The Clock Is Ticking, and I'm Still Worried about Syntax...
At least that's probably what I'll be thinking in about 15 minutes. I have decided I want to experiment with typing up posts while on a tight time frame (like tonight). I guess I have two reasons really. One is that I need to take the GRE soon and could stand to fine-tune my writing-intelligibly-while-under-pressure ability (it's amazing how quickly that particular skill gets rusty), and two, I just don't want to waste too much of my life writing on this crazy blog. But we'll see if this new idea lasts beyond the experimental try you are currently perusing.
I've had a request to include more posts about school life, and I'd certainly like to accomodate. It's a little difficult to do that, however, because A) I have to be careful what I say about my place of employment online (this is, after all, a public forum), and B) I just don't have any new stories. Or do I...? Let me think...
Well, I guess I have developed a slight identity crisis as far as being a teacher. Actually, I didn't "develop" it: I've had it since I started teaching here and just haven't managed to resolve it so far. The crisis is basically the old friend/mentor/authoritarian dilemma. Here I am trying to teach English in Japan. They call me "sensei," and they expect me to know answers to important questions, like, "Can I go to the bathroom?" and "Kento's head is gushing blood. Can I help him walk to the nurse's room?" All of this respect, and really, honestly, on occasion--usually--I just really don't know what in the world I'm doing. I'm here in a foreign environment, with all kinds of social norms and mores that are still completely enigmatic to me, and these kids think I'm capable of answering their urgent, life-or-death questions. I get some immunity from the challenging things because I don't speak the language and because the students know that, even though I'm a "sensei," there's still something a little odd about me... something a little different. (There are 700 people at my school. Guess which one of them isn't Japanese?)
So anyway, occasionally issues arise. For example, today a bunch of girls came into my room at cleaning time to help me clean. I knew they weren't girls who generally cleaned my room, but we had a sports tournament today, so everything was a little out of whack and I didn't bother interrogating them in broken Japanese. I just figured they knew where they should be. Then toward the end of souji time (cleaning), another teacher came into my classroom and proceeded to interrogate them in Japanese. Basically, she asked them in pretty brusque Japanese where they were supposed to be cleaning. After they said, "In the hall," she said something like, "Then why are you in here talking to Peter-Sensei?" So they got in trouble, and I kind of did too. I was practically their accomplice in souji-time crime!
Another time, a girl was being dragged through the teacher's room. She's a sweet student who likes to tell me how cute and cool I am (and she's right, of course). Anyway, she had made the horrible mistake of dyeing her hair, so a teacher was dragging her to the sink to dye it back to its natural black state. As she goes past my desk, she says, "Oh, Peter-Sensei!" and tries to stop and talk. The teacher isn't having it, though. He keeps marching her along and says something to the effect of, "Not even Peter-Sensei can help you now!" That was hard to take. It's one of the rare, striking examples of the failure of my "gaijin powers."
These are uncommon occurences, let me assure you. But almost everyday, just during my normal interactions with the students, small things happen that seem to test the line between authority figure and cool guy with gaijin powers. If I had more time and a password-protected blog, I would probably tell you about some of them. But I think I'll lay this post to rest.
One final word: I love my kids, and I know I'll miss them when they're gone. They have brightened my days so many times, I've already fired ten different guys who were supposed to be keeping count. God bless!
I've had a request to include more posts about school life, and I'd certainly like to accomodate. It's a little difficult to do that, however, because A) I have to be careful what I say about my place of employment online (this is, after all, a public forum), and B) I just don't have any new stories. Or do I...? Let me think...
Well, I guess I have developed a slight identity crisis as far as being a teacher. Actually, I didn't "develop" it: I've had it since I started teaching here and just haven't managed to resolve it so far. The crisis is basically the old friend/mentor/authoritarian dilemma. Here I am trying to teach English in Japan. They call me "sensei," and they expect me to know answers to important questions, like, "Can I go to the bathroom?" and "Kento's head is gushing blood. Can I help him walk to the nurse's room?" All of this respect, and really, honestly, on occasion--usually--I just really don't know what in the world I'm doing. I'm here in a foreign environment, with all kinds of social norms and mores that are still completely enigmatic to me, and these kids think I'm capable of answering their urgent, life-or-death questions. I get some immunity from the challenging things because I don't speak the language and because the students know that, even though I'm a "sensei," there's still something a little odd about me... something a little different. (There are 700 people at my school. Guess which one of them isn't Japanese?)
So anyway, occasionally issues arise. For example, today a bunch of girls came into my room at cleaning time to help me clean. I knew they weren't girls who generally cleaned my room, but we had a sports tournament today, so everything was a little out of whack and I didn't bother interrogating them in broken Japanese. I just figured they knew where they should be. Then toward the end of souji time (cleaning), another teacher came into my classroom and proceeded to interrogate them in Japanese. Basically, she asked them in pretty brusque Japanese where they were supposed to be cleaning. After they said, "In the hall," she said something like, "Then why are you in here talking to Peter-Sensei?" So they got in trouble, and I kind of did too. I was practically their accomplice in souji-time crime!
Another time, a girl was being dragged through the teacher's room. She's a sweet student who likes to tell me how cute and cool I am (and she's right, of course). Anyway, she had made the horrible mistake of dyeing her hair, so a teacher was dragging her to the sink to dye it back to its natural black state. As she goes past my desk, she says, "Oh, Peter-Sensei!" and tries to stop and talk. The teacher isn't having it, though. He keeps marching her along and says something to the effect of, "Not even Peter-Sensei can help you now!" That was hard to take. It's one of the rare, striking examples of the failure of my "gaijin powers."
These are uncommon occurences, let me assure you. But almost everyday, just during my normal interactions with the students, small things happen that seem to test the line between authority figure and cool guy with gaijin powers. If I had more time and a password-protected blog, I would probably tell you about some of them. But I think I'll lay this post to rest.
One final word: I love my kids, and I know I'll miss them when they're gone. They have brightened my days so many times, I've already fired ten different guys who were supposed to be keeping count. God bless!
posted by Peter Rice at 4:13 AM
3 Comments:
Brilliant.
This explains a lot.
JODAD
You're ready for the GRE
Hey Pete! Good to hear from you and see you have a blog as well. Great stories. I can't even identify with your predicament. Thanks for the encouragement by the way.
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