Saturday, September 6, 2008

Falling in Love with a Teacher: An Ode to Brother Patrick

September 5th is one day that holds a special place in my heart. Throughout the country, this day is celebrated as ‘Teachers Day’ – a day to honor all teachers. This day was created by our second president, S.Radhakrishnan, who was also an academic philosopher (and probably an anal nit-picky Virgo).


To be honest, I never really got along with most of my teachers. Who could blame me? I was always stuck with teachers who were either menopausal and took out their frustrations of their lost youth over young impressionable children; or with aging man-hating spinsters (*cough-cough-closest dykes-cough-cough*) who went all fem-a-nazi on us. The fact that I spent majority of my educational years in all-boys-catholic-school just made matters worse for me. Now some of you might think a gay twinkling schoolboy like me would have enjoyed being surrounded by all that budding testosterone. True, I would have enjoyed that, but my fellow classmates were ug-um-let’s just say they ‘offended my lady-like sensibilities’.


However, there was one teacher who made all those years of school worthwhile – Brother Patrick. An Irish catholic priest who came all the way from Belfast, Brother Patrick was like one of heaven’s angels who had descended upon earth to make my sixth grade year the best school year of my life. A thick tuft of ebony hair and sparkling eyes that resembled the lush Irish countryside, he made my heart flutter each time he passed by our school corridors. He first came to our school when I was in the fourth grade and since then I had developed one of the biggest crushes on him ever. Some of you might think that might have been a bit too early to develop a crush – even a gay crush, but I’ve always known I was gay since a really long time (since I was 5 actually and saw Madonna’s Like a Prayer video – long story). When I discovered that he would be assigned to teach our class in the sixth grade, my heart did a triple somersault leap into the air.


Usually I would always sit in the last two rows of my classroom, spending all my day doodling images of my favorite cartoon show Jem and the Holograms (the most gaylicious cartoon ever), however, for the sake of Brother Patrick, I sat in the front row smack in front of the teacher’s desk, where I could get the best view of him. Although his dreamy Irish accent made it a bit hard for me to focus on his class, as I’d be swooning with delight on the inside, his was the only class I paid attention in – a bit too much attention actually. While others would probably just hear his lecture, or laugh at the odd joke here or there (he had a darling sense of humor), I would notice the way his lips moved as he rolled his R’s or pursed his P’s. I’d love how the tip of his tongue would thrust against his front teeth for the T’s, and how his tongue would roll at the L’s. Needless to say I was thinking of better things he could do with his tongue.


It was a challenge though, as he taught a subject I used to abhor – science. The science teacher’s I’ve had almost all my school-life were boring mindless drones that resembled extra’s from Night of the Living Dead. However, Brother Patrick sparked a sudden passion within me for science. True, it died down after the sixth grade, but while it burned within me, it was a bright flame, that was partially fueled by the massive crush I had on him. He was such an entertaining teacher. He would make us sing formulae for elements and equations to help us remember them. He would play games in the form of Pictionary or Charades in order to make learning more interactive. There would be little skits where we would demonstrate the laws of physics in practical day-to-day life. And we’d have such great projects that made doing homework so much fun. And even though I was endlessly teased about it, I really was the teacher’s pet in his class. I would always be the first to raise my hand for a question – even if I didn’t know the answer, just hearing him call out my name would make me blush like a ripe tomato. Lucky for me, I was a good guesser, so managed to get almost all the questions correct, and was always rewarded by a friendly pat on my back – which totally sent shivers down my spine.


Sometimes just for the sake of livening things up, Brother Patrick would take us outside the classroom, and out to the playground, where he’d make us do crazy fun stuff to teach us. We would have swinging contests (I’d always win them) to learn about oscillation. We’d use the see-saw to learn about the lever (effort, fulcrum, and load). We’d whirl around like dervishes and fall onto the ground in order to learn how to feel our heartbeat rise and then fall eventually. We had a pet caterpillar that was kept in a large glass case in our classroom, where we’d watch it eventually spin its cocoon, and later turn into a butterfly. When Brother Patrick tried to release it, the butterfly fluttered gently away, but then returned to rest upon his shoulder. The entire class laughed, but I could tell the butterfly did that because it could sense he had a good soul.


During PTA meetings, I would so drag my parents only to meet him. Unlike the other teachers, who would constantly complain that I sit ‘lost’ in their classes and keep doodling in my notebook, Brother Patrick would always say I was a ‘fine young lad with a brilliant mind’. On the outside I smiled brightly with my chest swollen with pride. On the inside, I was like Tracy Turnblad from Hairspray the Musical, singing “I Can Hear the Bells”.





For some reason, I felt deep down inside, Brother Patrick was gay. Although he never made any clear indication of it, he did leave subtle signs of it that I with my highly attuned ‘gaydar’ seemed to pick up quite easily. For instance, the extracurricular activity he was assigned with was Drama and Theater, and since the time he first joined us, he would choose the gayest musicals ever to be performed. First it was Cats, which solely comprised of the cast dressed up in cat-suits and prancing around stage belting power ballads. Then it was The Wiz, a modern day updated version of the Wizard of OZ, the gayest tale ever! And with me, it was Joseph and his Technicolor Coat, a musical where Joseph was gifted a fabulous sparkling rainbow coat by his father, and his brothers got so jealous that they beat him up for it. The only kind of men that I know of, who would beat someone up for a sparkling rainbow coat, are evil drag queens from the lower-east side of New York.


Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I felt he had a little skip in his walk that might have also indicated him being gay. After all, his pleated white robes did resemble a long skirt at times, especially when he’d run across the corridors (something the other teachers and Brothers’ frowned upon) to get to his various classes. Sometimes I wondered what he would wear under his robes, because sometimes one could get a clear outline of his rather sculpted butt when he would bend over to pick up a pencil (kinda like the “Bend and Snap” from Legally Blonde).


The best was during the Christmas pageant. Our class had to re-enact the birth of Christ, and I played the Virgin Mary – could I be gayer? Backstage I was totally psyched up. Not only was I playing the role of the Virgin Mary (or as the Italians call her – Madonna), but I got a chance to wear a fabulous wig, with full makeup, and a stunning white gown with pantyhose and silver pumps, and not risk getting beaten up. Brother Patrick was in charge of costumes, and he claimed he made a special effort for mine, and he personally helped me put on my lipstick. Once applied, he made me purse my lips upon a tissue paper to prevent blotchiness, and then made me look in the mirror and whispered in my ear, “You look smashing darling, blow a kiss because you look lovely”. If that’s not gay, I don’t know what is?


During the Teacher’s Day celebrations at school, we would have a special assembly where the students would perform something to honor the teachers. Although such things were usually done by the senior classes, I pulled some strings (i.e. threw a sobbing diva fit) and got our class to perform something special for Brother Patrick – a rendition of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling”. By the end of it, he had tears in his warm kind eyes.


Afterwards, I stayed back after school to help with clearing up the assembly hall; I went over to Brother Patrick’s chambers that were located on school grounds with a special present for him. When I handed the gift-wrapped package to him, he smiled and said I shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble. Inside was a handmade card where a likeness of him was drawn as an angel, with the words, The Lord sent us an angel in the form of a teacher, Happy Teacher’s Day Brother Patrick. Along with that, there was a book of Irish poetry, and a vanilla candle that was shaped in the form of an angel. He was so overwhelmed with joy that he embraced me with a big bear hug that in my mind lasted a blissful eternity, followed by a tender kiss on my forehead, which I still remember till this day.


As the school year came to an end, I went over to Brother Patrick’s chambers to discuss something, when I happened to see him packing his things in a brown box. Upon my asking, he informed me that he was summoned to go teach children at a small village near the Himalayas where a new convent had opened. I was crushed, but it took every ounce of strength within me to smile and wish him all the best and not shed a single tear. However, I became a sobbing mess of phlegm the minute he mentioned that in all his years teaching at our school, I was one student who would always have a special place in his heart. He hugged me and calmed me down, assuring me that no matter what happens, he’ll always include me in his prayers. I mustered a smile at his gentle words of encouragement, but my heart truly was crushed at his departure.


For almost two months, I went into a period of silent melancholy. School was never the same without Brother Patrick. No longer did I have a passion for Science, let alone school in general. No longer did I sit in the front row and raise hands to answer a question. There was no point in doing so, none of the teachers could hold a candle to Brother Patrick and his beautiful presence and charmingly cute Irish accent.


I had almost lost hope, till the next September the 5th, when we had another Teacher’s Day celebration in school. Throughout the special assembly, I squatted in a quiet corner, reading one of my mom’s Mills and Boons novella (it was my idea of ‘porn’), when in the midst of it all, a special announcement was being made by a familiar voice. It was Brother Patrick! He was invited to be the special guest at this year’s celebration. My heartbeat began to resemble a dribbling basketball being pounded against my chest as I tossed away the novella and sat in attention, looking at his beautiful presence up on stage. He spoke about what it meant to be a teacher in India, especially in our school. His accent was still charming, and his eyes still sparkled like emeralds, and his smile was still as youthful and joyous as ever. Once his speech was over, he received a thunderous applause – he had charmed all teachers and all students under him, especially lil ol moi.


Once the celebrations were over, he was surrounded by a hoard of students clamoring for his attention. He was kind and courteous to all. When he saw me in the crowd, he told me to meet him at the guest chambers. There, he had a special present for me, a silver crucifix pendant, which he said he prayed with to give blessings to me. I was so touched that I hugged him in a heartbeat with tears spilling out from my eyes.


I never heard from Brother Patrick after that day. Rumor had it that he was now travelling through convents in South East Asia, teaching underprivileged children and performing acts of Christian charity throughout. Sometimes he visits me in my dreams, where we’d have long jovial jaunts in the lush Irish countryside, indulging in delicious pies and goblets of Baileys. Sometimes I wonder how I would have turned out had Brother Patrick continued to teach us at school. Maybe I could have been a scientific scholar, maybe I could have been an honor student. Hell, for him, I would have even converted to Catholicism and taken a vow of priesthood, just to be close to him. But then again, maybe fate had only wanted us to spend a year together and learn whatever lessons we had to from each other.


Here are the lyrics to the song ‘For Good’ from the musical Wicked, a song that best can represent the bond between the two of us.





I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you

Because I knew you

I have been changed for good

And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for

But then, I guess we know
There's blame to share

And none of it seems to matter anymore

Like a comet pulled from orbit (Like a ship blown from its mooring)
As it passes a sun (By a wind off the sea)
Like a stream that meets a boulder (Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood)
Halfway through the wood

Who can say if I've been
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

I got a little lump in my throat at the end of the reading.

Such an amazin hearfelt post.

Love you for it!!!

*~mad munky~* said...

*hugs* what a lovely post :o) it's amazing when you're blessed with the brief presence of someone special like that...so sad that it can't go on for longer, but i guess it's all the more meaningful for it's brevity :o)

Unknown said...

This is sooo touching, it brought back memories of my school, of my beloved teachers who've made such a difference in my life, thank you for this wonderful post!!! :)

Anonymous said...

This is really touching... Nice write up