Sept. 27-28

Though I didn’t really type much yesterday, some new things happened. I finally got to teach at #3 of my four elementary schools, which means…a crapload of introductions…again. The elementary schools are always very easy, though. You just…pretty much figure out ways to waste time while speaking super simple English and making the kids laugh. But, man…one of my intros was kinda weird. I wish I had recorded it with my camera, because…it just…. The kids normally sing a song from a CD Trust School gives us, but…the school didn’t have the CD, so…the kids sang a special song for me. But they had this dance that went with it that was both cute and creepy at the same time. It felt like I was watching Oompah Loompahs. For me, watching anyone do anything with a HUGE smile on their face is almost frightening. It reaches back to my old dreams as a kid. …Y’all do me a favor and search for “Little Superstar” on YouTube. Excellent example. When you find the dancing Indian midget, you’re golden. That’s what it felt like.

After the Loompah dance, I had a few other classes, a really good lunch, and then…class with Mrs. Sick Teacher’s husband! That’s right. They’s both teachers, and I now work with both of them. They…don’t really seem to match, though…marriage works far differently here than it does in the states. Pretty much, all marriage says is “We’s gonna make some more Japanese people.” After that’s done, the man can go satisfy himself elsewhere, and the woman just kinda…fades away. But I digress, as always.

Mr. Sick Teacher had the inside scoop on me over all the other teachers, since his wife knows all the dirt on me, so…he planned ahead. Had a projector ready, a dry erase board, maps, basketballs…and he even moved his class to the freakin’ gym just so I could show off. But…even worse, he had a microphone ready, so I could sing the American National Anthem to the kids. Don’t worry. I know the words, and what they mean. Three (perhaps four) long, drawn out sentences…and the song ends on a dern question. Allow me to paraphrase:

1. “Dang, it’s almost sunrise. Yo…can you see our flag? It’s pretty easy to pick out with those stars and stripes.”
2. “Heh. Dude, did you see that last night? It was so dark that the only thing that let us see the flag was, like…explosions! That was awesome.”
3. “Oh-hooo, yeah. But, uh…you never answered my question. Is it still there?”

So, I sang the song, rather nervously, but well. Then I dunked a few basketballs (the goals were lower, so, total walk in the dern park) and made the kids laugh. The principal watched on and seemed quite pleased with my presence. And the kids always flip out when they see me walking the halls. It’s a lot of fun.

But then, one of the teachers saw me studying kanji, and pulled me aside. “You come learn writing with me?” I just nodded uncertainly. Next thing I know, I’m in a room with a bunch of 11 year olds, trying to write the kanji for “big” with a frickin’ brush! For the record…I SUUUUUCK at painting, so whenever someone puts a brush in my hand, I’m really shaky. Oh, and the whole class was watching my every move. Greeeat. But I learned some pointers, and a teacher gave me this free brush-pen thing. The Japanese love givin’ gifts.

That…was a fun day. But today, I woke up all crazy late, and had to rush to school. Still showed up early. Ha! But…I was late by my own standards. Today was pretty normal, except I had three classes focusing on something that’s been bothering me since I got here. They’ve got me teaching the word “often” to be pronounced “offen”. I understand that sometimes we all pronounce it like that, unless you were theatrically trained, and it’s been burned into your brain, but…that is NOT how you should teach people how to say it. Say it’s dialect thing…tell them that “offen” is on another level of politeness, but geez, don’t just tell them that “Oh…we just ignore that T.” Gonna make a bunch of amateurs, man…

Anyway, after that, The Secretary shows me the version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” they want me to sing. It’s in the key of G. Do I know if I can sing it? No. Do I have perfect pitch? No. I think the world of singing works differently in the American South than over here. I mean, in most (black) churches, you got the choir. Everyone sings in the choir. I had some solos in other instances as well. It was fun. So, black folks will say “Yeah, I like singing,” because we do. But, that apparently doesn’t translate well, you know, over an ocean. We’ll see what they want of me. I can only do what I can do. Hate to disappoint, but…meh. (Edit: Key of G is totally for girls and eunuchs. …And Prince. We gotta drop it two octaves or something.)

And guess what? You're all caught up to present! I haven't written anything else yet, so...later!

D