Left Behind...well, almost Do you recall, as an elementary or junior high school student, being warned by your mother, “If you don’t hurry up, you’re going to miss the bus!” You despised those threats, those nags, but nonetheless, you benefited from them. If you actually heeded the warning, you probably made the bus, and though you were annoyed with your mother, somewhere deep inside you were thankful for her threatening words to “put a fire under it.” Usually when it snows, I receive similar warnings from my boss. (Let me remind you here, I’m 24 years old). I will be just getting out of the shower, very aware that the buses will be leaving early, when I receive a call, interrupting my actual getting ready, to tell me that “The buses will be leaving early this morning because of the snow.” Usually, in fact, I receive multiple calls of this type, because one person doesn’t communicate with another and I get warned 2 or even 3 times, each time making me stop doing my hair or eating breakfast or any other activity I’m in the midst of in order to actually get out the door on time. So, needless to say, these calls annoy me. I think, “I can see the snow outside. The buses always leave early when it snows.” Well, this morning, as I was throwing on my 8 layers, with about 5 minutes left before the buses normally leave, I opened my curtain and noticed a light dusting of snow on the rooftop beside me. “Hmmm,” thought I. “It’s not bad, though, and nobody called, so I guess the buses will leave at the normal time.” I proceeded to dry my hair…la la la…but when I turned the hair dryer off, I heard the sounds of engines running outside…and pulling away… “That can’t be the buses,” I pondered, slightly worried. “I still have five minutes.” But, just to be safe, I glanced outside anyway. Yep. You guessed it. It was the buses. I grabbed my computer, an instant cup of soup and a yogurt (lunch) and was out the door in about 15 seconds. But not before my bus pulled away. So, yes, I went chasing after it. Unfortunately the driver didn’t realize I was engaging in this activity until my boss, 4-foot tall 70ish-year old head honcho, directing traffic, saw me streaking across the driveway and into the street. With one wave of his powerful, fuzzy leather-clad hand, the bus halted and he ushered me, like a little kindergartener, onto the bus (now stopped, sideways, in the middle of the street). Everyone was bowing profusely and apologetic and trying to make it all better by making as much of a fuss as possible. They tried. But they couldn’t erase the memories replaying in my mind of similar situations back in fifth grade. Unfortunately, back then I didn’t have any 4-foot man with powerful fuzzy leather-clad hands to come to my aid…

A Farewell Beyond Words I’ve thought about a lot of ways to take what happened yesterday, throw it in a blender for a few minutes, and then pour it out and shape it in such a way that the events and feelings might come off as humorous, to make it seem that I was/am detached from them. But I decided not to. Because truth is, I am feeling pretty melancholy over it all. As irrational as it may seem, and as much as I can’t really understand it, I am really pretty sad that Segawa’s 3 nen sei class, as of 1:00 yesterday afternoon, is now gone. The frustrating part is, it’s so hard to explain why. I feel like somehow they were my spirit’s most poignant link to this place. Less academic than most classes, many of them wore their hearts on their sleeves—whether consciously or unconsciously—which allowed me to know them on a level that I don’t think anyone probably realized I did. I think that’s why it’s so hard to explain why I am sad. Did I ever have a truly deep conversation with many of these kids? No. Did I ever help them out with any emotional struggles they were going through? No. Did I ever tell them the secrets of my heart? No. Not really. But in a sense, I could probably answer “yes” to all of those questions. Though I never had a deep conversation with many of them, I could hear some of their hearts—like Ryo’s—when they refused to participate in class. When their eyes lit up when I told them they did something well. When I observed the wonder on their faces while they watched “E.T.” or listened to “Green Eggs and Ham.” I never helped them through any emotional struggles in person, but as I’ve seen their needs, like Kazuma’s directionless, empty gaze when his mother left, I’ve asked God to be there. I haven’t known much of what they’ve gone through, but where I’ve seen pain and joy, I’ve tried to do my best to enter in and implore the one who understands better than anyone to be near and somehow speak to them. I’ve never told them the secrets of my heart, but, really, in order to know, all they had to do was look at me. Just being here is one of the biggest dreams I’ve ever had. They’ve lived the secret with me. But will any of them understand this? Did anyone feel as impacted as I did? I doubt it. In fact, I don’t think any of the other teachers, and probably not really the students, understood why I was emotional yesterday. Why I teared up when Hiroaki assured the teachers “We won’t forget you,” knowing how much I will treasure the unique memory of him. Why I was so touched that Kazuma wept during the parting song, realizing that at times, the school was probably his family. Why, when Aoi, the last in the goodbye line-up, didn’t let go of my hand, I shed new tears, remembering her bold self-introduction a year and half ago, long before most of the students would even look at me. And so, at some level, if not as deeply as other teachers, I grieve. I don’t claim to have the same profound ache that others may experience, but I testify that this spirit of melancholy, too, is real. San nen sei, sayonara. Honto ni wasuremasen. Deai wa takara deshita. (9th grade class, farewell. Sincerely, I will not forget. Our encounter was a treasure.)

I taught my last 9th grade class today by myself (I hope), and I only have one more class with them at all…sad day. So today I thought we could do something fun. I gave a few words about Easter and then described how we dye Easter eggs, showing real examples that I spent, oh, at least an hour, preparing last night. Then I handed out green-sprinkle-decorated egg-shaped cookies for a snack. To me, this sounded like it would be fun. I guess I was wrong. They were bored out of their minds. And then I wanted them to describe, on a worksheet it took a good 45 minutes to make (I don’t even want to think about how long the cookies took to make…) how to make a Japanese food. The problem is, all the materials have been cleared out of their classroom. Including dictionaries. Urgh. So, Hiroaki, my dear friend, offered to help me retrieve some from the library. By this time, any class momentum that I had going totally fizzled out, and I got a bunch of half-hearted responses by the time I got dictionaries into their hands. However, some of them, half-hearted or not, are rather humorous. And so, in order to redeem at least some part of today’s insanely prepared-for class, I give you some of my 9th graders’ versions of how to make various Japanese foods: Dashimaki Egg By Sagiri Okawara Ingredients: Egg Konbu (sea weed) First, hot water in konbu make soup stok. Second, mix egg. Third, mixtuce konbu water and egg. Fourth mixtuce is fry. Riceball (Onigiri) By Yuka Okawara Ingredients: Rice Nori (sheets of dried seaweed) Salt Ume (pickled mini plums) First, make rice! Second, ume in the rice. Third, rice is grip. Fourth, salt is pour. Fifth, on the nori. Miso Soup By Ai Sato Ingredients: Water Miso Wakame (seaweed leaves) Welsh (long onion) First…….boil the water……. Second, make soup stock. Third, into the wakame. Fourth, into the miso. Fifth, into the a welsh. Sushi By Hiroyuki Honda Ingredients: Rice Tuna Steam lobster Vinegar Other food First, rice and vinegar mix—sumeshi. Second, sumeshi a grip other food. Maybe I’ll try some of these sometime…I just don’t know where to find “other food.” Any suggestions?J And in other news…you know you work at a country hick school-in-the-bondocks when…in the middle of group cleaning time, a stray cow runs out onto the baseball field, and the principle, vice principle, social studies teacher, secretary, and one of the 9th grade students—armed with a broom—go chasing after it. Yeah. That’s all I have to say about that.