AS STUDENTS EXPECTED in the near future to become as productive members of society as we possibly could, we have once in our lives been asked by our teachers to compose theme papers written in English. I remember one particular time out of the many when I’ve been faced with the seemingly overwhelming task of writing such a theme composition. I was in grade three, and it was in the early part of the year. The students had just come back to school after a little more than two weeks of Christmas vacation—and as what we had expected the theme of our composition to be, our teacher asked us to write about what we did in our Christmas vacation. And she instructed us to write it as close as we could make it to a hundred words.
Just as we’d almost been programmed to do, I took out a piece of paper—the kind that grade three students were allowed to use—from my stuff, and started scribbling my rough draft.
What I wrote was this:
Just as we’d almost been programmed to do, I took out a piece of paper—the kind that grade three students were allowed to use—from my stuff, and started scribbling my rough draft.
What I wrote was this:
“As students expected in the near future to become as productive members of society as we possibly could, we are allowed a little more than two weeks’s worth of Christmas vacation every year, and this is depending on what day December 25 appears in the calendar. It usually starts after the school’s Christmas Party—which is usually held before the start of the first Misa de Gallo, and in which the students rearrange their chairs in the class room to provide space for a makeshift dance floor—and ends after the Epiphany.
“I spent my Christmas vacation with my family.”
Having the intuition that what I had written was somewhere close to the 100 word-limit, I read what I have basically scribbled and counted how many words I had put in it. There were 98 words. (If you count them here, you’d also see that there really are 98 words, you can use the word count if you don’t trust yourself.)
I was immediately very pleased with myself. Imagine a theme paper only two words away from third-grade theme paper composition perfection!
So I thought of adding this up to my rough draft:
I was immediately very pleased with myself. Imagine a theme paper only two words away from third-grade theme paper composition perfection!
So I thought of adding this up to my rough draft:
“That’s it.”
With that done, I reread the entire thing, and counted the words another time just to be sure. With the additional two words, my composition was now comprised of exactly a hundred words, and it made me feel very satisfied.
It was at that time that I approached my teacher’s table and asked for a permission to go out of the classroom to buy a theme paper sheet. We had our official theme paper sheet, you see. It was a standard in our school.
“Finished, DC?” asked my teacher when I asked her permission.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered.
My teacher had a dubious look on her face. “Really, DC? A hundred words?”
“You bet your unreceived Christmas bonus it is, Mrs. Estrella,” I bragged.
Mrs. Estrella looked hurt when I said that. She started saying something, but she wasn’t able to say it. Her lips began to quiver.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” I said. “I didn’t mean to bring up that the government still hasn’t given you your Christmas bo—”
“How did you know, DC?” Mrs. Estrella was crying now, her face drenched with tears.
I clenched my fists against the end of my shorts. Being in grade school, we were required by the government to still wear shorts. I bit my lip, embarassed for the state I had placed Mrs. Estrella in. Fortunately, when I looked at my classmates behind me, I saw that they were all still very busy trying to come up with a hundred-word essay about their Christmas vacation, and they weren’t aware that Mrs. Estrella was crying. “Both my parents are working for the government, Ma’am,” I said. “They haven’t yet received their Christmas bonuses too.”
At that, Mrs. Estrella’s face brightened up a great deal. She wiped off her tears with her face towel, then beamed at me.
“DC,” she said, her face now as bright as the sun, “the plural for bonus is bonii. It should actually be ‘Christmas bonii.’ ”
The next school year I was transferred to what they called a “more advanced class”.
It was at that time that I approached my teacher’s table and asked for a permission to go out of the classroom to buy a theme paper sheet. We had our official theme paper sheet, you see. It was a standard in our school.
“Finished, DC?” asked my teacher when I asked her permission.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered.
My teacher had a dubious look on her face. “Really, DC? A hundred words?”
“You bet your unreceived Christmas bonus it is, Mrs. Estrella,” I bragged.
Mrs. Estrella looked hurt when I said that. She started saying something, but she wasn’t able to say it. Her lips began to quiver.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” I said. “I didn’t mean to bring up that the government still hasn’t given you your Christmas bo—”
“How did you know, DC?” Mrs. Estrella was crying now, her face drenched with tears.
I clenched my fists against the end of my shorts. Being in grade school, we were required by the government to still wear shorts. I bit my lip, embarassed for the state I had placed Mrs. Estrella in. Fortunately, when I looked at my classmates behind me, I saw that they were all still very busy trying to come up with a hundred-word essay about their Christmas vacation, and they weren’t aware that Mrs. Estrella was crying. “Both my parents are working for the government, Ma’am,” I said. “They haven’t yet received their Christmas bonuses too.”
At that, Mrs. Estrella’s face brightened up a great deal. She wiped off her tears with her face towel, then beamed at me.
“DC,” she said, her face now as bright as the sun, “the plural for bonus is bonii. It should actually be ‘Christmas bonii.’ ”
The next school year I was transferred to what they called a “more advanced class”.
