Foreign Times at Nubata Junior High

I swore I’d never go back. After all, they were the darkest three years of my life. But 11 years and 7,000 miles later, I returned to junior high school. Now, I’m the cool kid. Revenge is sweet.

For my first day of school, I arrived half an hour early. Using my best remedial Japanese on the first adult I saw, I asked the custodian for the head English teacher. I was instead escorted into the principal’s office where I sat on a couch covered in plastic and sipped green tea. Mr. Sasaki, in his double-breasted lab coat, welcomed me in broken English. On the walls hung portraits of head masters who had meted out punishment before him, perhaps back to the Meiji Period judging by their pre-WWI hairdos. As Mr. Sasaki and I struggled to understand each other, I hoped he had miscommunicated because otherwise it sounded like I would address the entire school at this morning's assembly. Had a special session been scheduled just to gawk at the tall foreigner?

Actually, an awards ceremony preceded it, with Nubata Junior High taking home a kendo trophy the size of some 7th graders. Uniformed students sat in neat rows on the gymnasium floor according to gender and sneaker stripe, color-coded by grade. Otherwise it would have been easy to mistake some of the shorter haired girls for boys, who also wore navy uniforms.

Then it was my turn. The gym fell silent. Stairs creaked as I walked up to the stage to face 400 people. I had never addressed an audience this captive or this large. I felt like a neon highlighter in a pencil case full of No. 2s. Stooped over the mic, I s-l-o-w-l-y stated fun facts like my age, hometown, weakness for dark chocolate, and adoration of baseball and basketball. It pained me to lie that the Yankees were my favorite team, but I did so for the NY connection and to be able to proclaim “Hideki Matsui wa ichiban [#1]!” Someone laughed, or maybe coughed. OK, so he’s batting .233, but the season is young.

This would be the first of six self-introductions. After the assembly, the English teachers paraded me from class to class like their show and tell object. And tell I did. Entire 45-minute periods were devoted to my likes and dislikes, which were translated into Japanese for eager ears. I fielded questions from reticent students such as height (185.3 cm), favorite foods (sushi, tempura, Teriyaki McBurger), and marital status (safely single now that gunning for a spousal work visa is no longer necessary). The kids were very curious about the last subject, and also asked the “type of woman” I liked. This scripted curveball came from a worksheet to goad students into probing the foreigner. Unsure of how to word my response, I carefully selected “smart woman” to emphasize the value I'll be placing on their elementary English education.

I flirted with embarrassment during my very first class. In section 3-3, the oldest students goof off, chit-chat, and throw erasers with impunity. In Japan, some teachers won’t disturb you if you sleep. While pronouncing vocabulary on large index cards Mr. Nakamura held up, I nearly stumbled over “a piece of ___.” Of course, I’m thinking “shit,” trying hard not to slip up. The very next card: “clip.” Shit, that was a close one!

Luckily, most of my classes are with the youngest 7th and 8th graders, who still enjoy bingo and role-playing. They are at a magical age where their adorable, round faces light up when I dramatize a word, and are just old enough to absorb pop culture and sports, yet remain wonderfully immature. They “wow” when I enter class, bow when I leave, and brandish bucktooth smiles in between. My height and foreignness are an instant recipe for popularity, something never achieved throughout all of my schooling.

“Herro Mister Jeffree” is my name, and they’re wearing it out. I’m mobbed moving between classes, hugged and tugged while handing out high fives and hellos in return. Having dozens of younger brothers and sisters to pal around with eases the 1-hour commute on a confusing public transportation system.

Despite the job’s repetitiveness, each class is unique, and as the (assistant) teacher I get to play favorites, which I bestow on the little buggers in section 1-3. They provide the greatest incentive for me to learn Japanese because I wish to communicate more than their English permits. And at the rate we’re going, I’m going to catch on to their language a lot faster than they are to Engrish.