Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Chop sticks, green shirts and paper umbrellas

There is another first day of school I can’t believe I forgot to mention in my last blog post - my first day of school on the other side of the desk. From the Fall of 1996 to the Summer of 1999, I taught English as a Second Language (ESL) at Tottori Higashi High School in Tottori, Japan. I was a sensei, or at least that was what my students called me. Let me recount my steps that brought me to the other side of the desk...

In the fall of 1995, I had entered the last year of my undergrad. I can’t recall the exact moment when I decided I wanted to go to Japan upon completion of my studies. Looking back, I think there were two factors that played into this choice. The first is that I had been writing to my pen-pal Naoko since ca. 1986, which was really my first introduction to all things Japanese. Secondly, I knew two people in my small village of ca. 500 people who had gone to Japan to teach on the JET Programme and lived to tell the tale. Two classmates of my older brother had “done the Japan thing.” I went to talk to one of them when I was home the summer before my last year at Acadia. In retrospect, talking to Brent was the best thing I could have done. He reassured me of the quality of the JET Program and that it really was the best route to take if I was planning to teach English in Japan. He recounted tales of the two years he spent there and I remember getting excited listening to his stories. I was sold. But he did warn me that it was not an easy program in which to get accepted.

I applied to JET in the Fall of 1995. Professor Thomas made me re-write my statement of Interest included in my application package five times until it was perfect in his eyes. I think I was pretty happy with draft three. Professor Baldwin, who had spent a year in Tokyo on sabbatical the year before, spoke to me in Japanese everyday and yes, this drove me nuts. He thought learning the basic greetings would help me if I got an interview. Krista helped me pick out a black suit. I spent the majority of that fall and winter prepping and haven’t before or since, did so much work for one interview. This was primarily due to the fact that I had no plan B. I had put all my eggs in one basket so it was Japan or bust.

Before Christmas, I found out I had got an interview. I took the train to Montreal for the interview during study break in February of 1996. Montreal was the most easterly Canadian place offered by JET in which to undertake your interview (I sincerely hope they’ve improved this process by now for the far flung east coasters applying). My fellow Acadia History student, Tom, also had an interview and ended up taking that same train. We prepped for most of the train ride there. I wore my new black suit Krista had helped me pick out (but managed to forget the accompanying scarf at home) and endured the most stressful interview of my life to date. I thought I had done a terrible job in the interview and recall the agony of that long train ride back to Nova Scotia where I went over and over it in my mind. No one was more surprised than me when I got my acceptance. I knew a lot (over 100) had applied and only 30 were being selected from the Montreal interviews. Somehow I had beaten the odds. In April, I received my acceptance letter and can still remember the excitement I felt at seeing that fat envelope in my post office box in Wolfville. Cyndy Allen was the first person I came across after leaving the post office and when I told her my news she said, ‘Wow, I’ve never known anyone who got accepted to JET.” I graduated from Acadia in May and in July I was off. I’ll leave out the part about the horrifyingly tearful good-byes. For my family, I might as well have been going to Mars.

I had to depart from Montreal as I had chosen to undertake my interview there, but made a quick side trip to Ottawa to visit my friend Beth first. The night before I left Ottawa, I recall her casually asking me “Have you ever used chop sticks before?” That was my first moment of panic. I grew up on a farm in rural PEI – of course I had not used chop sticks before. I *thought* I had prepared for everything. I had spent the entire year reading about Japan. I could say “Hello” and goodbye” in Japanese. What more could there possibly be? This – the having to eat with chopsticks component – was the first in a very long and distinguished list of things I never remotely considered or put any thought into before going.

Next came a two day pre-departure orientation for the thirty of us who were leaving from Montreal. Like my very first day of grade school, I also can’t recall one thing from these sessions. Perhaps I was still mono-focused on the fact that I couldn’t use chop sticks and would spend the next year eating all my food with my fingers? The next thing I knew, I was on a plane with thirty strangers heading to the other side of the world. JET paid for the flight over, which meant we flew business class all the way to Tokyo. Picture it: thirty recent graduates with not two quarters to rub together – in business class. Needless to say, we were easy to please. We were all giddy with excitement – mostly due to the fact that we knew it would probably be the last time any of would ever fly business class on a long haul International flight again.

