The Beginning of the End or The Long Goodbye

This week marks the first of the last lessons with my students and it has arrived with very little fanfare by yours truly. I’m not good with goodbyes. I’m excellent with hellos. Goodbyes…not so much. I knew going into this week that I would never see these kids again but initially there was a feeling of indifference to all that. My mind was looking towards the people I would soon be seeing again and not those I would be leaving behind. Besides, thought I, I have only been with these kids for a short time, six hours if you are counting, and how much connection can be collected in a handful of hours. I did plan a way to express that I was leaving that the children might understand and I did cart along the camera but I didn’t feel much initially at my leaving. It also helped that the first class of the week was one that I would rather forget. A mixed class of Coma Kids and Attitude Givers and Chatterboxes that hardly listened to me during those six hour spent and probably celebrated the fact that the growling ogre teacher telling them to constantly be quiet was exiting door left never to return. Still I reserved a little time at the end of my lesson for the goodbye. I had thought over the weekend how I would do this. Would the kids understand me if I simply told them that I was leaving to go back to Canada? Would blank stares gaze up at me as they often do when I deviate from the script? I fashioned a small speech out of words the kids know. “Teacher” “Canada” “plane” “fly” and “finished” were used. I also decided to use our classroom map as a visual aid to demonstrate the distance traveled to get there and just where I was going to get back. As the first day of lessons came to an end I had the students join me at the map. There, with a red crayon, I marked an X over the Ottawa/Cornwall area to show them where I was going and then I broke into my goodbye speech. Silence. They didn’t understand what I was saying! I spruced it up with a bit of Japanese, something we never do in class to show them that things had changed. Silence. Ahhhh, what was the point? The language barrier had put up a wall between our goodbye. But then one of the Chatterboxes spoke up saying something to the group in Japanese. Realization broke on their faces. He had understood me and had relayed to the others that I was leaving. The kids should be used to such things by now as they are constantly getting new Native English Teachers coming in and out of the revolving door that is their classroom. I am just one more. The kids were as indifferent as I was. I don’t know what I was expecting. Certainly not tears of sorrow or whoops of joy but maybe just something…anything…instead of nothing. I didn’t take a photo that day. The kids gathered up their bags, coats and shoes and were out the door and into their parents cars maybe to tell them gleefully that the ogre teacher who constantly told them to keep quiet and listen was now out of their lives.

The next day I was a bit more organized with my speech having gone through it on the previous days dress rehearsal. My final lessons were petering out quickly, like the hour was going by in ten minutes, but they were enjoyable and took little planning. I had decided to take all the classes favorite games (as indicated by my months of lesson notes) and use them in the final lessons. This, my friends, cast me in the roll of a gorilla for the better part of the week. The students on this day seemed to grasp that I was going much quicker but again there was not much to it after the understanding of it all. I said my “goodbye” and they said their programmed in “see you” as though I were returning. I did want to organize a photo, though, having forgotten the previous day. This required speaking to the parents and shifting out of my gorilla roll and into my mime roll. Normally a Native Teacher would write a note for the school’s Japanese Teacher to ask the parents if a photo was alright. One might see where a strange foreign man with long hair and a beard taking photos of their children might be questionable without some prior warning. I couldn’t write this note as three of my schools do not have Japanese Teachers and, instead, are barraged by cover teachers of both Japanese and Foreign variety. I would have to cut out the middleman and head right to the source. Being the icy days of winter most parents do not leave the heat of their toasty autos. I had to beckon them forward from the doorway. Behind me the kids were in a tizzy. Some understood that I wanted to take a picture and were standing in my designated photo area and others were getting ready to go as they always do when I am standing at the door. And some…well some were just bopping each other on the head with a large, stuffed dice. Humor found in chaos. At the door the mime in me shone. I, with the help of one of my students acting as an interpreter, informed the parents that I was leaving and wanted to take a photo of the kids. All of them agreed but I think only one of them understood. Most of them just wanted to get back to the cars. Well, it was good enough for me. I organized the kids and clicked away as they posed and tossed up the peace sign, a traditional Japanese photo favorite. Upon further explanation by their kids the parents offered me a different goodbye then usual. I don’t quite know what it meant but it included a thank you and I think something a kin to “happy travels” but am unsure. My translation book didn’t help me. I waved, said goodbye and felt comfortable enough to do this about 50 more times. I was starting to feel the end creeping in now. Talking to the parents had added more weight to it.

Today, though, the feeling of missing and completion would smack hit me in the gut like a 747, full force and unrelenting. It was at the end of one of my younger classes. The lesson had went well with me acting all gorilla like and the kids bursting with laughter while in between the fun repeating a few of the words and sentences from the curriculum. I had just given my speech, although dulled down for the younger set, and was organizing the kids for a photo. At the door I did my song and dance for the parents. One of them knew English quite well. I’d spoken to him a few times before. After I said I was heading back to Canada as my year was done he offered me his hand. This was a bit of a shock to me, this gesture I’ve taken part in on numerous occasions back home. Here, in Japan, the bow takes the place of a handshake. I’ve been bowing a lot but a handshake was rare, if I’ve even done one here at all. I took the man’s hand and he gave mine a firm pump and said “thank you”. Next to him stood an old woman and she, too, offered her hand to me for a shake. It was cold, leathery and appreciated. To the others I bowed. One girl’s mother was a little late, a sweet girl who always laughed the loudest. She’d often try to tickle me and would playfully slap at me when I did something silly. When her mother arrived the girl came up to me with sad eyes. I hadn’t thought she understood everything but clearly she had and she was effected by it. As I was lifting my hand to wave goodbye she took it and, like the adults before, she shook it. It broke my heart. She then leaned in and gave me a soft hug. I was so taken aback by the whole thing I didn’t know what to do. I told her thank you, sort of stuttered it, and on went her small, pink coat and into the car she hopped and like in a sad, maudlin Sunday afternoon movie I watched as her car disappeared down the road with her in the back window waving goodbye to the person she would never see again. And then it hit me…that jet down the runway. Wham! This was it. This was the end.