Memories of Japan, part 4a: A Day in the Life of a Hirado JET (Morning)
Jul 28 '09 (Updated Jul 30 '09)
The Bottom Line This article focuses on my daily routine before and up to the end of the actual school day.
In part 3 (http://www.epinions.com/content_5322350724), I wrote about my days on Hirado island, with an emphasis on settling into life there, my apartment, and the high school at which I worked. However, in this installment, I would like to present what one day was like on Hirado island. I am writing this article as a distillation of a composite of memories I have from my year on Hirado; thus, I'm not writing about one particular day as much as what a general day might have been like. As I've stated before, some of my memories are crystal-clear, but some of my memories are spotty.
Anyway, I will endeavor to fill in the blanks and present how a day might have been on Hirado island, circa May 1998. This article focuses on my day up to the end of the school day proper.
7:00 am
I wake up. I slept downstairs in the living room. It has been hot and humid upstairs for the last few weeks. I have the air conditioner unit in the wall down here.
I step into the kitchen. The checker-pattern wood floor is worn here and there. The curtains are closed. I open them. It's bright and sunny. I hear the saw mill next door humming with activity. I also hear indistinct voices coming from there.
I step into the shower adjacent to the washing machine, which is in the kitchen. I step in front of the sink and look into the mirror. I need a shave, but I can't be bothered to shave today.
I brush my teeth. Mom and Dad used to send my toothpaste, but I figured out that toothpaste in Japan both has fluoride and is perfectly sufficient for my needs. One can actually buy Aquafresh here.
I step out of the kitchen and climb the narrow wooded steps leading to the second floor. I smell the tatami mats; they smell like dried grain. I feel a little sticky with humidity. The stairs turn twice before they reach the upstairs landing. I step into my laundry-drying room and grab a collared shirt and slacks. The slacks were dry-cleaned. Ironing boards stink in Japan; they are low to the ground and meant for kneeling whilst ironing. That's my excuse. (Note: there are actually very nice standing ironing boards in Japan -- one just has to look for them. I was just too lazy to iron, though the lower voltage in Japan made for weaker irons, I used to think.)
I get dressed, descend the stairs, grab my backpack and keys, and head for the concrete entry (the genkan). I swing open the hollow metal door, walk around my apartment building, and walk to my maroon Honda Today. It's a tiny keisha (really small car) with a 550 cc engine and (surprisingly) space for four people. I bought it for 25-man (or 250,000 yen, which was about $2400) because the shaken on my previous car (a white 1987 Honda Legend, which was a huge car for Japan!) was about to expire and I was not prepared to spend the rest of my time on Hirado without a car. (Note: shaken [pronounced shah-ken] is a vehicle inspection fee that has to be paid every three years for new vehicles, and every two years thereafter).
I open the driver's-side door (on the right-side of the car -- this is Japan, after all). I start the car, back out of the gravel parking area, and drive down the inclined access road to another road. This road connects to Route 383 -- the main road of Hirado island. I turn right and head toward Hirado High School.
7:50 am
As I park my car, I see students walking to the central shoebox area to remove their walking shoes and put on their school shoes or slippers. The students are dressed in their school uniforms: boys wear navy blue blazers with white shirts, green-striped clip-on ties, and gray slacks; girls wear navy blue blazers, white blouses with little blue ribbons, and gray pleated skirts. In Japan, almost all junior high and high school students wear school uniforms, no matter what the weather is, though I've seen female students wear sweatpants when walking to school. I see the benefit of uniforms; besides the expected uniformity, parents and students do not have to waste time thinking about what to wear.
I greet the students in Japanese: "Uhsss...." (Note: this is the Japanese male way of shortening "Ohayou gozaimasu").
I ascend the stairs to go to the Teachers' Room, an expansive room where all the teachers' desks are located, along with the kyoto-sensei's desk in the middle-front of the room (the vice-principal). When I first came to Hirado, I thought that the short, gray-haired kyoto-sensei was annoying, always trying to ingratiate himself to me with (what I used to think were) pithy compliments like "You are really good at using chopsticks." However, over the year, I came to realize that he was a really funny guy with a sly sense of humor. His name is Goto-sensei.
I go to my desk, which is located in the second cluster of desks from the entrance. The English Department sits here. Kenji is at his desk. I say "Hello" to him. Kanemoto-sensei is long gone; apparently, his penchant for taking vacations as a new teacher did not sit well with the school's leadership and the Hirado Board of Education, so his most recent transfer was to a night school in Sasebo. I would never see him again.