Arriving in Tokyo I recall three things: First was the feeling of death that comes with experiencing extreme jet lag for the first time. Second, was the wall of humidity that met me upon leaving the airport and wondering why anyone hadn’t warned me about this? Third was the army of green shirts. That same day that I arrived in Tokyo, so did three thousand other JET participants from all over the world. In preparation for this, there was an army of volunteers (mostly 2nd and 3rd year participants) wearing green tee shirts directing us everywhere: Go here to pick up your luggage – go there to drop it off – go here to get the bus if you are staying at this hotel – go here – go there – go here. Thank God. I was grateful to every one of them for every order they shouted at me. I had been on an International flight before, but nowhere as far away as Japan. Without that army of green tee shirts, I would probably still be stumbling around Narita airport trying to figure it all out.

In the midst of what seemed like at the time, insurmountable jet lag, I had another two day orientation session in Tokyo. I recall nothing from those sessions either, but do remember the excitement of walking around Tokyo in the evenings. During the course of the orientation, I did manage to find a few other JETs also destined for Tottori, and I met Michele who had been sent by the Tottori Prefecture Board of Education to collect us all and bring us to Tottori. Michele was a second year JET from Hawaii who had a job that was split working at the Tottori Board of Education and teaching at a local high school. I recall that she was very dressy, had perfectly applied make-up, wore tons of jewellery - gold rings and chains - and I recall my first reaction was “We will never be friends.” Little did I know she would become one of my best fiends over the course of the next two years. The next thing I knew, I was on yet another flight – this time it was destined for Tottori. The journey had encompassed a bus (Charlottetown to Moncton), two trains (Moncton to Ottawa – Ottawa to Montreal), and three flights (Montreal to Detroit – Detroit to Tokyo – Tokyo to Tottori), but it was finally over. It is only when you are young and foolish do you do these things. Just thinking about it now makes me tired.

We arrived in Japan a month before school began and it was a strategic move on JET’s part. That first month was so overwhelming. It really did take a few weeks to get my feet under me. I lived in an apartment that was owned by my school and the three teachers before me lived there as well. Although it was the size of a matchbox, it took the better part of a week to clean it thoroughly as the teacher before me was, well, not much of a housekeeper. Luckily enough, being in a small city like Tottori-shi, the second and third year JETs were quick to root us out and show us around. I recall them taking us through the city and showing us everything: what store sold sour cream and where we could get peanut butter; how to use the Japanese ATM machines; where the bus and train station were located; good bike stores, etc… It was humid as hell tramping around, but again, I was very grateful for the help.

That first month also proved to be quite a bit of fun. I explored the city, got to know the other JETs in the vicinity, and got used to the locals pointing at me and saying “gaijan” (the Japanese word for foreigner that literally translates as “alien”). I danced in the local Shan-Shan festival with other JETs and I use the term *dance* loosely. We made several trips to Mochigase, a village just outside Tottori who had for whatever reason invited us to dance with the village residents, so as to learn the steps of the dance. I believe there were only three steps, but we also had to learn how to contend with the paper umbrellas that were also an integral part of the dance. Dancing in that festival was the most humid three hour trek I ever hope to have to make with a paper umbrella, but it was my first cultural experience in Japan – and it was a great one. It helped to block out the other cultural experience I had that month in my rather unsuccessful participation in the local Chizu log pull. I’ll save that story for another post.




In that month, I also quickly realized that I was infinitely lucky in that two other JETs also lived at OM Mansion (my apartment building). Sarah and Michele were both American JETs in their second year of the program and both could speak and write Japanese fluently. I could say “Konichiwa” (hello) and “Sayonara” (good-bye). If nothing else I was comic relief for them that first year. Unlike other first year JETs who earnestly started Japanese lessons upon arriving in Tottori, I could have cared less. I was tired of school, tired of studying and you couldn’t have paid me to study Japanese. I picked up a bit here and there watching TV, but I got by with carrying around a pocket sized Japanese/English dictionary and I of course had Sarah and Michele to rely on – and we ended up doing everything together. It got to the point where when we went to the bus station to go somewhere Sarah would automatically just fill out my ticket for me. I know, I was a lazy arse.



