GLEE!
I went out and rented the DVD on my lunch break and spent my afternoon in the board of education, surrounded by people in suits, watching Glee with the sound muted on my laptop. I had to pre-watch it and determine which clips would be appropriate to show in school; I wasn't exactly looking for an opportunity to explain to a bunch of Japanese 15-year-olds why one of the characters was planting pot in a locker and why someone else was faking a pregnancy. I was proud of the results: I managed to pare the episode neatly down to only its essential, cheesily inspiring bits. You know what I mean...the parts that really make it worthy of its name.
I introduced the lesson by explaining some characteristics of American high schools that the kids might find strange, such as Spanish classes and the lax dress code. Then I asked what the kids thought of when they imagined American schools, and every student replied with the same word: "freedom."
We started the show. It got a few laughs out of some of the class clowns, but most of the students were silent all the way through the hijinks and musical numbers. As the last, "DON'T STOP!!" of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" rolled over the classroom and I turned off the TV, I looked out over their impassive expressions and felt a little resigned. I knew better than to expect much of a reaction, having witnessed many times the strange effect junior high can have on once energetic kids--especially when they were in their last year, like these ones, and could already feel high school breathing down their necks. But I feel like the effect is especially marked in Japanese schools. Some of these kids are as tightly contained as those little novelty towel pills, and I just wish I knew what water would make them gasp and expand.
I don't know anyone who actually uses these once they stop looking like antibiotics from Hell. The "towels" feel like recycled cardboard.
That effect was even more obvious when we asked the kids to write down something that they would believe in. We told them writing in Japanese was fine and I gave them an example (my persistently recurring belief that I will speak Japanese well someday, despite the 7+ unsuccessful years of studying that beg to differ), but when it was time for the kids to try it most just stared at us. My co-teacher explained, "I don't think they've ever been asked to think of something like that before." The class time ran out and the kids handed in their papers, all blank. I made an aimless apology to the teacher afterward, she said she was sure the kids had fun even if none of them showed it, and I left.
I returned two days later to teach a different lesson to the first years. That went much better. The kids all knew me from their last year in elementary school, and they clapped and cheered when I entered the class. Then they followed me around afterwards, asking me to teach them dances like the macarena and constantly demanding I recite their names and distinguishing characteristics just to make sure I hadn't forgotten them in the four months we'd been apart. Just like old times. We ate lunch together in the classroom while listening to music on the intercom, and I had been expecting to hear the familiar (that is, overplayed) AKB48:
CAUTION: Do NOT play this if you are not prepared to witness some painfully gratuitous fan service. Usher the children out of the room, shut the blinds, don't answer the phones.
But instead I got:
I was so excited I started singing along and playing a mean air guitar. I was rocking so hard some kids graciously edged their desks away to give me more room and stared at the ceiling because they knew intuitively that I am very shy. And I know that we all know that they knew that I knew (and appreciated) what they were trying to do when I flung my hands out to them and belted, "DOOON'T STOP. BELIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEVIN'," with extra panache and squinty rock-star eyes.
After my lunch performance I laughed all the way back to the teacher's room, where I met my co-teacher and asked if she'd requested the Journey song.
"No," she said, grinning. "The 3rd year students brought the CD with them and asked us to play it."
