I was informed that today is the last day I will be teaching grades 1-4, at least at one of my schools. This saddened me greatly, as no one is so easily entertained or so enthusiastic to participate as a tiny Japanese child presented with a foreigner. So it goes without saying that I was determined to enjoy my time with them to the fullest, and fortunately that included eating lunch with them. They started the experience off with a bang, all showing up with hot pink mouths thanks to a plaque test they'd had earlier. And it only got better, I assure you.
I had thought I'd gotten used to the little "surprises" that sometimes show up in Japanese lunches, but it turns out I haven't earned that distinction quite yet. For dessert today we had a bowl of yogurt mixed with mandarin oranges and small, clear cubes of what looked like gelatin. I discovered it most certainly was not gelatin when I tried to chew it and was unsuccessful the first, second, and third tries. I soon realized the kids had never encountered it before either, when I noticed dozens of Barbie-pink mouths framed in grimaces as the kids tried valiantly to divide the tough cubes with their front teeth--rookie mistake--while also preventing yogurt and fruit juices from escaping their busy mouths. It looked as though their lips were all bobbing up and down to the same music--once, twice, four times, until finally! Sweet relief, and another spoonful.
It was one of the most delightfully awkward scenes I've ever witnessed, and I laughed out loud until several children turned their neon bright pouts towards me and asked, "What are you laughing at?"
What indeed.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Dating
I read somewhere that Japanese people think of single women as Christmas fruit cakes: after the 25th (birthday, that is), no one wants them. Not a perfect analogy--in my experience few people want a fruit cake in the first place—but apparently an accurate one: lately the people around me have started encouraging me to take the plunge and get myself a Japanese man before my own dreaded 25th.
It all started in a kindergarten, of all places. The principal of this kindergarten was the first brave enough to ask whether I was single, and she initiated a conversation so eerily similar to many conversations I would participate in later that I often wonder if there is some handbook for this sort of thing. The pattern is as follows:
1. Initiate discussion about age. Express surprise at Jessica's age.
2. Ask if Jessica is married, often mistaking the ring she wears on her middle finger for a wedding band. Express great shock when she answers in the negative.
3. Immediately ask, “How about….Japanese Men?” (They all say it that way: the pause, the emphasis on Japanese Men)
4. (Here I explain that I like Japanese men as well as any men, but that not being fluent in Japanese makes dating a practical impossibility)
5. Wave away concerns about language barriers.
6. Offer list of available men in surrounding area, regardless of age or lack of interest expressed by either (most often both) parties.
7. Continue urging Jessica into action until she becomes dangerously red with embarrassment or flees the scene.
This kindergarten principal, I should emphasize, is an extraordinarily kind woman. Every time I work with her she makes sure I have a hot cocoa break, and I always leave with a bag stuffed with rice crackers and chocolates of all descriptions. She is never pushy or disappointed when I refuse her offers to introduce me to her sons (one of whom is a fireman, she tells me with a wink), and she only laughs when I tell her I can’t speak Japanese very well, saying that I am pretty enough to date without the aid of conversation. Besides, let’s face it: there is a great deal of hazing I will put up with from anyone who enables my chocolate addiction.
One day as I was warming my hands around a cup of cocoa, the principal gazed contemplatively out of the window at a man working in his garden and said, “Why don’t you date him? He’s single.”
Noting her mischievous smile, I joined her at the window and watched the toiling stranger: A man who was wall-eyed, sun worn, profoundly bald…but most importantly, at least twice my age. “Ah, no…no thanks,” I blustered, trying to think of the politest refusal I was capable of.
“Why not?” the principal urged, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
Finally I was forced to mutter, “He’s too old,”—a terribly blunt, un-Japanese answer--and the entire officeful of ladies erupted in laughter as I blushed. I was quick to point at another teacher and suggest that she date him instead, but she just held up her wedding ring like a get-out-of-jail-free card and everyone laughed harder.
What I’m saying is, being single here means you’re free game, no matter your age or description. But—and I type this with one hand on a Bible and the other holding a needle to my eye (and yes that is rather difficult to manage)—Utah was still far worse. ^__~
It all started in a kindergarten, of all places. The principal of this kindergarten was the first brave enough to ask whether I was single, and she initiated a conversation so eerily similar to many conversations I would participate in later that I often wonder if there is some handbook for this sort of thing. The pattern is as follows:
1. Initiate discussion about age. Express surprise at Jessica's age.
2. Ask if Jessica is married, often mistaking the ring she wears on her middle finger for a wedding band. Express great shock when she answers in the negative.
3. Immediately ask, “How about….Japanese Men?” (They all say it that way: the pause, the emphasis on Japanese Men)
4. (Here I explain that I like Japanese men as well as any men, but that not being fluent in Japanese makes dating a practical impossibility)
5. Wave away concerns about language barriers.
6. Offer list of available men in surrounding area, regardless of age or lack of interest expressed by either (most often both) parties.
7. Continue urging Jessica into action until she becomes dangerously red with embarrassment or flees the scene.
This kindergarten principal, I should emphasize, is an extraordinarily kind woman. Every time I work with her she makes sure I have a hot cocoa break, and I always leave with a bag stuffed with rice crackers and chocolates of all descriptions. She is never pushy or disappointed when I refuse her offers to introduce me to her sons (one of whom is a fireman, she tells me with a wink), and she only laughs when I tell her I can’t speak Japanese very well, saying that I am pretty enough to date without the aid of conversation. Besides, let’s face it: there is a great deal of hazing I will put up with from anyone who enables my chocolate addiction.
One day as I was warming my hands around a cup of cocoa, the principal gazed contemplatively out of the window at a man working in his garden and said, “Why don’t you date him? He’s single.”
Noting her mischievous smile, I joined her at the window and watched the toiling stranger: A man who was wall-eyed, sun worn, profoundly bald…but most importantly, at least twice my age. “Ah, no…no thanks,” I blustered, trying to think of the politest refusal I was capable of.
“Why not?” the principal urged, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
Finally I was forced to mutter, “He’s too old,”—a terribly blunt, un-Japanese answer--and the entire officeful of ladies erupted in laughter as I blushed. I was quick to point at another teacher and suggest that she date him instead, but she just held up her wedding ring like a get-out-of-jail-free card and everyone laughed harder.
What I’m saying is, being single here means you’re free game, no matter your age or description. But—and I type this with one hand on a Bible and the other holding a needle to my eye (and yes that is rather difficult to manage)—Utah was still far worse. ^__~
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