Mr. Stanley C. Catot was one of those rare teachers who leave an unforgettable mark on their students. Though he is no longer in this world, his influence lives on, etched into the memories of those lucky enough to have been his students. He was brilliant—so sharp that it seemed like he had a photographic memory. He could recall details effortlessly, making lessons feel like stories rather than lectures. His ability to teach was unmatched. He knew exactly how to break down complex ideas, ensuring we truly understood them rather than just memorized them.
But what made him even more special was his sense of humor. He loved to joke around, and we, of course, would laugh. Then, in a moment of realization, he would laugh too—maybe thinking, Look at these fools falling for it! And that would only make us laugh even harder. His laughter was contagious, creating an endless loop of joy in the classroom. It was in these moments that learning never felt like a burden.
Most of what I remember from high school, the lessons that truly stuck with me, came from him. He didn’t just teach for the sake of covering topics; he taught with purpose. He knew what would be useful in college, and that’s what he focused on. His approach was ahead of its time—he wasn’t just preparing us for exams; he was preparing us for the next big step in our education.
He was also incredibly supportive. When I won second place in a provincial editorial writing contest, I felt disappointed. Only second place, I thought. But Mr. Catot was proud. He saw value in that achievement when I struggled to. His belief in me mattered, and looking back, I wish I had the chance to learn more from him. He joined our school a bit late—by the time I was already in my second year—so my time under his guidance was short, but the impact he had on me was lasting.
Even after I left high school, his support didn’t end. When he found out I had graduated cum laude and the college valedictorian, my sister told me that he proudly told his students to be like me—or to aim even higher. That meant everything to me. He wasn’t just a teacher; he was a mentor who wanted his students to succeed long after they left his classroom.
His words still echo in my mind. He had a collection of sayings that, at the time, might have just seemed like everyday wisdom but now hold deeper meaning. Strike while the iron is hot. If you doubt, don’t. Love flies out of the window when poverty knocks at the door. Simple yet powerful, these phrases carry the weight of experience, and I often find myself reflecting on them.
He was strict, and not everyone appreciated that. Many students, especially those from another school where he once taught, found his methods too tough. But to me, he was fair. He expected discipline, effort, and respect—not because he wanted to be feared, but because he wanted his students to be their best. That’s what great teachers do. They push, they challenge, and sometimes they aren’t fully appreciated until much later.
I hope that wherever he is now, he is at peace. He may no longer be here, but the lessons he left behind remain, shaping the lives of those he taught. A teacher like him never truly disappears—his influence continues, passed on through the knowledge, wisdom, and laughter he shared with us.
