#teaching tales

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Me grading papers at the start of my job: Okay so I need a standard metric, and I need to check on my own work to make sure I’m consistent, and every paper should get a positive comment, and -

Me now, giving the best speaker in class 9/10 on her homework and a 10/10 to one of her three friends who actually earned it: There, that ought to stir some trouble in the squad

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The keyaki tree in my school’s courtyard, coated in rare Tokyo snow. (Not pictured: my students shrieking in sheer delight as if they’ve never seen snow before)

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So in other news my English club threw me a surprise birthday party with more Japanese snacks than I could fit in the bag in the foreground. Those liars told me they were planning for the culture festival next semester.

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As part of my self-intro, I ask my students to write a list of questions to me so I can answer my favorites next class. I give the team who asks the most questions a piece of candy per person. I’ll be answering a slightly different set in class, but here’s an incomplete list of the ones that made me grin:

Why do you like travel?

Can you swim? (Fair enough, I'm from a landlocked state...)

Are you married? (x2)

Do you like me? (x2)

What time is it now? (Smartass)

How many bags do you have? (…Why?)

Are you happy?

What do you want? (I have no context for this)

And finally, the one that made me snort aloud in the teachers’ room for its sheer cheekiness:

How many candy do you have?

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There was a teacher last year, K-sensei. A young man with a serious, somewhat lost expression, who always wore a black suit with basketball shoes. He was in charge of my schedule and taught with me for some of the second-year lessons, and to this day I can do a fantastic impression of him.

Every time he needed to talk to me, I could tell. Not because he was addressing me or even looking at me, but precisely because he wasn’t. He would walk intentionally slowly down the aisle of the teacher’s room. He’d stare on the opposite side of the aisle from my desk, pretending that he was looking at all the sorts of pen he could pick up from the drawers. His face would be turned away from my desk, but you could just feel the intention, the same way you know two people are talking about you when they intentionally won’t look your way.

He’d keep this going until he’d walked just past me, to the point where I’d have to turn my shoulder to watch him further. And then he’d fake like he’d just remember something, swivel around in his sports shoes, and go “Ah, Bre-sensei.”

That’s not all. Being the polite American that I am, I’d swivel in my chair to face him properly. K-sensei would never have that. Not only would he almost never make eye contact, but we’d have to conduct entire conversations with him at least halfway to the corner of my eye—or all the way, if he was feeling particularly reluctant that day. Early in our relationship I tested him: every time he’d scuttle to my side and stare at whatever was in front of us both, I’d swivel my chair ever so slowly to face him again. I very nearly backed the man in a 180-degree arc to the other side of my desk.

At first I thought this was the norm in Japan, or at least the norm of an older time. As I got to know my coworkers and slowly introduced my questions about K-sensei, I found I was wrong. K-sensei was shy by Japanese standards—and that’s when you know you’ve made an impression.

Here’s the funny thing: K-sensei spent at least a few years as a student at an American middle school and a Thai high school. He can speak English fluently, if haltingly, and he has a singular passion for language. We’ve talked for an hour before about the ease of learning Spanish over German. But for our year of teaching together, he never displayed any of the outspoken “international” traits I’d expect for a Japanese kid raised abroad. On the contrary, he detached and diverted—he’d space out during lessons, to the point where I’d sometimes have to repeat myself when I asked him to translate.

I guess you can never really know a person’s background until you’ve asked.

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There’s a home ec teacher whose desk is in the same row as mine. She has a near-permanent frown and a wholly identifiable sound of dragging footsteps, and she always bumps into my desk on the way to hers.

I usually think she just doesn’t like me, and I get along with my day. And then there are odd times where she’ll trudge past my desk, stop, and be like, “Burii-sensei wa __ ga suki desu ka?” (Does Bre-sensei like __?”) From these odd and unpredictable arrangements I’ve received mochi, stewed red beans, and the picture orange custard.

Maybe I’m just a neutral presence in her life. Besides, I can handle a bit of desk-bumping for the occasional free food.

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Today all the teachers are grading the entrance exams, so K-sensei went to the convenience store and bought my favorite cheese snacks and was like, “Please sit in the teacher’s room so we don’t have to lock it, and also please eat these cheese snacks.” I have a feeling this is the easiest job I’m ever going to have.

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Just an average day in the life of an ESL teacher.