Seto-sensei is sitting at her desk -- when I used to teach with her, she would use me as a tape recorder. Now, she doesn't use me at all. There's the other English teacher (whose name escapes me in 2009) -- she's nice, but doesn't speak much English for an English teacher. I found that teaching English as a Japanese person does not often require one to actually "speak" English, but just to teach flawless grammar and vocabulary.
I join Kenji as he goes to his homeroom class, ni-nen ni-kumi (which means the second class of second-year students). In April, they were promoted from high school first grade. The leader of the class is the captain of the men's basketball team. His name is Kurajiro Matsunaga. He is tall for a country kid, respectful, deferential, and yet commands respect from his peers. He is likable, charismatic, and sincere. I liked him from the first day I started "coaching" Hirado's men's basketball team.
Kurajiro signals the students to stand in unison and bow to Kenji and me. Kenji is their homeroom teacher (and a well-liked teacher, at that), so the students pleasantly greet him. I am a wall decoration, though I make funny faces at some of the students. I see Hiromi Nishioka, who is another basketball player.
Kenji announces what is on the schedule for the day. One of the teachers of one of the subjects taught in this class is out, so Kenji informs the class that first-period English will be swapped with third-period math. There are some other announcements, but I space out. In Japan, unlike the United States, the same students stay in the same classroom throughout the day -- it is the teachers that migrate from one class to another. So, class 2-2 stays together from first-period English to sixth-period Japanese history. They even eat lunch and change clothes in the classroom. Kenji does not remain in their class all day, but he is responsible for each student as their homeroom teacher.
The classroom has a bit of a smell. It's a male smell -- sweat and the slightest smell of grime. Girls sweat too, but they don't seem to smell as much. All adults, though, smell in Japan. In 1998, deodorant was highly uncommon. One's right to stink is equal to one's right to occupy a public space; in many ways, body odor is an integral part of the public space. I try to wear deodorant; I often asked Mom to ship some out to me.
8:30 am
I sit at my desk in the Teachers' Room. Many of the teachers are away teaching. Some of the other teachers are busy looking busy. I read through some of the English journals from Kenji's homeroom class. They write well, considering their basic level.
The kyoto-sensei comes up to my desk. He makes a joke about how busy I am. He has an uncanny ability to make funny jokes out of everyday comments. I smile and give a little chuckle.
I crane my head to see Seto-sensei. She looks really busy. Filling out forms in triplicate can make someone look busy. I thumb through a back issue of Slam Dunk. I must have read those Slam Dunk issues a few hundred times. I often quizzed students about Slam Dunk facts: What is Nobunaga Kiyota's uniform number (10)? What is Kogure's first name (this character's nickname is "megane" or "glasses"; his name is Kiminobu)? Who guarded Mitsui during the Shoyo game (Kazushi Hasegawa)? What is Sakuragi's height at the end of the series (189.2 cm)? This was one way I connected with students.
8:50 am
The first period ending bell rings. Teachers flood into the Teachers' Room. Teachers that sat out the first period leap to attention for the second period.
I sit at my desk. I do my best to look busy reading Slam Dunk.
9:50 am
The second period ending bell rings. I have a third period class with Kenji -- it's another second-year class.
"Are you ready?" Kenji says as he holds the lace-bound black attendance book. I nod to confirm my readiness. We exit the Teachers' Room and descend the stairs to the second floor.
10:00 am
The third period starts. Kenji guides the class through a review of a past quiz's results. The class listens attentively. Then, Kenji goes through a lesson practicing modals (should, must, ought) and "had better." I feebly explain that "ought" is the least urgent and "must" is the most urgent. Then I demonstrate the use of the helping verb: "You must eat dinner" versus "You should eat dinner." The class politely listens. Kenji elicits students' examples.
Flashback from 2009...
Before I came to Japan, I used to think that Japanese students must be the best students in the world, especially when they were constantly touted for their high marks in science and math. However, at Hirado High School (and, as I would find at other schools at various levels), there is a wide range of student type. Of course, there are those who are studious and attentive; then, there are students who seem to work hard, but are not so interested in the class material; and then, there are those who would either talk to each other throughout class or sleep through it. Unlike in the U.S., sleeping in class in Japan is a much less egregious infraction than talking in class; in fact, it often seemed to me that Japanese teachers would rather have a sleeping student than one that disrupts others.