As the first day of school approached, it became more and more real – I was expected to teach. I mean really teach - 400 students a week. How could I possibly remember names? Especially Japanese names? I went into school the week before classes began to get acquainted with everything. The first thing I noticed was that the school had done a lot of work for my arrival. My various lockers, my desk, my supplies were all clearly labelled – “Mary sensei.” At first I thought it was for someone else. I slowly clicked in and realized that all my official paperwork had been sent ahead to my school long before my actual arrival. To them, I was Mary – not Juanita. This was a school that over 1200 students and 80 teachers. After taking an hour to explain to three people that I go by my middle name, I quickly decided “Mary it is.”

I spent the majority of that week getting my lesson plans organized and familiarizing myself with the lay out of the school. Part way through the week, I was asked to make a speech at the opening ceremony for the new semester at school so as to introduce myself to the students. Although I am shy, I surprisingly don’t mind public speaking so I had no problem with it. The one problem I did have was that they asked me to make the speech in JAPANESE. At first I thought they were joking. When I realized they were not, I panicked – panicked panicked. A teacher had written a speech for me and helped with practice the pronunciation, but I knew what the end result was going to be. No matter what I did, I was going to look like a big gaijan idiot. And that was pretty much how it played out.

Because the opening ceremony was considered a formal occasion, I had to wear my black suit – and the heat and humidity was so bad. Every now and again I would head a “thud” not realizing at the time this noise was actually students passing out from the heat. When the time finally came for my speech, I was so hot and overwhelmed, I didn’t care: “Watashi wa Mary desu” (Hello my name is Mary) is all I remember. I rambled on in broken Japanese for what seemed like a hundred hours, and while doing so realized it was the first time during the course of that painful ceremony that the students giggled and smiled. They were of course laughing at my butchering of the Japanese language, but I didn’t care, mostly because I was too hot. I was the only person to make them smile at that ceremony. I hoped it was an omen of good things to come – and it was.

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

First days of school

This morning I noticed the increase in traffic. Public transit was busier than usual. Then there was a longer wait in the coffee line. Yes, for many little kids, big kids and kids at heart, break was over and the school bell rang. For teachers and students alike, it was back to the trenches.

I’ve had a lot of first days at school, some of which I remember, some of which I don’t. Do you remember your very first day of school? Mom took a picture to mark the event and when I now look at it now, I can see that I looked nervous. I was a shy and backward child, so I am sure I must have been terrified. Yet, I have no memory of that day. In fact, I have no memory of grade one at all. And the only memory I have of grade two is fighting over Lego blocks with Jamie Lewis.


Elementary school for me is a bit of a blur. I remember random things about my teachers. Isabel Lewis stored her markers in a Pringles chip can. Frances MacAulay had a two tone pink sweater (Gladys King had one the same) and it was that sweater she wore the day a pen burst in her face and all over her clothes (some kids in the front row got it too).George Knox made us stand up straight and really sing the National Anthem every morning. Every year Mr. Coffin gave his students the finger – and we all waited with baited breath (what on earth he did that I can’t for the life of me remember). Mr. Sheppard, well, he was just the nicest teacher in the world – only to be rivalled by our music teacher Cathy Knox. For some reason it was cool to be in the alto section of the choir. I can still hear her saying to me, “Juanita, if you promise to actually sing, I will put you in the alto section.” I was shy – and used to just mouth the words for fear of going off key.

The pinnacle of my elementary school years would probably have to be my grade eight school trip to Louisburg. That was my first big trip and I was excited for the adventure. I did not want my Mother to go and still remember the anger I felt (and no doubt expressed) when I found out that other parents said they would not go unless she went – mostly because Mom is a nurse and they felt safer with her on board. One full day with a bus load of teenagers, however, resulted in Mom developing a first class migraine that she conquered by popping a gravol as soon as we got to Sydney Mines the first night of the trip. We could have torn the place apart for all she cared. Because the gravol knocked her out and she didn’t stay up half the night screaming at us to go to sleep like the other parents, I suddenly had a very cool Mom in the eyes of all my friends.

