Spring is in the Air

Even the guardian lions are enjoying the clear weather!

Springtime

The station put up some old color tinted photographs of the town during this Sakura viewing period. 

Glorious Moments in Life

This year ended with yet more sadness and happiness. My students at a school I teach at one day a week, surprised me again with a lovely gesture of gratitude.

As our last class for the year ended - they will go on to the next grade, but I will not teach them again, instead beginning my instructions all over again on the next, new crop of students who will fill these very chairs next term- that familiar feeling came upon me. One of sadness, of a heart beating slightly faster with the knowledge of imminent change, departure, things not staying the same, and sometimes not quite as good. Those familiar feelings began their journey from my mind to my heart, there in the center of my chest, beating faster, as the last few minutes of class began, the hand of the clock celebrating its bitter sweet final navigations of that large familiar white dial above the door.

I stood about to close the class, and from the rear, as the year before had happened, students began to enter the room. FIlling the classroom, students from my other classes poured in, sincere smiles on all their young, eager faces, knowing they were about to give me something I'd never throw away, and cherish forever and ever.

A few bolder students taking the initiative, physically swept me from the podium and placed me, amid my feigned protestations, to the windows-side of the classroom and instructed me in their most severe middle-aged woman impression, 'DON'T LOOK, ROBAATO!". So, I obliged. I stared out the window, not cheating, not looking back at them once, and making a big fake fuss over how lovely the day was outside, how spring was coming, and how the flowers were beginning to bloom, 'oh, can you see them there?, and, oh, can anyone see that funny purple cat down there in the street, or that little boy who was eating ice cream on such a brisk day?

Yes, of course, I played it up with all sorts of exaggeration, and was rewarded with rolls of hysterical disembodied laughter from the busy girls who were feverishly trying to assemble something nefarious, something still hidden from my view. I heard but did not see. Desks and chairs moving about, all sorts of orders being barked out, in carefully cryptic slang. I kept up my banter, never once turning round. My defense was clear. I'd joke about the moment, protecting myself and steeling myself and my eyes from any silly displays of affection or emotion. I'm the teacher, after all!

Finally, after a few minutes of this, they said it was 'ok' to turn around. I did so. And my breath was taken away, as I saw they had formed a human tunnel. Girls, fine young Ladies all, were lined up in two very long winding rows, facing each other, with their arms outstretched above them and each connected with hands linked to the girl across from them, creating a tunnel with their outstretched and interlinked arms.

They beckoned me with heated excitement, as if it would all very soon melt away. And perhaps it would. So, i did, I hurried. And, being told to enter the tunnel, I did so with haste. And as I did, they began to collapse the tunnel as i passed each pair of interlocked arms, cascading behind me, and ushering me with playful force along my final path in their class. The tunnel led to the doorway, whereby i exited and stood up, having had to make the whole journey practically bent over completely to fit in my petite charges' construction. This, as I stood up, only to see a girl standing at the end facing me. A wonderful girl, quiet, sweet, and with a face which I've never seen absent of a smile, and whose face resembles a young Ally McGraw from the movie "Love Story". Having that association already in my mind, and the inherent sadness associated with it and that story, I almost lost it right there and then. She, smiling her smile, though this time with more than a hint of the same sadness I felt inside me, presented me with the poster card you see here and at the same time she did so, all the students in attendance, there must have been ninety or a hundred, yelled 'Robaato Sensei, ARIGATO GOZAIMASHITA!" And followed that with clapping and cheers. I took the wonderful card and bowed as low as I could, to show my immense humility and thanks and to hide the thumping of my heart, which felt surely about to burst the buttons of my vest, and to hide the tears which thankfully came despite my naive defense.

Thank you, Girls, I mean, Young Ladies. Bless You All.

Memories of last end of year

Just when I thought it was over...

Just when I thought I had been treated to the highest honor a teacher could receive, my other school, which I'll be leaving this month, surprised me beyond words.

As my class ended, the students, whom I had just given last minute interview tests to, rushed to the back of the room and assembled. A student in front went to the piano while another student up front stood on two chairs pushed together.

The Japanese teacher whose homeroom it was, told me her students wanted to say goodbye to me with a song. It's called Sakura, and it's a very old Japanese song.

There is no way I could be prepared for what I heard next. As the piano started, and the 'conductor' student began to move her hands the girls all sung out in tones that could only be described as angelic. They were beautiful sounds. Amazingly beautiful singing voices, which reminded me of the Harlem Boys Choir, used in so many movies, such as Glory and others.

They sang, and I felt it hard to keep my composure. What made it even harder was seeing students I had taught for 3 years crying as they sung. With the conductor herself quickly rubbing her eyes against her upper arm without missing a beat in her movements, trying to wipe the tears away, which were now running down her face. This was too much. I used everything in me, to prevent myself from losing it, though my eyes did tear up clearly.

As they finished, a student came forward with a very large card, which all the students had written a message in English. With sentiments like "Never forget me! You're my best teacher forever", "I love English and I owe it all to you. And I love you!", how could one not be moved?

In all my years of teaching, these were the best students I had ever taught, and this day was one of the most moving ever for me.

To Students with Love

I was shocked today after my final class finished. Lunch was next period, but the bell hadn't rung yet. So, I wondered why other students from my other classes were entering my classroom before the bell. Granted, I'm sure they were hungry, but it isn't usually allowed for students to have left their own classrooms, let alone enter another teacher's, before the bell rings. I assumed it must be because exams are coming, and it's the last few days of the term. Perhaps they were getting more bold, more defiant toward the end. It wouldn't be the first time. Well, I ignored the slight disruption as I began to hurry to grab my papers, my brief case, the cassette CD player, which I had used to play the music from the movie To Sir With Love by Lulu as background music for our last class, ( along with other pieces with a closing theme).

I was feeling a little down that it was all ending. But, I told myself, 'why get sad?' No need for emotional moments here. I had things to do. I had to catch my train and get on with my day. Errands to run, etc. Don't dwell on the silly stuff. Class is over. So what. There'll be more.

But as the other students filed into the classroom, and more and more came in, and making more than the usual amount of noise doing so, I noticed something even more peculiar: they were all facing me. The entire room, overflowing with bright young souls, was facing me as I stood up at the podium at the head of the class. I just began to lean over to turn down the volume to the theme from Harry Potter when I looked up from what I was doing. I did so because the room had suddenly become church quiet. A silent room yet stuffed with smiling faces, all looking at me.

What is this?, I thought. Do I have chalk on my face?

Then I saw her.

A student entered from the back and came through the mass of navy and white uniforms, the sea of black hair and beaming white complexions, of pony tails, and braces, and she walked foward to me. This girl, one of my more robust and rebellious students walked slowly to the podium, and in her hands and in the hands of her friends were flowers. Beautiful bouquets of red tulips. They reached out and held this present to me, as they did so, they added cards they had written entirely in English. Piling them on top of one another's as my arms gave way to the suddenly flowering mass of objects.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Was this for real? As I fumbled for words, the room erupted in applause shouting, "arigato gozaimashita, Robaato sensei!! We will miss you!! We love you!! Thank you!!"

At that moment I felt exactly as I had felt watching Sidney Poitier in that great film as he came face to face with his own student's gratitude and affection in those wonderful final moments. Only now, for me, I couldn't hide in the darkness watching an actor in a scene. I couldn't resist the swell of emotion, consoling myself that it was a clever bit of writing, coupled with the skills of storytelling. For this time, this moment, I was that teacher, and, unlike the movie set, this was a real-life classroom. And those were real life students doing this. And the tears I felt well up were mine, entirely and unequivocably.

-Robert