A Letter to Santa

This is a phrase we use in Mexico to describe an ideal state of things or a series of ideal characteristic that someone/something should have; it originates from those annoyingly long wish lists that kids send to Santa demanding what they think they have earned through the year. As you grow old, you know better than that and you stop writing such letters. But just as a literary exercise, and if I were to describe what education should be like -at least in my understanding - I would think of the following metaphor:

Education should be like a banquet, an open one. Someone (an expert) has prepared the most exquisite menu for you, and you are cordially invited to join in. It should be the most democratic experience because who doesn't eat? who doesn't need food for thought? (of course there seems to be unusual cases of gluttony, fasting and anorexia as well, metaphorically speaking). Preparing your menu should take time and expertise. You can make it look easy, but everyone knows that there's much planning and thought in terms of its impact. Every time you serve a good menu you work towards the achievement of The Greater Good.

Because of that, serving such menu should be regarded as the noblest occupation in the world, not only because you are catering for everyone, also because you have the opportunity to affect other people's lives: you can make it the most pleasant experience or you can make people sick or poison their souls.

What have I done to be consistent with my beliefs? I work with students who come from both private and a public schools in Mexico and I treat them with the same respect and attention regardless of their origins, appearance, gender or intellectual level.

Why do I work as a teacher, regardless of the pay, the red tape and the extra hours it demands? I have worked for both UNAM and UP from the very moment I was certified to teach, 15 years ago because I believe that Public Education should be of the highest standards and be available to everyone.

My Background

My first recollection of my father as a teacher goes back to a Christmas celebration. I was maybe three or four years old, and my mother was preparing all the food for the celebration with the help of an aunt, as it was really a lot of food for a really big family!

The ones who couldn't help or didn't fit in the kitchen were waiting around in the living room, so my father started asking questions to kill time. "How's school?" he asked my older cousin, who was a third grader at the time. "I'm doing OK, but I don't understand math".

She shouldn't have said that. I mean, if she'd wanted to have a perfectly math-free Christmas Eve. Needless to say, my father didn't stop teaching my cousin a remedial class until he made sure she managed the four basic arithmetic operations. Her ordeal would finish with fractions and end with divisions.

So, what's difficult about math? -Asked my father.

I don't know... fractions. - Replied my already tired cousin rolling her eyes.

Oh, that's easy! Take this tortilla and fold it into two parts. How many parts do you have?

Two?

Right. Two, and what do you call them?

Fractions?

Yes, fractions but they are two halves. Now break the half into two. What do you get?

Nachos?

Yep, fry 'em and you get nachos too, but then you have a quarter.

Like the 25 cents coin?

I left the room to play with my cousins because seeing my father inflicting so much pain to a child on a holiday wasn't something you would have enjoyed, but when my cousin -after what seemed hours - came out to play with the rest of us she was the happiest girl in Mexico City.

"I can do math! I can do math!" She kept saying.

I believe that experience -without me knowing back then- may have played a role in my choice of becoming a teacher.