June 2005
Friday, June 3, 2005 — Secret cell phone
Junior high kids are not allowed to bring cell phones to school. But you really can’t regulate that so the unspoken rule (and there are so many, let me tell you), is that as long as it’s stowed and they don’t touch it during school, it’s okay. I walked into one of the third-year classrooms during cleaning time this afternoon and the homeroom teacher hadn’t arrived yet. The kids weren’t expecting me. I usually clean with first-year students, but have recently changed my routine so I can hang out with the third-years, who speak more English and know me better.
Admist the scouring, a boy was slouched over the podium at the front of the classroom showing off his cell phone to a guy friend. I didn’t even think, I just excitedly exclaimed, “Is that a cell phone?!” not because I wanted to take it from him, but because it’s a risk to bring it out during school time, so I never see them. He tried shoving it into his pocket when he saw me, but it was too late for that.
Thinking he was done for, he tried the salvage the situation by saying, “Shut up, please.” And he said it politely, too.
Knowing I had him under my grip, I figured the least I could do was drill some proper English into him. I used that opportunity to teach him to say, “Please don’t tell the teacher.” He pieced the meaning together in Japanese. I made him say it back to me. He was quite proud of himself, and said it to me a couple more times. When the homeroom teacher, who is also the third-years’ English teacher, finally came in, he became even more daring and said it very pointedly to me right in front of her. But she was busy talking to someone else, so she didn’t hear. I just wanted to kinda roll my eyes at his audacity but instead tried positive reinforcement instead. If that boy learns just one thing in English, I want it to be useful, after all.
Tuesday, June 7, 2005 — Caught, and proud of it
I spotted that same boy with the cell phone, Ryūtaro, yesterday near Tokushima Station as I biked to the youth center to swim. So at school today when I ran into him in the hallway, I casually mentioned it.
He was a little shocked and sketchy about it at first. I’m not really sure why. I wondered if maybe he’s not supposed to have a girlfriend or if a relationship forbidden by his family or something. But then he started warming up to the idea and got really into it.
“Was she cute?” he asked. “She’s small, isn’t she! Only 150 centimeters!” “Where did you see us?” “Were there any other people around us?” “Was it only you who saw us?”
Then he started crowing about it to his friends, as if showing off his girlfriend. “Hey! Vivi saw my girlfriend yesterday — DIDN’T YOU, VIVI?” Over and over. My students are so weird.
Thursday, June 9, 2005 — How I came to learn the Japanese word for “testicle”
I have not yet had the occasion where I actually needed to know the Japanese word for “testicle” yet. It came up once, I suppose, when my Japanese teacher said (in English) he’d taught one of his other students how to say, “Touch me again and I’ll cut your balls off,” to ward off unwanted attention when she was out. (Yeah. I could have gotten quite the education in profanity from my Japanese teacher, had I wanted.) She’s Caucasian, with blond hair, so I’m sure she got plenty of unwanted attention. But I really didn’t need the Japanese translation of that warning. After all, I don’t really get harassed and I already know how to say things like “pervert” and “sexual harassment,” so I’m think I’m covered.
But one learns the most intriguing things, even if inadvertently, from grade schoolers.
A couple weeks ago I was at elementary school teaching second-graders. The students were running amok in the controlled chaos known as lunch time. Some of the boys wanted to impress me. At least I think that’s what they were trying to do. They kept getting my attention and then doing something crazy with or to their body. For the one boy’s last stunt, he kicked his leg as high into the air as he could. It didn’t end well. He ended up on the floor, writhing, clutching his crotch, moaning what I came to understand as, “My balls … my balls …”
The interesting thing about the translation is that the word for “testicle” in Japanese is “kintama.” If my understanding is correct, that literally means “golden balls,” a translation that never fails to crack me up. “Kin” means “gold” in Japanese and “tama” means “ball.” Since there’s no singular-plural differentiation with Japanese nouns, thus, it can mean “golden balls.”
As fate would have it, the word came up again today, again at elementary school. I was teaching second-graders (what is it about that age?) at a different campus. At lunch time, I sat in my second-grade-size desk across from some girls. The entire time we were eating, the kids around me bombarded me with conversation. Given their vocabulary and the speed in which they spoke, I understood maybe 5 percent of what they were saying, usually less. This didn’t matter to them as they plowed cheerfully on in the conversation.
