This is How They Do Things Part 1

Part of Teaching in a Japanese School is Navigating a Cultural Minefield. This is a story of how I once got caught up in the office politics

Today, a woman from the Board of Education came to observe me teach. She's not Japanese, though. In fact, I really can't put a finger on her ethnicity. She looks like a cross between Harriet Tubman and Pocahontas. But she's been here so long you can hardly tell she's not a member of the PTA.

She speaks Japanese fluently and has adopted all the necessary Japanese mannerisms to make her way in their world smoothly. In fact, the Japanese teachers and administrators, upon meeting her for the first time, respond initially as if she were an interloper wearing Japanese cultural camouflage that doesn't quite disguise her foreignness. But, combined with her ethnic ambiguity and the fact that she was there to represent an entity whose authority and judgment they were not in the practice of questioning, forces them to reserve judgment and officially accept her as one of their own.

This is an annual review, the third time she has come to watch me do my thing in so many years. I’d had a month's advance notice of her visit, so I wasn't especially nervous. At least, I wasn't until the beginning of that week. I had intended to prepare for this lesson carefully with the Japanese English teacher, Yamada-sensei. The only problem was that she had been out sick with a cold. Monday and Tuesday, she was bedridden, as per her doctor's orders, and left me no clue about what grammar point we were to cover. Nor had she spoken with Akiyama-sensei or any other English teachers.

Also, unlike the other English teachers I've worked with, Yamada likes to make her own lessons. At least, I believed this to be the case because she always had. I'd come to the school, and there'd be a lesson on my desk that she had taken from some textbook (not our school's) or internet site. Or, she'd pull me aside and ask me what I thought of her lesson. Yamada joined the staff last year, and this has been her routine the entire time.

Well, Wednesday came around, and Yamada returned to work just in time for my review. I'd been concerned about her on Monday, for teachers at this school didn't generally call in sick unless they were playing karuta (Japanese playing cards) with the Grim Reaper. Two days in a row meant she was inking up her Inkan (Japanese personal seal) to stamp her final will and testament. But by Tuesday afternoon, once I knew I was going into a lesson to be reviewed by the Board of Education halfcocked, my attitude had shifted from "I hope she's alright" to "I bet that bitch is at the beach!" However, I did manage to smile when I said good morning and asked about her health.

I had a full schedule, so I didn't have time to meet with her, but I did for a few minutes before homeroom and a few minutes after lunch. With no time, I suggested we do a game where the kids break up into teams and construct sentences using sentence fragments found on slips of paper. The team that constructs the most sentences correctly wins. Yamada was cool with that. She probably would've been cool with a group meditation on English. She looked like she'd been dragged bodily to the office, like death warmed over wearing a surgical mask.

It wasn't a traditional lesson, but the BOE lady wasn't disappointed. In fact, my observation went rather well, considering I only had a few minutes of planning. She said I clearly had a rapport with the students and handled them with care and professionalism.

"You could dish out a little more praise, though. The kids really need it."

I took notes dutifully during the feedback and asked questions to clarify her remarks.

"You have an incredible smile, Mr. Baye," she said, looking at me like she'd said something I ought not to place too much stock in. "A powerful smile is both a blessing and a curse."

"Can you clarify that statement, please?" I asked diligently, pen in hand.

"Well," she began. "Your smile is radiant! You know how many teachers I meet and observe all over this area, but the one thing I remember about you is that smile. I look forward to seeing it when we meet. It's so wonderful!"

"Thank you," I said, feeling a little embarrassed. I might have even blushed a little. Of course, I'd heard such things about my smile before, but I rarely received such flattering remarks in a professional setting nor from someone I hardly knew. I suddenly felt a red flag go up…right up my spine by way of my rectum! She was setting me up like a pro, cushioning the fall with misdirecting sweet talk!

"Your smile lights up a room," she said through pearly white teeth. "But, it also has the effect of turning that light off when it's missing. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I guess," I replied nervously, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I need to smile more."