Kenji's homeroom class is the high-achieving class among the second graders (in the U.S., we would call them "eleventh graders"), so many of his students are attentive and respectful. Some of the other classes I experienced at Hirado, though, were not so respectful and attentive, but those kids were often friendly and, at least, interesting. If anything, Hirado had good-natured kids, even if they didn't like school. This is in contrast to subsequent colleges and vocational schools at which I taught; some of those kids were downright surly and mean.
Ultimately, Japanese students are very similar to American students insofar as there are various kinds of students one may encounter. Japan is not fully packed with diligent students; as in America, there are good students and there are not-so-good students. However, I would say that Japanese students tend to be more respectful and, at least, friendlier than American students...
10:50 am, 1998
I am happy with myself as the class ends. Kenji also seems pleased. Sadly, this is my only class today.
11:00 am
The fourth period starts. I decide to head for the gymnasium to see if I can participate in any physical education class taking place. Matsuo-sensei, the chain-smoking PE teacher, heartily hails me. I ask him if I can play basketball with his class. He cheerfully agrees. I'm wearing a collar shirt and slacks, but I change into my basketball shoes.
I recognize the faces of many of the kids in his third-year class. As I play basketball with them, the kids seem genuinely happy that I am there. Many of them know that I play with, and coach as an assistant, the Hirado High School mens' basketball team. That doesn't mean I'm a great player -- I just love playing basketball.
The third-year kids have boundless energy. Three of the boys -- Mitsunori Tazawa, Hideki Murata, and Soichiro Hamada -- are on the basketball team. Tazawa is the shortest at about 165 cm; sadly, despite his energy, he only dribbles with one hand and is not a great shooter. Murata is about 170 cm or so and has a nice mid-range shot, but not much else. Hamada is about 178 cm and plays as a kind of power forward; he has a decent shot out to 12 feet and rebounds well. It is fun to see these guys in a non-basketball team context, even if it is PE class.
When I participate in these PE classes extracurricularly, I feel like I am satisfying the cultural aspects of being in JET. I talk to the kids, and they talk to me. They get to speak with a foreigner, and I get to understand Japanese people better. In my opinion, this time with the students is more important and impactful than English class; it's just too bad the JET Programme doesn't recruit people to be coaches (Note: actually, the JET Programme did have a lesser-known element to their recruitment that targeted coaches... at least, that is what I remember in 1998).
The class finishes and kids withdraw from the gymnasium. I am a bit sweaty, but I don't mind. There are no showers at the school.
12:00 pm
Lunch time. I ordered a kara-age chicken bento, which is a fried-chicken nugget lunch box with a bit of vegetables and rice and a little umeboshi seed in the rice for color. I collect the bento and stalk back to my desk.
The bento is tasty and familiar. All the teachers are still very busy. Yoshida-sensei, a math teacher and the baseball coach, scolds a couple of his male students and bonks them on their heads. This is also familiar; head bonking is an acceptable form of punishment. Then, the two male students, who are probably his players, are ordered to sit in seiza (i.e. on their ankles) on the laminate floor of the Teachers' Room. I think sitting in seiza is more painful then the head bonk, even though Japanese people traditionally sit in seiza (which literally translates to "silent seating").
Two female students are talking to Kenji about some homework. Kenji is all business.
I sneak out of the Teachers' Room and enter a small tatami mat room used for Sado (tea ceremony). I lie down and fall asleep. Ever since college, I had also been amenable to siestas. I reason that it is because my brain gets worn out by midday. Perhaps, I think too much.
1:00 pm
Two more class periods to go before bukatsudo (club activity). I have to attempt to look busy after I had worked my one class for the day. I become a little depressed. Though the JET Programme (and, more crucially, the Japanese Ministry of Education) provides well for its teachers, one's job satisfaction is heavily dependent upon workload. My future wife, for example, would teach three to five classes per day, while I would teach one or two classes per day. Teaching at Hirado may have been considered a "cherry" job for some, but I find my job sometimes pointless and unrewarding. I am either a tape-recorder or less than that, and I am underutilized. This isn't for lack of desire -- it all relies on the teachers that can use me. Most Japanese teachers are somewhat clueless about how to use an ALT (assistant language teacher) and are much better that previewing tests, administering tests, reviewing tests, and presenting grammatical points than incorporating a native speaker into the class.
I just have to ride out the last two periods of school.
To be continued...
In part 4b, I will talk about my time after school, in particular about the Hirado men's basketball team.
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