he would be easily remembered in school. He was the only one in class, apparently, with such a hot temper.
The second day went off a little better and he was ever his most enthusiastic self. He cried again the day after Independence Day – a little break – because he thought there weren’t any other boys in class, and was only appeased by the sight of two boy classmates.
Friday came too soon for him, though. When told that there would be no classes tomorrow, Saturday, he replied with a “Bakit ganun?” (Why is that?)