Having the Last Word

Today was my final goodbye speech at my final junior high school.  Actually, it was my fourth goodbye speech for this school, which is quite a lot coming from a school that has less than 300 students.  This place has always been one of my hardest schools, because it was a place where I never really knew where I stood.  The teacher responsible for training me passed away three months into my job, which meant that the remaining English teachers had no time to explain what they wanted/expected/needed from me.

My first spring teacher change came, and I was left working with two incompetents and a school administration that was apathetic, if not at times downright hostile.  I recall one idealist young temporary teacher explaining the need to spend more time developing the students’ English skills being rebuked my crusty old men with, “Why bother when the kids can’t even speak Japanese?”  My most incompetent JTE stabbed one temporary teacher in the back, helping the young teacher prepare an demonstration class and then criticizing the class’ organization in the meeting with prefectural officials that followed.  She interrogated another young teacher whenever she came to talk to me.  She also made no apologies for asking people to prepare 50 minutes classes on five minutes notice.

Where does an ALT fit in all of this?  When you’re the lowest rung on a ladder that seems happy to tear itself apart, what do you do?  And what do you do when the kids you not only study with, but live alongside, are the ones who end up getting screwed over because of all this?  Ultimately, I thanked God I knew my Japanese and blazed my own trail for two years, working with the incompentents where I could, ignoring the crusty old men who spent all day in the staff room (easy enough to do), and following in the footsteps of Douglas MacArthur, I invaded.  I helped teach math, I helped teach art, I did calligraphy and contributed to social studies classes.  If there was an open-minded teacher and a willing group of students, that’s where I was.  I did my job and then some.  I didn’t ask for permission, I made no apologies for what I did– I kicked myself free from the system and did what I came here to do.  Finally, this April came and I breathed a sigh of relief as things changed for the better.  One incompetent and the old guard are largely gone– and their replacements are considerably more English-friendly.   Even the remaining incompetent has gone up a notch in this new friendly work environment.  I no longer have to be a renegade to do my job.

But a few members of the old guard remain– the V. Principal and the Office Guy.  And then the Principal’s changed.  The old principal, the one guy at the top who had my back and privately approved of my renegade behavior was gone, replaced by a guy who didn’t know me and who would likely be getting his image of me from the guy who hated me the most, the V.P.  I feel that if I ever get the V.P. to both make eye contact with me and smile, the universe itself might collapse.  The V.P. and his Office Guy stooge wasted no time, insulting me at the beginning of the year party and refusing to call me by my full name during the school opening ceremony, prompting nervous laughter by a number of students, teachers, and parents.

Which brings us to today.  What can I expect from a school whose authority I’ve actively ignored, whose English teachers have had a history of being unhelpful, and whose leadership had turned downright unfriendly?  A handshake and showing me the door may even have been asking me too much.

But I guess, somewhere in all of that, I did something right.  I got to give three very personal speeches to each grade two weeks ago, during morning meetings.  And finally, today’s closing ceremony came.  The new principal was giving a run-down of everything  that has happened this semester.  In his final comments, he included the fact that I’m leaving, something he could easily have overlooked or made light of, but didn’t.  I even got a bow and a “sewa ni narimashita” (お世話になりました), which I didn’t expect.  A student came up, made a speech in English and gave me a bunch of flowers.  And then I got to give my speech.

I could have used this time to ask why I had to have it so hard at this school, why the administration thought it so necessary to be so close-minded, why I had to make myself a virtual outsider just to get my job done, but I didn’t, because the incompetents and the crusty old men weren’t the only ones in this crowd.  The crowd was nearly three-hundred students who would scream my name from across the street if they saw me, and full of teachers from every subject who were willing to give me something to do and something to contribute when my English department wouldn’t– and it had two new English teachers who had been nothing but supportive since April.

So I told the truth– I was happy to be here, I was greatful for the memories.  I explained what these three years mean to me now, and what they’ll mean to me when I go home.  I explained to the students that school is the birthplace of dreams, and that I was glad to be a part of that with them.  I finished with a heart-felt thank you and came down from the stage to roaring applause.  The V.P. sat there with a face that looked like he was eating a whole tub of umeboshi, but it didn’t matter.  The ceremony was closed, and the first semester ended.

And I got the last word.

(Well, unless you count the ‘Safety Discussion’ with the students that followed closing ceremonies.. in which the students were told to avoid drowning in the river and, if possible, not to get bitten by monkeys (wtf?) over the summer vacation season.)

(Oh, and teachers approached and asked if they could use the ‘School is the birthplace of dreams’ slogan in the lectures.  I happily agreed.)

Taking Stock

“If you scream in your sleep
Or collapse in a heap
Or spontaneously weep
Then you know you’re in deep…”
— Barenaked Ladies, Go Home

So it’s time to wind down this whole experience.  In the interests of closure, I’ve started making a list of all the things I’ll miss (and all the things I won’t) about being here and doing what I’ve done for the past three years.  While I’m sure this list will grow with time, here’s where I’m at now:

I’ll miss beach sunsets, mountain sunrises.
I won’t miss sun-up at 4AM in the summer, sun-down at 4PM in the winter.

I’ll miss really great ramen shops everywhere you look.
I won’t miss only having ramen shops everywhere you look.

I’ll miss paying for a $1 Coke with the equivalent of a $100 bill.
I won’t miss everyone traying to pay their share of a $50 bar tab with $100 bills.

I’ll miss the rice fields, forests, waterfalls and fresh air everywhere.
I won’t miss the small clouds of bugs and industrious web-weaving spiders.

