Starting Over

The new school year has begun. I bore witness as the incoming 1^st graders at Big Rice Field Elementary endured an onslaught of identical inspirational speeches by PTA members and board of education cronies during the opening ceremony. Making six year olds sit and listen to grown ups prattle on for over two hours is asinine. At least during the copious bowing sessions before and after every speech the tykes got to stretch their little limbs, this helped to prevent some fidgeting. The whole ceremony seemed like one big fat excuse to dress up the little ones in suits and skirts to take a million pictures.

While the last class of 1^st graders were marching out of the gym a little boy from the kindergarten I taught at recognized me. I saw his eyes widen with a sparkle of recognition as he stopped in mid march holding up the procession behind him. Jumping up and down and flailing his arms the boy screams, “MICHAEL SENSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEI!!!!!!!!!!” 500 heads swoop around, incredulously staring me down. “Uhhh… Helloooo!” I respond, sending the boy a lackadaisical wave. The thrilled smiling child marches on flapping like a bird and proclaiming to those nearest that I am Michael Sensei.

One third of the staff at every elementary school this year are new to the school. In Japan it’s mandatory that teachers switch schools every five years or so to keep them fresh and cagey. In addition to the new staff all the returning teachers change the grade from the one they taught last year. I have to meet about 40 new teachers and the ones I do know are now teaching a different grade. I’m pretty much starting over from scratch.

No matter how small the school every one of them has a principal a vice principal and a 3^rd principal. This 3^rd principal is generally quite an unhappy person who does all the shit work. One of these shitty jobs forced upon the principal's backup’s backup at the Ghost School is to “help” the ALT (that’s me) plan the next week’s English lesson. Last year the 3^rd principal would put off the dreaded deed until the last few minutes before I could leave, take a laboriously deep sigh, and talk down to me in broken English about a lesson I had done at least half a dozen times already. Like most everyone at the Ghost School he refused to believe I knew any Japanese and would close his ears to anything I said. Instead he would muddle through with wild gestures and a smattering of one word English questions and answers. I would tell the peevish middle age man that, “I’m sorry I can’t understand you” but he plowed on anyway.

This year the 3^rd principal from the Ghost School holds the same position at Big Rice Field. Thankfully he is NOT the one telling me what lessons to do. At BRF people treat me like a human being and I chat, joke, and get along with everyone in the teacher’s room just fine. With this friendly atmosphere around me the new 3^rd principal could plainly see which way the wind was blowing. While I’m conversing with a new teacher the fraud jumps in to exclaim, “Wow! I didn’t know you could speak Japanese! We worked at the Ghost School together and now it’s a pleasure to work with you here!” I wanted to wipe the man’s conceited smirk right off his face. I wanted to tell everybody just what an asshole he is. Eight months of talking down to me, rolling his eyes at me, and exuding exasperated gasps of annoyance every time I’d walk into the room and suddenly NOW we are supposed to be all buddy buddy. I felt sick. I gave the 3^rd principal my biggest fake smile and said, “THIS YEAR lets all get along and work hard together.”

Unfortunately it would only make me look bad to say anything negative, especially about a superior. I’m just really really annoyed when people treat others better or worse because of what their peers think instead of being civil to everyone. The 3^rd principal has made my list of frauds right under Mister Smiley.

Since I have more experience I can now dominate all the new English “helpers” because I’ve just about done every lesson there is to do for Elementary school. Telling the helpers that I’ve done a lesson multiple times and I already have the materials ready makes most meetings a breeze. Of course I have to constantly reassure the helper that if they have any input to please tell me and I say things like, “This is what I would do, what do you think?” Japanese always have to come to a consensus during meetings; it’s never supposed to be one person telling the other what to do. Consequently meetings that should take 5 minutes drag ass for half an hour as I go through every step of the lesson that the helper was supposed to be teaching me.

At city hall there was a big shake up where many elderly teachers were asked (told) to move on (retire or get fired) because older teachers cost much much more then new ones. A 22 year old girl just three weeks out of college started at Big Rice Field. She is kinda cute which means she has the attention of all the male staff. This also means she is incurring the wrath of some of the old jealous teachers as well. She’ll have a tough time this year.

At three other schools three new male teachers have started their teaching careers. At the Love School one these boy’s sits across from me named Mr. Y. Mr. Y sits to the left of Mrs. S who is about 30 years his senior.

The first day of the school year Mrs. S introduces me to Mr. Y by pointing to him and using English I never knew she possessed says, “He is fresh boy! Verrrry FRESH!” and pinches both the fresh boy’s cheeks while blowing a kiss. Mr. Y takes the abuse like the fresh boy that he is. The older ladies at the other schools use the same “fresh boy” expression about their new male teachers too. It’s more like “fresh meat” as the cougars pinch and prod these fresh boys mercilessly much to their unabashed titillation. Never mind about the young lady at BRF having a tough time, I fear for these young men.

A beaming Big Rice Field principal hustled me over to the white and red tiles that all teachers flip over to indicate if they are at the school. White means here, red means gone. He then presented me with my very own tile. I slowly turned the white side of my tile over to reveal a blinding flash of bright hot neon pink. Pink? Pink! Like 80’s lipstick or a shiny new lawn flamingo, gaudy, flashy, trashy pink. What the bullcrap! “Why is my tile pink and not red like everyone else’s?” I questioned. “Hmmmm… who knows” says the principal and walks away. Total brush off. I think my name stands out enough as it is the only one written in katakana instead of kanji, but no someone had to make sure my tile could glow in the dark. On one hand I’m happy I’m being accepted and have a tile like everyone else… but why does mine have to be a beacon of flashing pink in a sea of white and red. Damn little differences.

Most of Kim’s 1^st year students at the junior high are 6^th graders I taught last school year. Warui Chugakou: where decent kids are turned into little bastards. I neglected (on purpose) to tell my former students that my wife would be their new ALT at junior high school. When Kim broke the news to them a deafening, “EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” echoed throughout the halls. Kim and the homeroom teacher busted up laughing because the exasperated students could only gape and utter “ehhhhh” for another 5-10 minutes. Most students seem to think I come from outer space and live under the earth, only digging out of my mole cavern long enough to teach the surface dwellers English. When a student sees me buying groceries or walking to the train station they are shocked to see that I’m a normal person who lives in their town. So finding out I am married AND my wife is their new ALT was just too much for them to comprehended all at once.

I think this year will be better then last year. Not that last year was too bad but now I’ve got Japanese teaching experience and can work the system instead of letting the system work me.