When it was finally time for class, I heading inside the massive Ricoh plant, passing the scurrying Japanese employees anxious to catch their bus home (it's not awkward at all). I walked into class to four familiar faces: George (my beer and baseball buddy), Hirobi (the new professional fluent in English), quiet Tina, and smart Kevin. With four attendees, an hour and a half should go by quickly.
I can never anticipate what I will get from the Ricoh class. Tonight was especially fun. We began the class with George speaking in broken English about the upcoming baseball games he will umpire. The high school baseball tournament for the Kanagawa Prefecture is in July and he will bounce from city to city. Afterwards, he gets an umpire vacation (which, believe you me, he deserves).
Next, we came to Hirobi (she has politely requested to use her Japanese name as opposed to adopting a Western name). Hirobi is new to our class. She claims that she did not have use for English at the old plant, but now, since she moved to our plant, she needs to work on her English (she says fluently). Tonight, I could see that Hirobi was visibly stressed. As she talked, she explained that she is taking a business trip in early June to Ricoh plants in California and Georgia where she will present her plan to streamline Ricoh policies (no big deal). As she prepares her presentation, she is having trouble deciphering what the difference is between certain similar words. She gave me the first of her troublesome word groupings: shall, should, and must. We worked our way through those like the professional group we are and moved on to Hirobi's next troublesome area: principles and concepts, two words prevalent in her upcoming presentation. We first discovered that she was using the wrong spelling of principles (although a principal may be your pal, when misspelled in a massive corporate presentation, it ceases to be so). We corrected that mistake and I had one big teaching moment under my belt for the night; I earned my check. But, delving deeper into semantics and explaining the difference between concepts and principles to a group of native Japanese speakers, was not so simple. We waded through the topic, often calling upon the internet for guidance and examples. All in all, I think we got it figured out. However, when I get an angry phone call from a group of Georgian businessmen wondering why their new policies are incorrect.... I might rethink my current profession.
Hirobi's impediments behind us, we moved onto Kevin. Kevin, tall and slender, always shows up in a suit looking like he has had a long day at work. He is young; I guess late 20s. He is smart and you can tell he is genuinely interested in learning English and how the language works (he is usually the only one that will ask for a second or third example). Last class he brought pictures from his Golden Week vacation: he visited Kesennuma, the second most impacted city by the earthquake and tsunami in Japan. This was Kevin's second trip to this devastated area and, although he was not prepared the previous class to do so, he wanted to share with us his presentation on the trip this class. Expecting only a few preplanned thoughts, I forgot we were sitting in a board room. Next thing I knew, the lights were off and the power point was projected on the screen. Only in Japan (as far as I'm concerned), would a student in a voluntary language class prepare a 15 slide power point on his holiday trip. There were five sections: Kesennuma Reconstruction Association, Preparation, why Volunteer, Activities, and Exploration. As Kevin spoke, he referred to his prepared English/Japanese notes and took time to look up extra words and images. Not only was I proud of his fantastic and thorough presentation in English, but I was touched to see how he wanted to help. In his explanation of why he chose to volunteer (this is his second trip, by the way), he explained that after the tsunami, he did not know what to do or how to make a difference as just one person. But as he thought about it, he realized that he had a bad attitude and that he could be a part of a group that could make a difference. What an awe-inspiring presentation!
I walked out of class high on life, thrilled by my students and my opportunity to take part in their education. I was confirmed in my resolution that all of my commitments in Japan were important and that I should not feel any guilt for considering my Japan life as my life and not some short hiatus from my American life. My guilt for heading to America for three weeks was out the window and continuing my commitment to my life that I desperately wanted to establish in Japan - that of importance, a sense of home, and personal accomplishment outside of the Navy - was back as high priority. I walked out of class invigorated and ready for my next class.
I love and cherish my next class. My three older ladies: Kazuko, Katsuyo, and Kazuko. They are like my grandmothers, so warm and welcoming. When Kath, Lisa and Alli were visiting last month, they took us to dinner. Kazuko 1 & 2 (Katsuyo could not make it which tonight I learned why) invited us over and dressed us in Kimono for hours only stopping at our insistence that they must be exhausted. They understood, so they put down the kimono and headed into the kitchen to prepare a "snack," which to us, was a meal. These ladies are amazing.
It was a somber group when I walked in tonight. I had not seen them since April. They cancelled class two weeks ago due to unexplained illnesses (a voicemail with a bad omen but upon talking to
Kazuko 1 seemed ok.....). I was poised for class and ready to celebrate Kazuko 2's birthday (a long overdo party). As I settled in (birthday cake and present in hand), Kazuko 1 blurted out that they had bad news. My stomach dropped. Kazuko explained that this would be our last English lesson but she could not explain why because it was too sad. She turned her attention to Katsuyo. Katsuyo told me that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer a month ago. She had surgery and, from what I could gather, would not undergo treatment. She looked at me and said she was done. I think that meant she needed to stop taking English classes but, with her health being so fragile in the first place, I think she is ultimately tired in general. Seeing the devastated look on my face, she turned to Kazuko 2 for her explanation.
Kazuko 2 explained that she was also diagnosed with breast cancer in the last month and, from what I could understand, had started chemo. I had noticed she had a new haircut when I walked in... but now she told me her hair was falling out. The new hair mad sense. My heart sunk to the floor. Every bit of my strength fought back tears. The Japanese do not show emotion. I would not shed tears. I would not show sadness or hurt. Don't cry! Don't cry! Don't cry! Then, Kazuko 1 got up and presented me with a going away gift: a beautiful piece of pottery. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I cried. They cried. And bowed. And apologized. And I cried more. These miraculous 70-something women who took English for fun were apologizing to me, their teacher, for saying no more because of their health. I wanted to hug them. And never let go. But I knew that I had to keep it together for the sake of the class. We still had 80 minutes left, afterall. And what was I to talk about! I asked how their families were. But small talk was not my friend tonight. Kazuko 1 saw my terror. I was struggling. She and I just stared at each other... trying to make sense of it all.... our two sickly cohorts. How did this happen? How do we make it through? Kazuko 1 talked as much as she could because, at the end of every question, it was blatantly obvious that I did not know what to do next. With only 15 minutes left in class, she began to tear up with every letter I wrote on the board. With five left, she called it. Class was over. Did I have anything to say? Not unless they wanted solely tears. The birthday party was a mess. The class was a mess. I needed to get out.
I hugged them all. Both Kazuko 2 and Katsuyo clung to me as I hugged them. I reassured them that I would see them soon. They supported each other down the hallway with me but Katsuyo only made it to the end of the hall, and Kazuko stopped outside the entrance. Kazuko 1 walked me out. Katsuyo's husband was parked next to me. He brought me fresh peas from his garden. I bowed and thanked him but not like I would have liked to for fear that I would cry to a man I had only met a hand full of times. I waved emphatically to each of them, knowing that I had certainly not said all there was to say. And I drove off, waiting until I was out of eyesight to lose it... to lose it big time.
Boy if I did not have every emotion imaginable between 5:45 and 9:00 tonight: personal accomplishment, pride in my work and my students, prioritizing my students and Japan life ... then sliding dangerously steep to the other end of the spectrum ... life is short, don't take anything for granted, enjoy everything you have. This was certainly a Wednesday for my record books. But I think it reassures me how much I love my life in Japan. How committed to it I am. How much I get back from everything I do here. And certainly how grateful I am for every single opportunity I have, be it close to my roots or on the other side of the world.
Katsuyo, Kazuko 1, Kazuko 2