"Yes! Even if it's fake. Fake is better than no smile, especially for you!"

"My curse," I sighed.

"Exactly," she said, with a finality that almost made me think she was wrapping up. I was about to put my pen away when she Lieutenant Columbo'd me with a "One other thing…"

Ah, here it comes!" Uh-huh?"

"A little earlier, we had a short meeting with Yamada-sensei, poor thang..." she said, no longer smiling. Pearly whites became pursed lips set in a dour grin. Laser eyes scorched my eyelashes. "She had some complaints…no, I shouldn't say complaints. She had some concerns."

"Concerns?"

"Yes."

"Concerning?" I asked, but I regretted it immediately. I was getting defensive. I heard it in my tone, and if I heard it, I knew she heard it, too.

"Now, don't get upset with her. She was just doing her job," the BOE lady said as if we were in this together. It was in her tone.

We were sitting in the principal's office having this meeting. Rather large black-and-white framed photographs of every principal of this school since the school's inception during the Occupation after WWII up to now hung on the wood-paneled walls surrounding us, watching us as we sat on leather sofas facing one another. A fancy coffee table was between us, a lovely coffee service atop it, with little porcelain coffee cups and delicate saucers with ornate and flowery designs.

The principal was actually sitting at his desk a few feet from us, shuffling paper around and, I'm sure, listening to every word we said. But, being Japanese, there were certain things he couldn't hear, like her tone, which was an American tone, to be sure.

Her tone said this is how they do things! And believe me, brother, I know. I've been here longer than you, and when you leave, I'll still be here, and I'm nobody's fool! So listen to me. Learn from me. Trust me. Don't you dare get upset with her. She's just being Japanese.

"You understand?"

"Of course," I said, responding to things that would remain unsaid. "That goes without saying…"

"Good," she said. "Well, she mentioned that she had been out of the office Monday and Tuesday this week, so your lesson was done on the fly."

"Yeah, but…"

"It's not an issue," she said, cutting off my defense. I decided to just relax, then. Whatever will be will be. "I really enjoyed the class."

"Thanks…"

"She also said that she is usually pretty busy, so she doesn't have time to meet with you as often as she'd like..."

"Uh huh…" I said, cuz she'd paused, very Japanese of her.

"...And, she'd appreciate it greatly if you would take a greater role in lesson preparation because, with all of her responsibilities over the course of a day, she just doesn't have time to prepare lessons, too."

"She doesn't?"

"That’s what she said…”

“She’s been preparing her own lessons since she started here last year…”

“She would like you to prepare the lessons.”

I was about to ask the BOE lady, who happens to love my smile, 'why, instead of taking it to the Board of Education, essentially my boss’ boss’ boss, and being that I’ve sat next to her for the past year happily preparing lessons for the other two Japanese English teachers...not to mention helping her tweak her own, why didn’t she just tell me that she’d like me to prepare her lessons as well?'

WHY?

But I knew better than to ask that rhetorical question.

The BOE lady watched me suffering, choking on the unasked, unanswerable question, and said, “Well, Baye, that’s it for now. Ganbatte ne!” (Hang in there!) And don’t forget to smile!”

“Ganbarimasu!” (I will) I replied automatically.

I left the BOE lady talking with the principal and returned to the teacher’s office, where I spotted Yamada-sensei at her desk looking the worse for wear. She looked up at my approach with that same nervous look she always has, but I never paid much attention to it before because many teachers, hell, most people I encounter in Japan, have that same nervous look around me. I just figured that it was the default expression in these parts. But now I could see her nervous look for what it really was: actual nervousness.

“I think we need to talk,” I told her with a big plastic smile, showing a mouthful of coffee and tobacco-stained choppers. “You got a sec?”

Stay tuned for part 2 coming soon! In the meantime, don’t forget to “Like” and “Share” this post with your peeps. And if you dig my stories, consider supporting my writing by upgrading. This is hard work. Buy me a beer, why don’t you (-;