The Japanese Experience

One of goals in coming to Japan was to attend a traditional Japanese wedding, my thought being that this was a place that I could experience a great deal of Japanese culture. I had been forewarned that they are very expensive to attend, and very difficult to get an invitation to as a foreigner. However, five months into my stay I will be attending a traditional Japanese wedding. Mid-December, three days before I head back to the states for Christmas, I will be attending the wedding of my JTE's brother. I am so excited, and feel so honored.

This week, however, has brought a second invitation, one that I had rather hoped to avoid. Last night, I attended my first (and hopefully only) Japanese funeral.

One of my coworker's had a son who committed suicide. I will spare you the gruesome details, as I cannot get myself to repeat them, but he was 25, and had just returned home after a time in Tokyo working as a businessman.

Before coming to Japan, I had heard all of the stereotypes about the Japanese businessman. I once read somewhere that suicide rates among middle-aged men were 25 times higher in Japan than other western nations. Whether or not this is true I absolutely do not know, but it is one of the things I thought about, in passing, when deciding to come here. Upon arrival, however, I didn't feel like I saw any of the depression indicative of such drastic behavior. I figured it was something that only took place in bigger cities, Tokyo, Kyoto and the like. But, apparently it happens here too.

Last night I attended the funeral. I didn't really want to go. This is not because I am opposed to funerals, but because I am sick. I have had one of the worst colds I have ever had, and didn't feel like getting out of bed, let alone donning black and appearing sympathetic and remorseful. I am sorry to hear for my coworker's loss, but I never knew the son, and only barely knew the coworker. I just felt out of place, but the Japanese custom is that the entire office come and shows their sorrow.

I thought that my sniffles from my cold would at least fit in among the mourners, but I was wrong. Apparently the way that anyone shows their sorrow in Japan is by how much money they give the family. Otherwise there is no sign of outward emotion. I should have known this, having attended dozens of ceremonies already in Japan, but still, this was unnerving. The guests and family were solemn, but not overly struck with grief of any kind. My sniffles were as out of place as laughter in a funeral home.

The actual service was interesting. I was spared the experience of attending the wake, held early that same day. The body was carried into the temple and a wooden tablet with the deceased's name engraved on it was placed at the foot of it. The priest--is that what they are called in Buddhism-- said some words in Japanese, and then everyone offered some incense--true to Japanese form--in hierarchal order. This meant that I was pretty much last, which I was fine with except that the one person who spoke English had gone well before me and didn't tell me what to do. I somehow managed to bungle my way through it, though, and with minimal attention drawn my way. I always attract some attention being the only gaijin (foreigner).

Similar to the funerals I have been to back home, most of the elderly women carried rosaries in their hands throughout the service. After each person performs his or her incense ceremony, the priest again spoke. Then the family stood up and offered a few words of thanks and reflection. Sadly this part was translated to me, and I tried my best not to cry. Looking around, I knew how inappropriate it would be to cry, looking around at all the dry faces and still acutely aware how loud my runny nose already was.

The words that I can remember, already spoken in a bad translation were, "My family and I thank you for coming. We are rich with friends in this time. Where once we were a family of four, now we are a family of three..."

I know more was said, but I blocked it all out.

After the thanks were given, and everyone gave one last look at the body, the casket was sealed with nails, and carried out to the hearse. The hearse looked like a temple on wheels, with ornate wood carved and finished in gold. Later that night, I was told, the body would be cremated and will then be taken to its final place of rest in the family's shrine.

I went home and took some NyQuil, but no sleep came.

Queens in Japan

So, the original plan for my teaching was for me to go to three junior high schools. I would go to one each month, and with slight variances, rotate through each of them over the course of the year. Now, however, I have three elementary schools, five junior high schools and a senior high school, and I go to a different school nearly everyday.

What does this mean? Well, a lot actually.

It means that everyday I must take my indoor shoes to and from work becase I don't have enough shoes to leave a pair at each school, nor do I necessarily know when I will be back. It means that I regularly buy umbrellas because I am always forgetting mine at a school. It means that I am constantly making lesson plans because I am never teaching the same grade and can't receycle material. It means that I miss out on the fun school stuff--festivals, and the like--and only get the day to day stuff. It means constantly giving my self introduction, and being asked almost daily none but the most generic of questions (i.e., "What is your favorite color?"). But most importantly, it means I never get to know my coworkers, and they never get to know me.

This is not a super-huge deal, but on those days where I am sitting in the teacher's office--a feat that takes place far to often--no one speaks to me or notices me.

Until today.

Today I was at my very scary high school. These kids scare me more than the kids I went to high school with, and for those of you who know those kids too, that's saying something. First period was uneventful. I had 10th grade remedial English where the kids were half asleep (their best status I think). There were no scheduled classes for the rest of the day so I pull out my Japanese homework thinking I would get some good studying in. Then the World Affairs teacher walks up to me and says, "You will teach France at 6th periodo." Crap! France? I am from AMERICA.

Knowing, however, that I can't fight it I begin to labor over the computer researching France, trying to develop a lesson plan about France for kids who can't write their name in English despite being in the 12th grade, and who carry small weapons to school.

