messy spaghetti

Me: Did you hear that?
Mom: Yeah, what was that?
Me: A fart.
Mom, laughing: I just heard your fart all the way from Japan.


This is the relationship I have with my mother. I'm glad some things never change. The only problem with using the computer and interweb as a telephone is that the powerful microphone built into the Macbook is at the same level as my lower torso when I'm sitting at the table. When I fart, the whole world can hear. If they're listening.

***

Weekend. Saturday morning. Iwaki city.

A powerful gust of wind forced its way through the open windows of my apartment, causing an open door to slam shut. The thunderous bang of wood smashing wood at hurricane speed served as a reasonable wake up call. Now, an hour later, two cups of instant coffee and a Sigur Ros record in to the morning, here I am.

The first week of work was wonderful and exhausting. I haven't looked forward to a Saturday this much since I worked at the newspaper. Though, I suppose this is the first week I've actually worked since I left The Examiner in early June.

The paid holiday is over. Sort of.

As an assistant elementary school English teacher, my actual job responsibilities consist of repeating simple English phrases such as, "What do you want to eat?" and "When is New Year's Day?"

We sing songs too. This week alone I was actually paid to sing Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Six times.

I like fifth graders the best. They're the most in to it. They're attentive and excited and eager. Third and fourth grade are still a little too young to truly understand the meaning of the lessons. And sixth graders are mostly too cool for school. They just sit there and don't make much of an effort. Unless something funny happens.

Example:

Friday's sixth grade lesson was: What Do You Want to Eat? I Want to Eat _____.

We had picture cards of the foods. Mainly western cuisine you can find in Japan. We worked on proper pronunciation of these words. The Japanese are quick to adopt and Japanify many aspects of western culture, food is no exception.

We say, Hamburger, Pizza, Spaghetti.

They say, Haamu-Baagaa and Pii-za and Supaa-gheeti.

These cheeky sixth grade bastards had a field day with spaghetti.

I was intentionally over enunciating the word, to get them to hear the western pronunciation.

Spa-ghe-tti, Spa-ghe-tti, Spa-ghe-tii

All the boys started laughing uncontrollably.

I taught this lesson to three sixth grade classes before it dawned on my what was so funny.

You see, the word geri in Japanese means diarrhea. And the proper pronunciation of the word in Japanese happens to sound exactly like the proper pronunciation of "ghetti" in spaghetti.

So I would say, "Spaghetti! Spaghetti! Spaghetti!"

And they would hear, "spa-Diarrhea! spa-Diarrhea! spa-Diarrhea!"

Once I figured out what was going on, I thought it was pretty damn funny too. But I tried to hide my smirk as I looked towards the Japanese teacher to see if she knew what was going on as well. I think she had an idea.

A Japanese elementary school is a strange place. There is no cafeteria. There is no janitor. Why would they need these things when they have a captive audience of hundreds of little kids?

Shit you not. The kids serve lunch and they eat in their classrooms with the teachers. And every day after lunch, for 45 minutes, they clean the school.

I had heard that this was the case in Japanese schools, but seeing it first hand was something else.

They call school lunch kyushoku. Every day a kyushoku center brings lunch for the school in large metal containers. You have no say in what's for lunch. Everybody eats it. After fourth period about a quarter of the kids in each classroom don white, lab coat-esque smocks and thick cotton surgical masks. Then they bring in plates and trays and the metal containers filled with the day's lunch. And they serve it up soup kitchen style.

Sometimes I eat lunch with the students. They get a kick out of this, especially when I bring my own lunch. I've never seen kids stare with such amazement at a person eating a tuna sandwich and banana.

After lunch the kids brush their teeth. Then they clean. Sweep, mop, scrub, dust. Even the teachers and staff pitch in. I do not. I tend to hide out somewhere and have a nap. However, I'm not sure how effective having kids clean the school really is. I know when I was that age and my parents made me clean something, the only tool I'd make use of was a wet rag. As long as it looked clean, it was good enough. I carry much of this same attitude with me to this day.