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.)