I also don’t remember my first day of high school but recall the general sense of dread that stayed with throughout all of grade nine. With high school came many new people - and I was still so very shy. I really didn’t say much at all that entire year, but I didn’t really have to. I was David’s sister, which meant people pretty much left me alone (unlike poor Jamie Lewis who ended up in garbage can his first week of school). David was in grade twelve so it also meant that all of the seniors were nice to me. David gave me money every time I asked him for it, which was pretty much every day. Grade nine would have been a much more difficult place to navigate without him.

Looking back, I stumbled through high school. I didn’t strive academically, in fact, in many ways I floundered. But I did enough – and I did the things you are supposed to do. I was on the student union executive, volunteered for EVERYTHING and was a member of gazillion committees all at the same time. Heck, I was even a peer education instructor, which looking back was probably not a good idea at all. I mean really? When you’re sixteen years old what do you know about anything – except that you are a mess most of the time but not willing to admit it.

The best part of high school was of course leaving high school. Rose Mary and my cousin Tammy led the class. Scott Dingwell was the Valedictorian. I gave the Salutation address at the beginning of my graduation ceremony and now cringe with the memory of the sappy speech I gave. The best part of all was the party at our house after my graduation ceremony. My family and extended family have always been very supportive at turning out for these milestone events. Even the Larkin kids I used to babysat came as I recall Mom saying they looked like the three Wiseman as the three of them marched into our house that night each with a gift in their hand. This past summer I reminisced in a card to my cousin Toddy that her and Aquinas have always been present at these events. For my high school graduation, they gave me a bottle of perfume and a pair of silver earrings. When I finished my graduate degree the gift had matured to a lovely piece of pottery and a calendar of half naked local male celebrities from the Annapolis Valley. Much to Toddy’s horror, it was the first gift I opened at that party...

I had a short stint at UPEI and a brief layover at The University of Dundee in Scotland before I planted myself at Acadia University in Nova Scotia’s beautiful Annapolis Valley. Before going, I had no idea where Acadia even was and had to phone the Ryans for directions. It was a hot humid day in the Valley on my first day at Acadia and I looked it in my Acadia ID card. Unlike my other previous first days of school, however, I was not nervous at Acadia. I loved the fact that I didn’t know anybody – except Ian who I met in Dundee the previous year – and of course my cousin Maura. It was Maura who introduced me to Acadia and inspired me to go (and let me store my stuff in her basement during the summer when I went home to PEI). Auntie Hoolie made the trek with me every fall, and Dad took me back after Christmas.


It was at Acadia that I met some really special people – many of whom remain my best friends to this day. Most were a positive influence on me academically and brought me out of my shell socially. If it wasn’t Krista persuading me to get involved in the History Society and organize floats for the homecoming parade, it was Marlene forcing me out of my comfort zone around every twist and turn just by being in her presence. Thesis year was an unexpectedly memorable year as it brought with a great deal of fun in three unexpected but fun filled friendships with Kenny, Crowtzie boy and Kim.






Unlike high school, I came into my own in my undergrad. I was no great academic but I discovered my love of History, Art History, Canadian Fiction and Women’s Studies. I had fantastic Professors who pushed and demanded more of me than at any other time in my life. Bottom line – they made me work. Two of these Professors later became friends. Acadia is such a special place – for those of who are fortunate enough to pass through its Valley home.

My final first day of school happened only five years ago. After being out of school for over ten years, I decided to test fate, turn my brain on, and return to school in my thirties for a graduate degree. I picked up stakes, moved to Toronto and rolled the dice. In retrospect, it was the best thing I could have done. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I needed the challenge badly. And I was back to being a nervous first grader. In class, I found myself surrounded by students ten years younger than me. Like Acadia, however, I met some really great people. I had great classmates, and some great Professors and mentors. Professor Baldwin, from my Acadia days, welcomed me into his family. Having survived being my thesis advisor at Acadia, Doug and his wife Patty invited me to live with them in Toronto. Little did they know it would take four years for me to leave their Baldwin fold completely.


This evening when I came home, I smiled when looking at my Cousin Maureen’s photo of her twins first day at Kindergarten. Today was also my little cousin Marianne’s first day at school on PEI. It made me start thinking about my first days at my various schools. I’ve spent twenty years in school – half my life to be precise. It’s been a long road, but I am glad for all I encountered and grateful for all the help I got along the way. It is my wish for these little ones starting school this week that they’ll have a great journey, have some great teachers and meet some fantastic people en route.