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The Joy of Boys

I spend my days attempting meaningful conversations with boys hindered by their adolescence and lack of comprehensible English. I do not know which makes the discussions more difficult. One sweet boy was so nervous when he sat down to talk to me that his giggle turned into a snort, which resulted in a gooey mess on the front of his shirt. He gasped and turned away from me to wipe away the snot. He valiantly turned back to face me, but I knew right then that the conversation would be a bust.

On the first day of the term, Fujiwara Sensei turned the class over to me. I introduced myself and allowed the boys to ask me questions. I did not censor the questions and I let them write them down anonymously. I passed the questions back out after I’d received them and made the boys read them out loud. Most of the boys asked innocent (if not repetitive) questions about what kind of music and sports I liked and if I could eat sushi. As these are 13 year-olds, I also got a couple of priceless, inappropriate queries. They asked if I like boys - Japanese boys in particular. Despite the fact that I am married and that my husband had been introduced at an assembly, they still asked me if I had many boyfriends. I was also asked if I loved Fujiwara Sensei and what my "bust" size is. Just by chance, and due to the limited duration of the class, the bust question was not read out loud, but the other questions I mentioned were.

I decided to use these bad questions as teaching moments. These kids really don’t know how to act around women. There are only two other female teachers in the school and I suspect they are about 40 years old. Many of the boys haven’t had the opportunity to know any young women. I wanted to confront the questions and tell them when a question was impolite or offensive. The poor kids were horrified to read the questions out loud.

Honestly, I could have read them myself, but it was more fun for me this way.

I am already tired of being a novelty. Everyday we have chapel. The students sit in long wooden pews that fill the room while teachers sit on benches around the edges. When I choose my seat, the row of boys nearest will duck their heads and whisper and giggle. They may tap the backs of their friends in the row in front of them so that they will turn around and see how close I am. I imagine they think that because I don’t comprehend their Japanese that I can’t possibly understand the meaning of their sideways glances and tight smiles.

They still get excited in the hallway. The louder ones will yell out hello again and again until I acknowledge their existence. This was cute for about a minute. Now it’s highly annoying, particularly when I’ve just had to deal with five kids who had wanted hellos and now the next one is yelling at me from across the school yard and I’m hurrying on my way in the opposite direction. Obnoxious little bastards.

I teased Dan for his contempt of the students. He showed me the path to walk to school where we will encounter the least amount of students and I chided him for his lack of love for his students. I don’t tease him anymore. Some of the kids are very sweet and respectful. Their enthusiasm to learn English is obvious and refreshing. The majority of the students are rather enjoyable, even moderately entertaining. But they never go away. There are so many of them, hundreds. They swarm over this town, easily identified in their white polos and black slacks. I can’t buy a carton of juice without running into at least ten of them. Japan is damn hot. When I take Kiomye to the park I often wear shorts or a tank top. These kind of clothes are outlawed at school and so the boys gawk when they see me in my casual attire. I dream of a network of tunnels accessible only by the sensei’s of Nishinomiya. There would be entrances at each of our houses and exits at the schools, the train stations and the local bars. Our contact with the students would be limited. How lovely that would be.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, September 14, 2004