The two girls sitting across from me were doing the same and I was catching none of what they were saying until, in all the chatter, the word, “kintama” caught my ear. The meaning didn’t register right away. I just knew I’d heard the word before. They saw me pause as I tried to place the word. To speed things along, they started gesturing downward. I hastily stopped them, and said I understood. Their prattle kicked back into high gear.
I'm still mystified why they were talking about balls. But they seemed awfully earnest about it.
Sunday, June 19, 2005 — Really having to suffer the children
Sometimes, I feel really bad for animals. Especially when kids are involved.
I went to elementary school two weeks ago and found all the second-graders in one class crowded around one particular boy during break time. When I peeked over them (ah, the advantage of height … I’ll miss that …) I found him slicing up still-writhing worm into tiny pieces. Bleeeeaaaaaah. Then I spotted the reason for the vivisection: The kids were all gaping at little basket padding down with tissue in which laid a baby bird. I’d never seen one up-close before. Baby birds are quite ugly, aren’t they? This little bugger didn’t have feathers yet and looked sightless still.
Poor thing. I just know it doesn’t have a chance.
I mean, raised by second-graders? What with the constant jostling, and the touching, and the feeding it unvomited food? I watched in horror as the kids peered down at it, shoving each other for shoulder room and shaking the baby bird unintentionally. Yeah. Not a chance.
Last week as I was biking out of the school parking lot, a group of boys were standing around the front gate. I waved goodbye to them and they said something that took me a second to catch: “Snake! Snake!” They were all gathered around a small snake they’d found in the grass nearby and somehow picked it up and flung it onto the pavement. They were entertaining themselves by poking it with a stick, making it hiss agitatedly and silently at them with an open mouth. I couldn’t bear to watch more. Wild animals were never meant to have caretakers, but if they were, overenthusiastic second-graders and gleeful teen-age boys would not rank high on that list.
A non-animal related incident: When I left my calligraphy class on Wednesday, I searched my pockets as usual for my bike key to stick into my bike and get going. No bike key. At least I had a small list of places I could have dropped it, since I obviously had it when I’d arrived and the only place I’d gone was upstairs, to my teacher’s classroom. It had to be nearby.
My teacher enlisted the aid of her students and we scoured the bike area, the stairway up to her classroom, plus in and around her classroom, probably in many places I never even had went that evening. Still, no key. But it was dark and hard to see anything outside, too, so my teacher said she’d take a look the next day. She let me borrow her mom’s bike, since her mom never used it. What a relief; I had to go to a far-away elementary school the next day.
I got home and half an hour later, got a call from my teacher. Apparently, she’d called the students who’d gone home before I had to see if they’d seen the key, which was on a blue key chain with a McDonald’s logo on it. One boy, Takuya-kun, a second-grader (they are ALWAYS SECOND-GRADERS) from one of my elementary schools, gave a definitive “no” at first. Then he reevaluated, and came back saying, “Well … maybe I saw something …” which eventually turned into, “Okay, I saw a blue bike key on the stairway, so I picked it up. But it wasn’t mine. So I threw it across the street.”
My teacher, with a flashlight, found it in the parking lot across from her house. She taught me a new word when I came to pick my key up from her the next day: “itazura.” It means “mischievous.” And quite fitting, too: This is the boy who slapped me on my ass when I came to teach at his school.
Finally, a non-suffering anecdote about grade school kids: When I went to the far-away elementary school last week, Okinosu Elementary School, which took me 50 minutes by bike to get to, there was a boy in one of the first classes who had newly-shaven hair. I think boys with this haircut are the cutest things ever because they all look like mini-monks. In reality, those are usually the baseball boys.
This boy kept absent-mindedly rubbing his head, which made me want to rub his head, too. It just had the most fascinating-looking texture. I cast a furtive glance at the teacher — this wasn’t weird, wasn’t it? I thought to myself — and snuck in a few head-rubs here and there. Heh heh heh. I don’t know if it was okay, but I got a kick out of it. The boy looked a little perplexed at first but easily shrugged it off. He was one of the kids who chased me all the way to the building’s exit to yell, “Come again, okay?”
