Onilde, my literature teacher
She was not the prettiest in the school nor the nicest, but she was the strictest. So much so that she had earned the nickname “Scourge”, because at that time there was a novel where there was a “crazy and cruel teacher” who had that name.
Her reputation for punishing unruly children frightened the students and delighted the parents, who always knew that the character of that teacher would make the children not only learn, but also be obedient and respectful. That teacher's name was Onilde Limpio and she was my 2nd, 5th and 6th grade teacher.
I hope you get Onilde this year. You will learn a lot with her,” my dad wished as he took me to school the first day and as if the universe was listening to him, Onilde was my teacher for three school years.
I remember her patience, her discipline, her impeccable way of going to the classroom, but above all, her way of treating me in particular. She, at an early age, saw my talent, the one that was barely growing and that was small grass imperceptible to some eyes. She was the first to discover my “gifts” as a writer, as a reader, and she allowed me to take “my little steps as a teacher” when I was only 8 years old and she asked me to explain to my classmates some tasks in the classroom.
While the other children came in only once a day to read or to the board, I could come in many times and in each class I would not only read the assigned book, but I would read other books that she would tell my dad to buy for me or that she would bring just for me to read. From each reading I had to make stories or drawings that I had to turn in to class. At first, I cried a lot because only I had to do those assignments and I missed out on hours of play and recreation, but then, over time, I understood that she was trying to “develop” some skills in me that no one knew I had.
Pixabay
"You already did a 10-line story, now do a 20-line story!" -She would check my homework and put smiley faces on the paper as a sign that I had done well.
I remember that when I left school, I was already 12 years old, she gave me a chain and a heart-shaped charm, and a note that said that I was prepared for any academic challenge and that no matter how difficult it was to reach a goal, never doubt me. Already in that last year, I didn't care that they said I was the daughter of “Azote”, the crazy teacher at school, because at that time, I also saw her as a mother, one who had taught me a lot and who had always taken care of me.
Today I am a teacher and I am certain that she passed on to me my love for education, as well as my passion for reading and writing. I can say with guarded emotion that throughout my academic life I have had countless teachers and tutors who have been very important for my personal and student development, but I think it was Onilde who opened the door through which others later passed. Even today, when I put a smiley face on my students' exams as a sign that they did well, I think it is a tribute to her, which is part of the legacy that this teacher, who was not the prettiest or the nicest, knew how to leave in me.
The images are from my personal gallery and the text was translated with Deepl
This is my participation this week for our great friend @ericvancewalton's initiative: Memoir monday. If you want to participate, here's the link to the invitation post
What a wonderful memory! It always seems to be the toughest teachers that we remember most fondly! You were very lucky to have her three separate school years. I really appreciate your contribution to Memoir Monday again this week. Thank you and I wish you a wonderful evening!
Thanks to you for making this initiative, every week, a place to write, remember and embrace who we are. A beautiful evening and an excellent week to you, my friend.
Sending you an Ecency curation vote!
Thanks so much for the support, @ecency friends. Especially @melinda010100
Thanks so much for the support, @silverbloggers friends.
It's good you could remember her to say good things about her.
Thank you for your comment.
Onilde sounds amazing. Not only a teacher but part mentor older sister and mother!
I think you picked up where she left off, and it would be a privilege being taught by you :)
I remember that much later I find her and told her I was a literature teacher. With a smile on her lips she told me: “You had the makings of a teacher from an early age”. My chest swelled up. She had the ability to make me feel proud of myself and that's a good thing. A hug, my friend and thank you for your comment. Ah, bundle up for the cold. Regards