Yesterday on her way past my desk and out of the staff room to go to the weekly staff meeting (which I don't attend), 荒木先生 Araki Sensei said-- in her endearing way-- "Mya, bye." = ) Then 藤井先生 Fujii Sensei followed and raised her hand in a dramatic wave and proudly busted out the three words of English she knows, "See you again!" This was the happiest moment of my day. I had actually had a good day with many happy moments, but this surpassed them. To be called by name...to be addressed by someone who doesn't have a specific need to talk to me, but does anyway...these are the makings of a happy moment. It reminded me of my trip home during Christmas...and that I still haven't written about it.
Each time I go home-- to the States-- I notice something different...things I never noticed when I lived there...things for which I previously had no lens of comparison through which I could see them. At one of the first training seminars I went to soon after arriving in Japan the keynote speaker said, "The base of the lighthouse is darkest." At the time, I considered it for a moment and thought it was kinda interesting...kinda. Now, 2 1/2 years later, after having gone back and forth between Japanese life/culture and American life/culture several times, I'm blown away by the reality of this comparison. My experience in Japan can now light the base of the lighthouse of my American life experience. This past trip home the thing that stood out to me most was HOW FRIENDLY AMERICANS ARE!!! I mean, seriously! I was really in disbelief! えっ！ アメリカ人はいつもこんなにフレンドリーだったん？！ Woah! Have Americans always been this friendly?!
I went to the dentist-- a new dentist, whose office I'd never been to before-- on Friday, the day after I arrived in the States. Then I had to go back on Monday for a follow-up visit. When I walked into the dentist office Monday morning, the receptionist immediately beamed, "Hi Mya! How was your weekend?" !!! "Hi Mya...How was your weekend?"...!!???! NO ONE EVER says that to me! (Well, actually...two of my closest friends here, Matsumura San and Shiyo, both of whom have lived in the States, do ask me.) Within a few minutes the dental office staff knew more about me than the people I work with and sit next to in my Japanese school staff room EVERY DAY. Crazy! I was soooo happy! This was THE BEST way to start off my time at home in the States. It was a striking reawakening of my senses to the friendliness and openness of Americans.
When I went to the bank to exchange my ￥ for $, both tellers who helped me asked right away if I had come from Japan...how long I've been here...what it's like to be in Japan...if the shopping is good...what I do here...if I can speak Japanese. "Wow! That must be so exciting!" they said. One of them told me all about the experience she and her husband had when they lived overseas many years ago. I thought to myself: 'Personal interactions like this would never happen in a Japanese bank.' (Although, if I-- a blond foreigner-- initiated such conversations with Japanese bank staff, they may go along with it. If they're extremely friendly by Japanese standards, they'll think of a question to ask in response to me initiating a conversation.)
As my dad and I were walking out of the bank my dad said, "Hi", to a lady we passed. I knew he didn't know her. Well...I thought he probably didn't know her....But....he just said, "Hi", to her...it seems like he must know her...no I'm sure he doesn't...my dad's just friendly...but, REALLY? I couldn't completely convince myself and fight off the temptation to ask, "Do you know her?" Of course the answer was, "No". Of course, but still hard to believe. Americans say, "Hi", to people they don't know. Again, Japanese strangers greet me-- a blond foreigner who gives them a chance to put to use the English words they remember from jr. high-- but I don't think they ever do this with each other. And unless they're obaasans or ojiisans (around retirement age or older), according to my Japanese teacher, they probably think I'm strange if I greet them first.
I love when Araki Sensei talks to me. She uses a few words of English, and I can tell she's happy to connect with me. She'll never know how much of an impact those few words and her smile have on me-- an American working in Japan...the only American in our school-- surrounded by 580 Japanese staff and students every day.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Kimono in Kiryu - 桐生の着物
Here are some pictures from yesterday and also from last month when I went with my friend Reiko and a couple of her friends to try on antique kimonos and wear them out and about for the day. Until recently I never wanted to put on kimonos, and I especially didn't want to be seen in public wearing one. Whenever I've seen other foreigners wearing kimonos I've thought they looked strange...because kimonos are obviously Japanese, and they (the women) are obviously not Japanese. I don't know...they just seemed out of place and big and goofy wearing them. It came up in conversation with my friend, Shohei, and I asked him if he thinks foreigners who wear kimonos look weird. He disagreed with me and said that when he sees a foreigner wearing a kimono he thinks, "That woman really loves Japan." hmm... I finally decided to give it a try. Surprisingly I have enjoyed wearing them.