Monday, June. 20, 2005 — *sniff*
Some pictures of students at Kamona Junior High School as my time there comes to a close. This is my last week at Kamona. On Friday, I’ll be giving a short good-bye speech to the student body.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005 — Surprise
Every day after lunch but before fifth period, a group of third-year girls come to visit me. The size varies, but almost every time it includes Kazumi, Miho and Yuki. This trio of friends have been visiting me daily for a long time. When my sister came, we even made purikura together.
Today when they stopped by, they whipped out some good-bye presents for me. I was shocked. They gave me an Awa Odori porcelean doll and a noren, a traditional curtain that sits at the entrance of many doorways, dyed indigo, a specialty product of the Tokushiam region, and decorated with Awa Odori dances. The most wonderful thing they presented to me, though, was a decorated piece of nice cardboard, known as shikishi, in which each of them had written a special message to me IN ENGLISH and included a picture of the three of them.
It was so lovely and poignant. It is something I will definitely treasure and display as one of my favorite people and memories of Japan.
Thursday, June 23, 2005 — Mauled
Today was elementary school day, and I found myself at Kamona Elementary School. With the summer weather having set in, I wore a sleeveless shirt to school. You know it’s hot when you’re just standing there in an unair-conditioned room, dripping sweat.
Wearing a sleeveless shirt was a bad idea. I was teaching third- and first-graders. I’d taught them all once before, and I was a somewhat familiar face at the school. The students didn’t feel any hesitation when it came to being friendly. This worked to my disadvantage because it meant lots of lunging at me and grabbing at my arms and and poking me and pulling me down to their level.
Plus, being in Japan, it’s not like there’s a lot of hugging going on. I got used to the lack of tactile contact. Nor do I particularly like being touched when the weather is hot. So this was just a field day of unpleasant emotions as these kids mauled me, the devilish mischief plain on their faces. I can tolerate a lot but the combination of the rough treatment and being sweaty and tired meant I had to play the party-pooper and firmly tell the kids to stop.
But sometimes, “Stop” to them means “Keep doing it — with more force!” <sigh>
Friday, June 24, 2005 — Saying good-bye to Kamona
Leaving after two years is probably the perfect time to do so because the students who were first-years when I arrived are now third-years a few months’ away from graduating. If I’d stayed three years, they would have graduated by now and I’d be with students who didn’t know me nearly as well.
I had to say good-bye to my students at Kamona today. In hindsight, I now realize that I probably favor Kamona more than my far school, Kokufu, just because I have a better interaction with the staff. The kids are both schools are equally awesome (and infuriating) but I’m actually friends with some of the Kamona teachers whereas it’s strictly professional at Kokufu.
On my last day of high school, I prepared to go to school with such anticipation. There was no sadness; I was just looking forward to beginning the next step in my life. But something set me off that day, and I cried for a period and a half. I worried the same would happen today. I’m not much of a cryer (except for when it comes to movies … e.g., “Million Dollar Baby”) but once something sets me off, I can bawl like a spanked baby. I wasn’t going to shame myself in front of the school, nor freak out the teachers with dramatic displays of emotion.
Almost all the English teachers had been kind enough to let me essentially plan the last English lesson I’d have with all the classes. I’d plied the first- and second-years’ with a rapid-fire assault of English-language games. My last day at Kamona, I spent teaching three classes of third-year students. I can’t imagine it having ended any better.
For their “lesson,” I wanted to do something interactive that didn’t involve just English-language familiarity. I decided on a survey-like game that I wanted to call, “How well do you know your friends?” but no one would have understood that English, so I settled for, “Do you know your friends?”
First, I made them answer a variety of random questions like, “Who do you like better, Orange Range of Porno Graffiti (two popular bands)?” and “Where do you want to go, Iraq, Afghanistan or North Korea (the students had not yet learned, “Where would you rather go …”)?” This was to prevent any cheating later in the game.
Once they’d put down their own answers, I divided them into six groups. Then I’d ask questions like, “How many people (in the class) like Orange Range?” and the teams had to guess a number. Or, a question like, “What is the most popular food?” would require them deciding which food I’d listed — curry rice, yakisoba, tempura, etc. — was the most-liked in the class. They had to put their guesses on the board. Afterward, I’d take a handcount of the class and the team with the correct or closest answer got points.
