Opening Ceremonies

To kick things off in the Year of the Boar, I’ll start at the beginning, which happens to be nine months ago when I began a new job. More demanding hours combined with an increase in paid freelance writing have hampered leisure blogging, so I have a lot of catching up to do.

Rotating among four schools last year, I found it hard to develop friendships with students. I was there solely to assist the Japanese English teacher, and felt awkward asking to eat lunch with the kids or being caught clowning around during recess, often as party to the mischief.

Then along came Shin Gakko, a private school that actually encouraged foreign teachers to be active in the lives of its learners, which included junior high and high school. On top of English lesson planning, my other roles were to be an assistant homeroom and gym teacher. Shin Gakko seemed like the perfect match to grow with the same set of students in various settings around school.

Head first I went to day number one with plenty to cover my feet. Changing footwear is an ingrained habit of Japanese life. For example, in my new, shared apartment, I check shoes at the door and change into one of three pairs of slippers depending on if I’m showering, doing laundry on the porch, or walking through the living-dining-room-kitchen.

At school, here’s what you’ll find in my locker and bottom desk drawer:
1. outdoor shoes – what I wear when I come to work
2. indoor shoes – what I change into to wear inside school
3. ground shoes – what I change into if gym class is outside in the dirt lot
4. gym shoes – what I change into if gym class is in the hardwood gym
5. slippers – for carpeted classrooms

Upon arrival, most teachers change out of their dress shoes they wear to work. Apparently dirt from outside of school isn’t to mingle with dirt on campus. The result is comedic. Teachers look business from head to ankle, but covering their toes are mismatching sneakers or el cheapo sandals with off-colored socks. Assimilating to the strict footwear code of conduct, however, doesn’t have to be difficult. Other foreign teachers here have streamlined the system by wearing a universal pair to cover all surfaces.

I wish I had done so on opening day. That morning I traded black dress shoes for “indoor” white Pumas, which – shhh! – on weekends I wear out to bars and clubs. I had no idea what to expect that first day, but it turned out a little like the Olympics’ opening ceremonies, but with only one country competing.

Lined up in their gym clothes for Sports Day practice.

Convocation was held in the dirt schoolyard with a baseball diamond. Students in linear formation endlessly marched in class by class, and used military-like maneuvers to evenly space themselves out – no small feat considering that there were 2,200 of them. With so many pupils, the high school feels more like a factory churning out students packaged with the same school crest lapel pin.

High school boys wore cadet-like black blazers with a dozen gold buttons fastened from waist to collar. Girls paraded in navy sailor tops and pleated dresses. Middle schoolers were outfitted in tiny grey jackets and trousers or dresses. Black shoes clomped all around. They looked like a uniformed fighting force of a small nation. Standing silently at attention, they awaited word from their commander-in-chief.

The principal faced a microphone on a raised podium over first base. Aged and important-looking men (retired generals?) flanked the platform while rank and file teachers fanned out around the perimeter of the yard. Like the rest of the Japanese workforce, teachers wore shades of black. The overcast weather also dressed for the occasion. I had not.

New teachers entered last. We followed the third base line, touched home, and lined up along first base near the principal. The five foreign teachers were the last of the last. Scanning the group of new Japanese teachers in black shoes, panic swept over me. Mine were white, and for indoors.

“Those are nice shoes, but I’m not sure if I’d necessarily be wearing them right now,” the American behind me said. It was too late to change. My stomach knotted as I faced the crowd standing one teacher away from the end (home plate). Maybe if I stood on the white base line nobody would notice. They did. The foreign teachers cracked jokes as we applauded the entrance of the junior high, the final troops to deploy.

Speeches began without my comprehension. Bowing seemed to be the theme because we did it before, many times during, and at the end of each speech, which were mercifully brief. Then it was time for new teacher introductions. Three by three, newbies ascended the platform to have the chief announce their names before bowing down.

I secretly wished for a sudden downpour. Once the main ingredient for my popularity last year, my snow-colored Pumas would now trigger an avalanche of embarrassment. Three of us foreign men were the last to go up. Walking past the other teachers I also noticed that I was the only one not wearing a white dress shirt, but luckily had a black spring jacket to mask the sky blue underneath.

The sea of bored faces suddenly rippled to life. I’ll never forget the sequence of noises as we assumed the stage. Dead silence, followed by murmurs loudening into laughter. Never mind the feet; it was the face. Three tall, pasty white foreigners (one with shoes to match) were just too much of a contrast from everyone who had bowed before.

Retreating to ground level, I reflected on how my first day could have been worse. That morning I almost pulled beige slacks out of the closet.