I’ll miss everyone knowing who I am.
I won’t miss everyone knowing who I am.

I’ll miss fun ALT friends happy and eager to sing karaoke.
I won’t miss Japanese folks all too eaager to sing Celine Dion, the Carpenters, or Amazing Grace.

I’ll miss the onsens and skiing and winter.
I won’t miss getting out of the shower in a freezing house in winter.

I’ll miss the Japanese friends open to talk about anything and make it interesting.
I won’t miss the Japanese folks capable of talking only about chopstick use, natto consumption, and whether or not it snows in my country.

I’ll miss that student who starts out hating English and then does a 180-degree flip and their confidence soars.
I won’t miss the smart kids who should know better but refuse to talk.  I now understand what Mrs. Biehl meant when she referred to intellectual selfishness.

I’ll miss having my own theme song.
I won’t miss everybody knowing my theme song.

I’ll miss the open-minded professional teachers who are in it for the kids.
I won’t miss the close-minded teachers who are in it because they can’t get fired.

I’ll miss all the oyaji-gags and strange body motions that define Japanese humor.
I won’t miss all the Ohio-gozaimasu jokes.

I’ll miss kids with names like Simon, Messiah, L, Shoot, Hit, and Taxi.
I won’t miss Mark, Demi, Judy, Ann Green, or even Bin.
I certainly won’t miss Freddy the Leaf or that tree in Hiroshima.

I’ll miss the summer festivals, the omikoshi, fireworks over the Yoneshiro River, the Namahage, the kiritampo, the Kimimachi marathon, the town Sports Day, the autumn leaves and the spring sakura.
There’s not a thing about that which I won’t miss.

I’ll miss Monday night taiko, Tuesday night table tennis, Wednesday night swimming, Thursday night table tennis, Friday night parties, and weekend adventures.
I won’t miss Mr. Bean’s karaoke skills, introverted table tennis folk, negating all that swimming with a Dixie burger, losing darts and money at Ad-Lib, or getting utterly lost on Iwate’s back roads.  I will miss the bear jokes, though.

… and the list goes on.

Behind the Times: On Drinking

This country is very good at its own PR– a lot of images foreigners have of the Japanese have to do with an entrenched respect for culture, an environmentally conscious society, with healthy food, long life spans, and technological savvy to boot.  While a case can be made for some of these things, the effectiveness of Japanese public relations can often lead to disappointment when someone, newly arrived, finds littered beaches, fried everything, and lots of people who can’t use e-mail.

There are, however, some places where Japan really is ahead of the game, and one of them is definitely drinking.  From the drinking establishments themselves, to safety, and even the day after– the Japanese have thought out going out for a glass of beer to near-perfection.  Akita, in this regard, is even more special, with the highest alcohol consumption rate in the country and home to some of the richest fire-water that Japan has to offer.

Drinking Out

Like any other country, Japan is one littered with drinking establishments.  There are probably more pubs and dives in this country than beauty parlors, and that’s saying something.  Bars open and close in such frequency that there’s always somewhere new to try, if you but look.  This sort of creative destruction has given birth to plenty of staples to the Japanese alcoholics’ diet, both good and bad.

An example of the good (albeit perilously so) would be the nomihodai, perhaps the best recreational option for impoverished young people surrounded by nothing but rice fields.  Pay a certain amount, and drink all you like for a limited time.  Want to drink yourself into a coma?  Doozo.  You’ll still have enough money left over to pay your hospital fees.  In a country where a regular beer can run near $5, a decent nomihodai can at least make the next day’s hangover a little less painful, as you won’t wake-up to an empty wallet.

An easy example of the bad would be 発泡酒, a beer that, though healthier, is a mixture of rice and wheat– has an aftertaste that ranges somewhere between dandruff and armpit. Even more villainous is the barmaster who claims to be selling real beer, while actually pushing this nasty near-beer on his customers.  Though it’s certainly a good deal if you’re the barmaster, as happoshu runs a lot cheaper than actual, flavorful beer.

Safety

With all this drinking going on in a country loaded with people, narrow roads, dangerous sober drivers, and even more dangerous elderly people crossing the streets– you’d think the Japanese would be constantly running each other over, crashing into buildings, and taking out large lines of preschoolers in adorned in yellow hats and carrying sexist backpacks.

That probably would very well be the case, if, at least, it weren’t for Japanese drinking and driving laws and the government endorsed 代行 system.

For public employees especially, Japanese drinking laws are mercilessly strict.  Drink even a sip of alcohol and drive and you can be charged inordinate amounts of money and will have your name dragged through the mud.  Of course, if you drink and actually cause an accident, things will be even worse.  Your choices are largely black and white.  Go out, stay sober and drive home– or go out, drink and find somewhere to stay.

Or, if you’re going home with enough people, there’s the 代行 (daiko).  Cheaper than a taxi thanks to government subsidy, two drivers come, pick up you and your car.  One driver takes you and your fellow drinkers home, one driver drives your car home.  No risk, nobody hurt, and all for a little extra expense.  Daiko is essentially your own designated driver for hire.

Never become two-days drunk

With all the nomihodai action out there and not having to worry about driving home intoxicated, you’d think there’d be a lot of people waking up on Saturday morning with a massive headache and the urgent desire to stay out of the sunlight or, as the J-folk call it, 二日酔い, or “Two-Days Drunk.”

Nobody enjoys feeling hungover, and if your night included any Japanese sake, your hangover may indeed be severe.

But yes, the Japanese have even found their way around this, relying on nothing more than a dose of Turmeric.  A glass before you go out on the town, and the next day you will feel fine and dandy.