My crowning jewel in this activity was the last question, “Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?” The kids are always asking me that; I wanted to turn the tables.
The question for the teams was, “How many people have a boyfriend or girlfriend?” Watching these kids was so hilarious. You could actually see them narrow their eyes and stare at their classmates, counting on their fingers the number of couples. You could hear the hushed, urgent whispering and arguing between teammates conferring over whether someone was in a couple or not.
These kids are, after all, teen-agers. Social standings are their life’s blood. I knew when it came to doing a handcount of those with significant others that some would be too shy or too secretive to raise their hands. It was no skin off my nose. In one class, a very shy someone asked if, during the handcount, everyone could close their eyes so no one could see who was raising their hand. As the kids are very bad about keeping their eyes closed when directed to, we let them keep their eyes open.
As you can imagine, this question generated the most discussion among the students. In most classes, the numbers of kids in relationships — at least those brave enough to announce it — was actually quite low, usually no more than 5 in a class of 38.
In one particular class — my favorite, actually — though, the guesses for how many people had a boyfriend or girlfriend were surprisingly high. One team guessed 15. I wondered what the outcome would be. When it came crunch time and I asked for a show of hands, for a moment there was complete silence and stillness. Then, suddenly, a half-dozen boys’ faces split into grins as they thrust their hands gleefully into the air: “HAI!” I don’t know if it comes across as funny to you but it was stitch-in-my-side hilarious to me.
It curious to see, though, that Ryo, the boy who was so excited I’d spotted him and his girlfriend, didn’t raise his hand. I wondered if he just wanted to keep to keep it quiet or if maybe they’d broken up. How fleeting love is.
A student assembly had been arranged for fifth period. I was to give my sayonara speech at that time. I was giving it in Japanese. Putting it together had been quite the task: First, I’d written it in English. Then, I’d asked a Japanese friend who’d lived in the U.S. to translate it for me. She sent me the Japanese version but instructed me to have a teacher look it over. I had Niu-sensei, the Kamona art teacher and my friend, correct it. Then I had to write out the Japanese into romaji — roman letters — so I’d be able to read it quickly.
I was pretty nervous about giving the speech, and asked Niu-sensei, if I could rehearse in front of her. During four period, we holed up in the art room and I recited it a couple of times with a few suggestions from Niu-sensei. She was quite the cheerleader. She’s cool that way.
Fifth period came, and suddenly I found myself at a podium, clutching flowers, facing 600 students and the teaching staff in the gym. I told the students how lucky I felt to have been assigned to Kamona. There’d been times when I’d really missed my family and home and they’d kept me going with their kindness and sense of humor. I told them I knew not all of them wanted to study English but that it was more important, I thought, to be open-minded to different people and ideas. Teaching them had been my best experience in Japan, I said, and if they ever came to the U.S., to visit me.
I finished the speech with a garbled, “dōmo arigatō gozaimashita,” and then walked off the stage to applause. Afterward, while the assembly continued with the athletic clubs announcing their big meets for the weekend, I sat in the back. Niu-sensei and Maeda-sensei, one of the English teachers, told me they thought my speech was wonderful.
Hashimoto-sensei, one of the two male English teachers approached me. “Your speech — it made me cry,” he said. I almost cried then, toppled by his shy, unexpected, wholly touching comment.
I’d told the students to come to the teachers’ room if they wanted to my address. When school ended, I found myself entertaining a stready stream of visitors. Some of them came, clutching letters and cameras. Michiyo, a third-year girl who I know is terrified of me — she flinches everytime I so much as look at her as if I might beat her — even managed a quavering, “O sewa ni narimashita” in gratitude, along with some other stuff that I didn’t understand but didn’t want to ask her to explain for fear she’d flee.
What I found particularly poignant was that several boys, including some adorable first-years, stopped by to ask for my address. They are just SO CUTE. I’d made good friends with the girls and even some of the third-year boys, but the younger they are, the shyer they tended to be.