It was during this time that the science teacher approached me. No teachers ever talks to me unless they want me to teach their class, so I imagine my surprise when he said, "I show you my favorite bando." He then proceeded to pull out every Queen CD, DVD and record ever produced (Why does he keep these at his desk I wonder?). Not sure how to react I say, "I love Queen,"and I point to my favorite Queen song, Bohemian Rhapsody.

This for some reason inspires him to start singing Bohemian Rhapsody. Having seen Wayne's World a billion times, and not being able to resist, I join in the fun. So the science teacher (clad in a white lab jacket and pocket protector) and I start singing, growing more exuberant with each passing verse (how can you not with this song), when the nearby Math teacher joins in. These are two guys who have never indicated that they understand my "Hello," each morning, let alone the ability to sing Queen perfectly.

By the time we reach the "scaramouche" part, all the teachers in the office are singing along. Granted, this is only around 10 people because it is class time and these are the only ones who didn't have a scheduled class, but I was blown away by their enthusiasm, gusto and most importantly, their English!!! Now that everyone has joined in there is no point in just singing, but rather we start shouting the song, having the merriest of times.

It is right when we say, "So you think you can love me and leave me to die," the kocho-sensei (the principal) walks in, slams the door and looks about with the biggest scowl I have ever seen...even compared to that of my grandmother. We all stop singing.　The princial looks directly at me, I assume because this is an English song therefore I must have started the whole thing. My heart sank into my shoes and I went pale. I was certain this was my oneway ticket back to the US, or even worse, a regular shift with the World Affairs class.

Much to my disbelief, the principal breaks out into a perfect rendition of, "Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby. Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here ." Hs head was going with the whole rocker style hair swing, and he was waving his arms franticallys, all while wearing a crisp suit and tie. And then he walks out, cool as you please. Like nothing at all had happened.

The teachers and I stopped singing, and they went back to their desks. I felt the need to laugh but no one else did, so I held it in.

They have all gone back to ignoring me, perhaps more because I got them in trouble than anything else, but I could hear at least two of them humming the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody under their breath.

That makes me smile.

The Little Yellow Bus in Japan

Before I start out, please know that I apologize in advance for anyone who is unintentionally offended by anything written here. It is not my intent to offend, but rather to share my adventures, and thus, experiences while in Japan. If I use politically incorrect terms, or misclassifying techniques, please know that I have no ill will.

I don't know the official laws in America or Japan regarding mental disability in children. All I have are my experiences. In America I cannot recall in my twelve years of lower education (as opposed to higher education), encountering many persons with disabilities of any kind. In Japan, however, I have found that I teach children that range from having ADD to sever autism. Whether or not children with disabilities should be in classes with other children is not something I want to debate, rather, it is more the Japanese approach to mental disability that I would like to discuss.

In my brief stint working in the early child care field (though, I never took care of actual children of any kind), the word "inclusion" was often used to describe the ideal situation for children with special needs. In Japan, however, I would use the word "ignore," or at least, "ignore the problem."

So far as I can tell, the earliest a child will even be tested for mental disability is 10th grade, and that is only if the parents allow it, which most parents don't. Thus, children with special needs are rarely officially identified in school, and certainly not before high school. In fact, this is so thoroughly ignored that my coworkers will neglect to tell me that the reason a student isn't answering my question isn't because he doesn't speak English, but because he doesn't speak...AT ALL. He is mute. Further, rather than creating activities that every student can participate in a child with special needs is often exempt, ignored, or in extreme examples fellow students are asked to do the work for them.

This bothers me.

As an example, there is a game that I play with students called crossfire. I have one row stand up, and I ask a question. The first student who answers gets to sit down, and I continue asking until only one student is still standing. That student's column then gets to stand up and have a go. So, we started playing this game before I knew that one of my students was mute, and it wasn't until after three rounds of this poor kid standing up (and thus his rows and columns) that my JTE mentioned it to me, and he said that he didn't have to do the activity...AT ALL. I can think of at least a couple of ways to involve the child. After all, there is more to English than speaking. He could have nodded, "yes," or, "no," or written the answer down, or any of a number of thing...but the JTE wouldn't allow it.

I bite my tongue far to often in Japan.

Another side effect of the lack of awareness is that the students exceptionally cruel without repercussions. For instance, today at school there was an incident.

A group of my eigth grade boys picked a fight with one of my severely autistic children, we'll call him Joe. Joe was walking to school, and as one of the side effects of autism is an occasional inability to control physical movement, he would occasionally spin in circles (like you used to when you were 8). The group of 'bad boys' saw this and decided to be oh-so-helpful by grabbing him and spinning him around in multiple circles. Over and over. This continued most of the way to school until Joe got to school. Here the 'bad boys' took it a step farther and locked Joe and themseves in the entryway, where they proceeded to jump him. Joe, already shaken up and with a new found sense of terror, pushed one of the boys who fell back (and through) the glass door.

The door was shattered, the boy was sent to the hospital for several stitches in the arm, leg and back, and Joe...Joe was reprimanded for "spinning in circles." Nevermind that he clearly has a disability that won't allow him to control his movement, or that he didn't do anything to instigate the fight. No. Let's punish the guy who already walks to school by himself, who was teased then attacked, and who is incapable of understanding why the 'bad boys' did what they did. The remaining 'bad boys' were completely excused.

The idea was that if Joe could just learn to control his movements, as all the other students can, the boys wouldn't have picked on him.

There are no words.