Where I Intended to Be

So, that was a nice way to spend the early part of my afternoon. After I got back, I went out to dinner with some teachers that I worked with last year. It was a special dinner for me because these were teachers that I worked with at the middle school that the town closed, so I hadn’t seen most of them in months.

The particular memory from yesterday that I want to hold on to (and the one that I alluded to in my somewhat slipshod post from last night) happened during dinner. We were all seated around this small table and sampling from a pretty standard selection of Japanese platters (sashimi, fried chicken, grilled eggplant, fried tofu, small pieces of marinated beef, croquettes…). About halfway through the meal, we went around the table and everyone talked about what they’d been up to recently. One teacher is currently working in an elementary school, and she explained that she has some really low level students, and that she’s trying to figure out what she can do to help them. This started a discussion about teaching methods and, ultimately, the Principal gave us his Philosophy of Education Monologue (hereafter: PoEM).

Let me explain some things about the PoEM. First of all, it has made its way into every dinner that I’ve ever had with this man. Just as we can be certain that the day star will rise, we can be certain that if I have dinner with him, he will at some point recite the PoEM. Secondly, the PoEM’s contents are incredibly difficult for me to understand. This is partially because the Principal uses really difficult Japanese (i.e.: many words that I don’t know yet), and partially due to him being at least three or four beers into the evening by the time that the PoEM is unveiled. Thirdly, the PoEM is long. Very long. Not as long as Dante, but definitely as long as Tennyson – we’re talking at least half an hour. I remember that during one particularly lengthy PoEM recital (perhaps it was sometime around Christmas last year?), I managed to drink two beers, text four friends, boil eight crab legs, eat some tempura, and contemplate the sociological implications of P = NP.* Fourthly, though the contents may vary, the general message of each PoEM is the same: schools should be stable, positive institutions where the students feel safe, nurtured, and respected. Lessons should be carefully constructed so that they are enjoyable while fulfilling the above obligations.
 
When I worked with this Principal at the middle school last year, I admit that I occasionally found it difficult to listen to the PoEM. It was sort of like the Friday night lectures that they had when I was in college. I was always interested in the topic, and I knew that I would be a better person for having listened to what the speaker had to say. Actually, now that I think about it, listening to the PoEM was EXACTLY like Friday night lecture – and my excuse for tuning out of both was the same: the words of wisdom, no matter how wise, were potentially difficult to understand, and the alternative involved alcohol and contemplating future public displays of absurdity.

Still, even though I couldn’t always fully appreciate the PoEM, there was a comfort in knowing that it would be there, waiting for us, at every dinner. In fact, I would go so far as to say that dinners weren’t proper dinners until we’d heard the PoEM, and they weren’t complete dinners unless the Vice Principal politely brought the recitation to a close.  

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the PoEM, and all these associations that I have with it, until yesterday evening. There we all were after four months, just as we’d been dozens of times before, talking and sharing things about our lives. And suddenly, naturally, without being forced or contrived, the PoEM was there in all of its 34 minute glory.

As I was listening to the Principal talk, I remember leaning back against the wall and reminiscing. I really did enjoy teaching at that middle school, although it was always kind of a problem for me. My main middle school (the one that I still work at) is very demanding and I never felt as though I had enough time or energy left over for the second one. There were so many things I wanted to do at that school, and the teachers and students really deserved better than what they got from me. Still, I don’t feel as though the staff ever held it against me, and they’ve always been kind. Maybe I can say here, that if my main middle school has been responsible for showing me the mind of my town (and the Japanese), then I think that the second middle school showed me the heart. I felt that last night, and it made me very, very happy.

 *Not really. But I did make a two page list of songs I wanted to sing at karaoke after dinner.

Moving on to today…

Today’s memory is both short and sweet. It does, however, require that I introduce (more like reintroduce) a character. I give you:

Everyone’s Favorite
Some of you are quite familiar with this young man. He was a first year middle school student when I arrived in Japan, and he graduated last March. While I taught him, he was undeniably my favorite student (and my friends’ favorite, too). Our relationship is the stuff of legends – he called me Johnny and said the most ridiculous things in absolutely nonsensical English. I called him Buffy and harassed him constantly for wandering around the classroom barefoot and laying on the floor. He is notorious for the phrases: “I go to break a window.” “(Any verb form ever) + to the hospital.” and “I am funky boy.” He would often make me laugh so much that I had to leave the classroom.

Today I’d originally planned to go to a fish festival near my Friday elementary school, but the weather was rainy and so it was postponed. Finding myself at liberty, I decided to go to the middle school and watch a baseball game. My guys were playing against the team that they lost to at the regional tournament and I was curious to see how things would go now that they’re playing without the third graders (who have retired from their clubs).** As I pulled into the parking lot next to the baseball field, lo and behold, there he was: Everybody’s Favorite.

He was excited to see me. We’ve only talked twice since he graduated, and he had a lot of news to share – mostly about his new girlfriend. I asked him about his baseball team, and he told me he hated it because he wanted more time to see his girlfriend. I asked about school. He told me he hated it because he wanted more time to see his girlfriend. I asked him about his girlfriend. He told me that she has a part-time job and he hates it because it keeps him from spending more time with her.

 Ah, to be sixteen again.

After I got him away from the girlfriend topic (which took about twenty minutes as he was interested in telling me EVERYTHING about their relationship and his hopes for it), we settled into a nice conversation with topics that ranged from what he thought about his current classmates to how long I would be staying in Japan. He caught me up on some rather spectacular town gossip, and we discussed the differences between American and Japanese middle school/high school students.  

This memory is definitely a keeper; it’s nice to know that I can still have great conversations with my students even after they’ve gone on to high school. I wonder, sometimes, how aware they are of me and how strong of a presence I am in their lives. After today’s chat with Everybody’s Favorite, I felt grateful for this fourth year. It gave me the time to be a part of his life all the way through his middle school experience. It also gave me the chance to talk to him today and to see how his story is unfolding. And, quite honestly, that’s what keeps me coming back for more. I love my students’ stories – their hopes, their dreams, and their expectations (although I could do without the ones so blatantly focused on their raging hormones).

Generally speaking, these are the things that give me strength, and that help me look at my own future optimistically.

**As it turns out, they lost again, by the same score of 2-0. Sigh.

“Riding on the wings of light,
Dreaming dreams and holding tight.”