This is my friend Reiko, who is the dietitian at my elementary school.
This is the obi, which is wrapped around your waist and fastened at the back in various designs.
This is my friend Reiko, who is the dietitian at my elementary school.
This is the obi, which is wrapped around your waist and fastened at the back in various designs.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Some thoughts on education...continued...
Continuing from November 26th...the story I really wanted to tell was about the ridiculous rigidity of the test-focused education system and how it often affects English students (which includes all jr. high students). I'd heard multiple stories from Japanese friends describing the same scenario I'm about to describe, and I was always baffled in disbelief. But when I actually experienced it myself, it was SO appalling and frustrating. It really makes me wonder how this place stays in business. Well, I guess as long as they stay in the testing business, they'll come out on top.
The day the 8th grade English mid-term was handed back, I stopped one of my students, Ken, in the hall and asked him how his test was. He said, "I hate Japanese English." At the beginning of this school year, Ken and his family moved back from Washington, where they had spent about 2 years. Having gone to American school and learning English as a Second Language-- as opposed to English as a Foreign Language, as kids in Japanese schools do-- Ken speaks and writes English naturally. Better than the English teachers. Much better. He shouldn't even have to take the standard English class but there isn't a differentiated (leveled) program, so there's no other class he can take. Poor kid! When I ask him what he means by saying that he hates Japanese English, he shows me one of his test questions that was marked wrong, but that he believes is actually correct. Aah, "I hate Japanese English" means 'I hate English that is awkward and rigid and used to pass tests, not to communicate.' We had recently studied map/directional related words, like: right, left, beside. On the test, students were supposed to write the Japanese word that means "across". Ken's answer was marked wrong because he had written the Japanese word that indicates being diagonally across, rather than the word that means directly across. Although the word catty-corner/kitty-corner exists, it's not like we use it all that often...AND the word "across" could obviously be used to describe something that is catty-corner to something else. I tell Ken that I agree that his answer is correct. He has already talked to the Japanese English teacher about it, but she disagreed. He asks me, "Can you talk to her and get me some points?" / "Yes!" I respond with determination-- hearing the words of Roy, my principal in America, resound in my head: "We do what's best for kids"...while, in the same instant, recognizing that I'm not at Antelope Trails anymore, and these words that I believe with all my heart aren't so easily carried out here. Of course I will go advocate for Ken. But I'm afraid. I shouldn't have to fight this hard with other teachers (!!) to do what's best for kids...but I do. I do have to fight hard because this is a system that is about test scores more than it is about kids as individuals. To people outside this system, this probably all sounds pretty dramatic for something as inconsequential as "across" vs. "catty-corner", but it's not just about this incident. It's about this system that creates this incident again and again in school after school, sending the message to kids that what matters is thousands of memorized words and formulaic, right vs. wrong English on written tests-- not using English as a tool for communicating with people and understanding media. So, I take a deep breath, put on my game face, and go into the staff room and approach Ken's English teacher. I try to be confident inside, while showing humility in my approach. I am on the low rung of the ancient ladder of Japanese school hierarchy. Despite being a native speaker (the only one in my school) and a trained, licensed teacher, with an educational emphasis in ESL (English as a Second Language), my knowledge (I'm not saying I'm an expert or anything!) and opinions have no bearing in this system. I'm abandoning my post on the bottom rung by approaching this veteran Japanese English teacher to question her decision to count a correct answer wrong. (Even now, a month and a half later, just thinking and writing about it makes me sigh with tension.) I use my gentlest, indirect English to bring up the issue with her. She explains that the word Ken wrote means diagonally across, not across. I listen and use my Japanese listening sounds and pause and then finally say that I think (ha! "I think") in English, "diagonal" can also be expressed using "across". She says, with firm frustration in her voice and countenance, "I know". "But in the textbook it says..." "We taught [this meaning]."
