I have spent a good part of my life studying. Counting the years of elementary school, high school, plus two university degrees and several postgraduate courses, in total I could add up to almost thirty years.
Throughout this long journey I was fortunate to meet great teachers, people dedicated and committed to their profession, who took me into account at decisive moments in my life. To them I owe a good part of what I am still...
For the final exams of third grade I had only one concern: who would be my fourth grade teacher. In my school there were only two sections of that grade, one in charge of Miss Carmona and the other in charge of Miss Matute, I wanted to be with Miss Matute.
Miss Carmona was a very young woman, in her twenties, she had just graduated as a teacher and had only been at the school for two years.
Miss Matute, on the other hand, was an experienced teacher, with many years in the profession, and quite a strong character. Despite being over thirty years old, I saw her as a very pretty woman, with beautiful brown hair and incredible green eyes.
At every recess I would go to the classroom where Miss Matute was, I would make myself seen by her and almost always received the reward of her giving me some task. Sometimes she would send a message with me to another teacher and on other occasions she would ask me to bring her something from the school canteen.
She was very affectionate with me, which never ceased to surprise me, since all the boys complained about her harsh and sometimes even a little rough treatment.
At the beginning of the new school year I was very disappointed, I had been assigned to Miss Carmona's class, and I had to be content to continue seeing Miss Matute only at recess time.
Twelve years later I was in the middle of my university career as a teacher. I was as usual in one of the University cafeterias when an unforgettable voice called me by my last name: Colmenares...Colmenares...!
The tone was the same one I remembered from my elementary school days. When I turned around I could not believe it, a pretty lady, very smiling, with some gray hair showing on her forehead, and with shining green eyes, was calling my name, it was Miss Matute, who was about to retire and had enrolled in my same University to finish getting a teaching degree.
Since that afternoon I began to meet frequently with Miss Matute, we almost always coincided in one of the cafes and on several occasions she invited me to her house. Her eldest daughter was already married and she was very happy to be making her debut as grandmother of a beautiful little girl.
In my meetings with her I had the opportunity to make my dream come true from when I was in fourth grade, because somehow Miss Matute never abandoned her role as a teacher.
She was very happy that I had followed her same path, and in our conversations she would talk to me about the importance of our profession and the things that distinguished a good teacher. In every conversation with her I learned things that I had not been told in most courses. Her experience was a treasure she wanted to give me.
But Ms. Matute didn't just talk to me about the teaching profession. She could talk to me about anything, about her way of understanding life, about the problems of our country, or about the importance of getting involved in the teachers' struggles.
When I finished my university studies I went to work in another city, she continued to live in Caracas. It became more difficult for me to talk to her. Occasionally I would visit her when she came to the capital. We became close friends.
On one occasion I was a delegate of the "Colegio de Profesores de Venezuela", and she was part of the National Board of our union. Many times we coincided in union meetings.
On those occasions she would proudly introduce me to her colleagues, telling them that I had been her fourth grade student. We would look at each other's faces and laugh slyly, as if she knew I was talking about an old childhood dream.
I am publishing this post motivated by the initiative proposed by my friend @ericvancewalton, Memoir Monday, in the week thirty-seven. For more information click on the link.
Thank you for your time.
Images edited in Canva and Photoshop.
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