Lessons Learned (So Far); Or, The Beginning of the End.

Today, I taught at one of my favorite schools - Minami Sho. The school used to be five-classes a day, everyday. But, as I mentioned before, the enforcer of this class limit is preggo, and enjoying her maternity leave - leaving me in a sweet position. Well, at least until today. After I taught my classes (All of which, I will have you know, I fucking ruled at! The 5th graders were so unenthusiastic, but by the end of the class, I had them eating out of my hand, begging to speak English.), I consulted a schedule only to find that today was my last day at Minami Sho. Ever.

I'm not sure if it's for worse or for best that the students didn't know it was the last time they'd ever see me. I mean, if I knew it was my last time to teach them, I'm not sure what I could've done differently - their grasp of English doesn't permit me to express myself, my limitations in Japanese would offer the same issues. And all that besides, what could I possibly say in class? I was brought to do a job, and I've done it as well as I can, and I've grown to love a lot of the people who were with me through the whole damn thing, and whether or not they know how much I've come to rely on their occasional presence doesn't really matter. All the laughs and discomforts and everything else is all rolled up into a big, retrospective memory. Slapping a melodramatic seal on the end of it won't make the whole thing worthwhile, I don't suppose. But, still, as I wrapped up my lesson with the 6th graders, I told them we'd do the second half of an activity "next time." I feel bad for misleading them.

As the students didn't know I was leaving, they all filed out of school as on any other day, at a time which usually finds me gulping down hot coffee, staring out the window, totally drained. This time, I stood in the hallway, as the children rushed past me, hurrying off to their afternoon playtime. As they ran past, they exchanged what appear to be fairly feeble parting words: "See you!", "Bye-bye!", etc. I waved, high-fived and saluted them. Sometimes, it's horrible to know more than other people, to be "let in" on a secret that affects everyone. I sure hope that they remember me. Perhaps years down the line, only as "hige-sensei" (beard-sensei). Perhaps not at all. Still, I'm happy to have given them the tools to say goodbye to me at all, showed them how to sharpen them and use them. Because of the limitations, to me, "see you" has almost the same ring as a more definite and serious word of parting. I wonder how I'll remember the whole thing in five year's time.

The teachers were all exceedingly kind to me, when they discovered it was my last day. They printed pictures of the students for me, made me a thank-you card, personally said goodbye to me, and ushered me out. I am sorry to say that after my first handshake, I was totally overcome with weeping. I never used to cry at such events, but ... I'm just so bad at saying goodbye. I often wish that I couldn't tell the gravity of an event until it's already past - that way I stay myself, don't muck anything up by being emotional, and I have a memory of my "last -----" to reflect on years down the road. I managed to mutter a tearful "Hontoni, arigatou gozaimashita" (honestly, thank you very much) as I slipped out of the teacher's room. One of the young male teachers who I've had a great teaching rapport with followed me outside after I'd collected myself, and told me "You always ... had the kids ... excited. And they liked English because they liked you. You are ... a good teacher. One day, I know ... you will become a great man." I managed to keep it together, after that. But just barely.

I'm just a little shocked. This is how it all ends, the whole Japanese adventure. Not with a quick edit from Tokyo to Chicago, not in a clean-break of a single "last," but this slow, creeping realization. The first tally mark in the reckoning of the great sadness that lies in growing to know a whole community of people, and having to say goodbye over and over, 1,000 times. When I lay it out in the abstract, it just breaks my heart. I know I can have the strength to say goodbye, because I had the strength to come here, and had the strength to say goodbye to the only home I had previously known. It's just hard to adopt a new place and watch it all slip away. One thing is certain, however; the fullness of my heart is sure to exceed the limitations of my vocabulary in this strange and foreign land. And unfortunately, it'll be difficult to explain myself with a smile this time.