Are you kidding me?!?! You are counting this proficient English speaker's correct answer wrong because he didn't write the answer that you taught from the textbook??!! RI-DICULOUS! And even though he knows he can use English-- which is what matters-- he's now in this system where test points matter, so he's distraught over those missed points. I have to go back to Ken and say that I'm very sorry but the teacher won't give him credit for that answer. I try to reassure him that what is important is that he can speak English; at the same time, I acknowledge that I realize that as a student those points matter to him. I try to encourage him by pointing out that in the course of his academic career-- intense as the Japanese jr. high career is-- those few points won't make a difference. I just don't get this teacher's kind of thinking at all. I don't think she's a bad teacher either. She explains grammar clearly and tries to make learning engaging. But this prevalent philosophy of only accepting the answers "we taught" is a crime.
The day the 8th grade English mid-term was handed back, I stopped one of my students, Ken, in the hall and asked him how his test was. He said, "I hate Japanese English." At the beginning of this school year, Ken and his family moved back from Washington, where they had spent about 2 years. Having gone to American school and learning English as a Second Language-- as opposed to English as a Foreign Language, as kids in Japanese schools do-- Ken speaks and writes English naturally. Better than the English teachers. Much better. He shouldn't even have to take the standard English class but there isn't a differentiated (leveled) program, so there's no other class he can take. Poor kid! When I ask him what he means by saying that he hates Japanese English, he shows me one of his test questions that was marked wrong, but that he believes is actually correct. Aah, "I hate Japanese English" means 'I hate English that is awkward and rigid and used to pass tests, not to communicate.' We had recently studied map/directional related words, like: right, left, beside. On the test, students were supposed to write the Japanese word that means "across". Ken's answer was marked wrong because he had written the Japanese word that indicates being diagonally across, rather than the word that means directly across. Although the word catty-corner/kitty-corner exists, it's not like we use it all that often...AND the word "across" could obviously be used to describe something that is catty-corner to something else. I tell Ken that I agree that his answer is correct. He has already talked to the Japanese English teacher about it, but she disagreed. He asks me, "Can you talk to her and get me some points?" / "Yes!" I respond with determination-- hearing the words of Roy, my principal in America, resound in my head: "We do what's best for kids"...while, in the same instant, recognizing that I'm not at Antelope Trails anymore, and these words that I believe with all my heart aren't so easily carried out here. Of course I will go advocate for Ken. But I'm afraid. I shouldn't have to fight this hard with other teachers (!!) to do what's best for kids...but I do. I do have to fight hard because this is a system that is about test scores more than it is about kids as individuals. To people outside this system, this probably all sounds pretty dramatic for something as inconsequential as "across" vs. "catty-corner", but it's not just about this incident. It's about this system that creates this incident again and again in school after school, sending the message to kids that what matters is thousands of memorized words and formulaic, right vs. wrong English on written tests-- not using English as a tool for communicating with people and understanding media. So, I take a deep breath, put on my game face, and go into the staff room and approach Ken's English teacher. I try to be confident inside, while showing humility in my approach. I am on the low rung of the ancient ladder of Japanese school hierarchy. Despite being a native speaker (the only one in my school) and a trained, licensed teacher, with an educational emphasis in ESL (English as a Second Language), my knowledge (I'm not saying I'm an expert or anything!) and opinions have no bearing in this system. I'm abandoning my post on the bottom rung by approaching this veteran Japanese English teacher to question her decision to count a correct answer wrong. (Even now, a month and a half later, just thinking and writing about it makes me sigh with tension.) I use my gentlest, indirect English to bring up the issue with her. She explains that the word Ken wrote means diagonally across, not across. I listen and use my Japanese listening sounds and pause and then finally say that I think (ha! "I think") in English, "diagonal" can also be expressed using "across". She says, with firm frustration in her voice and countenance, "I know". "But in the textbook it says..." "We taught [this meaning]."
Are you kidding me?!?! You are counting this proficient English speaker's correct answer wrong because he didn't write the answer that you taught from the textbook??!! RI-DICULOUS! And even though he knows he can use English-- which is what matters-- he's now in this system where test points matter, so he's distraught over those missed points. I have to go back to Ken and say that I'm very sorry but the teacher won't give him credit for that answer. I try to reassure him that what is important is that he can speak English; at the same time, I acknowledge that I realize that as a student those points matter to him. I try to encourage him by pointing out that in the course of his academic career-- intense as the Japanese jr. high career is-- those few points won't make a difference. I just don't get this teacher's kind of thinking at all. I don't think she's a bad teacher either. She explains grammar clearly and tries to make learning engaging. But this prevalent philosophy of only accepting the answers "we taught" is a crime.
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