At one point, I found myself surrounded by a group of third-year girls. They all handed me letters, several of them with the purikura — the photo stickers — they knew I coveted so much. We took pictures together and I told them I was proud of them, that they’d been such great English students. I told them they weren’t afraid to try saying things, and that was important, and that I would miss them very much. I really wanted to hug them.
My students were what kept me happy and entertained and sane during my two years here. They drove me crazy, too, but that just means you care the most about them. But the hugging, probably would have freaked my students out, if not the teachers as well.
So I settled for a few heart-felt words and the promise that I’d write them.
Saturday, June 25, 2005 — Making pottery
Niu-sensei, the art teacher, invited me to go make pottery today. She and a former student of hers, Tanaka-kun, with whom she’s still friends, picked me up this morning, along with another ALT — Nick from Massachusetts — and his brother, who was visiting, and we went to Otani, a nearby town famous for its pottery.
We arrived at a pottery studio owned by a friend of hers. Niu-sensei’s in with all the local artisans. We spent the day crafting pottery from clay on a manual wheel. Afterward, we tried our hand at the electric wheel. Finally, she took us next door to the community center to try a special noodle offered by the town that was a cross between udon and soba. I was starving by then, and the lunch was delicious.
All and all, it was quite an educational, fun way to spend the day.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005 — Sleeping in the living room
I tried sticking out as long as I could. But I finally had to move my futon into the living room to sleep with the air conditioner on rather than suffer the breezeless warmth of my bedroom.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005 — Batman Begins
I’ve been trying to go see the movie “Batman Begins” for some time now. I hoped the third time would be a charm. The first time, Sally and her boyfriend John came to my neighborhood so we could see it at the movie theater around the corner from my apartment. But it turned out to be in Japanese! Thank goodness we asked when we paid for tickets. Still, it was a massive disappointment.
The second time, I figured out which bus to take to Fuji Grand, a mall with the biggest movie theater in the prefecture. But I missed the right bus, which meant when I arrived, I missed the movie showing I’d wanted to see. If I stuck around for two hours more, I’d have been able to see the next one But that also meant sticking around for two hours more after the movie finished for the next bus back. Not exactly the way I wanted to spend the day. Disheartened, I hopped on the next bus back.
I had one last vacation day that I decided to take today because I didn’t have any classes. I rode my bike the 45 minutes to Fuji Grand. It was a long way away, but at least that mean I could arrive and leave whenever I wanted. While I wanted for the movie to start, I looked around. Shopping isn’t nearly as fun when you’re about to leave the country and have to watch luggage weight restrictions.
Batman Begins was worth it, though. I love Christian Bale. Gary Oldman, too.
Thursday, June 30, 2005 — Kibō!
While I was at Kamona, one day Hashimoto-sensei asked me what my favorite kanji — Japanese character — was. He wouldn’t give me any more information than that; apparently it was a secret. It was a precarious situation because I didn’t know where this idea was going, so I wasn’t sure what kind of character to choose. I picked a couple random ones that sounded good to me and then asked Hashimoto-sensei want he thought. He picked my kanji for “kibou,” which means “hope” or “wish.”
This turned out to be a serendipitous choice.
I went to elementary school today and one of my glasses was with the lone sixth-grade class. One of the games I played with them was Pictionary. This game, I have to say, went way better with the elementary sixth-graders rather than the junior high school first-years.
I’ve tried playing Pictionary with junior high kids before and it was an utter failure. They’re all hypersensitive to their peers, so they get super worried about their lack of drawing skills. Some flat out refuse to draw something. Others insist of me continuing to show them the flash card — with the picture — of what I want them to draw. I stopped playing Pictionary with junior high kids.
But these sixth-graders — they were lovely! They totally got into the game and enjoyed it for the easy, entertaining, stress-free activity that it’s supposed to be. I asked for volunteers — which I never do at the junior high school level, because NO ONE volunteers — and found myself overwhelmed. These kids just really, really wanted to draw.
The funniest of them, though, was this one boy in the back. He so very eagerly, even desperately, wanted to get a chance to draw. He’d raise his hand as high into the air was it would go, stretching and straining. “Kibōōōōōōōōōō! KIBŌŌŌŌŌŌŌŌŌŌŌŌŌŌŌ!” he howled excitedly.
I was so happy I knew what “kibō” meant. It made the situation that much more awesome.