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Notes from a reluctant sensei

I have developed the magical ability to maintain a simple conversation and write notes while simultaneously day dreaming.

There was a sudden commotion in the class that I did not comprehend. Sleepy heads perked up in unison and the students shouted back and forth. I looked to Fujiwara Sensei for an explanation, but he had already turned back to the chalkboard ad resumed the lesson. Now the students are quiet again. Heads hang heavy and eyes half open, as jus moments before. This strange moment puzzles me.

The aesthetics of this Christian boy’s middle school in Japan resemble that of my public city high school in Seattle frighteningly well. Drab beige walls and dirty linoleum possess a life-sucking quality that school administrators worldwide use to their full advantage.

I open a window in the hopes of a cool breeze to combat the stuffy heat. Four mosquitoes buzz into the classroom. I sigh and close the window.

These kids are horribly boring. I want to smack the sides of their heads and yell, “Say something interesting!” If I have to listen to one more conversation about baseball or Harry Potter I may have to shoot myself. Yet sadly (madly?) I know I have 40 more of these pitiful discussions lined up for the afternoon. The boys are not stupid or freakishly dull – per see – rather, they all know the same 50 words. There are only so many ways that those words can be strung together in a dialogue – certainly not 180 unique and dynamic ways. 180. I have 180 students. That blows my little American mind.

There are signed and numbered Chagall prints in the hallway outside my class. I wonder who purchased them; who decided that they would enrich the environments of these young boys. I love to look at them. I lat my finger on the glass above the signature and pretend that the ink is still wet. These tangled, bright, chaotic prints give me hope for my strictly formed students.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, September 24, 2004