The 72 Japanese Microseasons of my Discontent - Part 10 : 夏至 Geshi (Summer solstice)

June 21–26乃東枯 Natsukarekusa karuru - Self-heal withers

June 27–July 1菖蒲華 Ayame hana sakun - Irises bloom

July 2–6半夏生 Hange shōzub - Crow-dipper sprouts

The Rise of Kinder-Queen Geedorah

Friday, April 22nd.

Mina had the morning off and drove me out to the kindergarten - as she always does after my monthly CPAP appointment. The weather was overcast, and traffic was light. I rolled in with ten minutes to spare, honestly hoping that things had leveled out and returned to some semblance of 'normal'. Tuesday had been a shitshow.

A few shouts of, 'Shaun sensei! Shaun sensei!' rang out across the school yard. I'd been spotted.

I'd gone over and over what had happened, trying to figure out what went wrong, and how I might be able to prevent a recurrence.

Did I now have to knock and wait for permission to enter the class? Who was in control?

Erratica?

Up to now, the two teachers in charge of the five year olds had been equals, and worked together. When I did my class, they would assume support roles. No one was anyone's 'boss' - we all knew what to do, and worked as a team.

Had the rules suddenly changed?

The situation was stressing me out. What was she going pull next? I really hoped that Long COVID would step up a bit more. She'd been a dead weight last class, and done nothing. If things went sideways today, I'd be left with no choice but to have a talk with Insecthead.

While I deeply resent being forced to snitch anyone out, that seems to be the way things are done over here. Snitching or 'reporting' on people is not only considered socially acceptable, it's virtually encouraged. Here in the Magical Kingdom of Wa, it's essentially verboten to engage in any type of direct confrontation.

In western society, this type of thing is considered dishonourable. I used to find it curious that the Japanese, a people whom we 'westerners' have been led to believe hold 'honour' in such high regard, find it preferable to go behind someone's back than face them head-on. In fact, it seems that the entire concept of Bushido (the Samurai Code) as we know it, is actually quite alien to the Japanese.

The longer that I'm here, the clearer it's become that we non-natives are guilty of projecting our concept of 'honour' on to a culture that broadly defines the term very differently. Acts that we consider underhanded, treacherous and even cowardly can be considered perfectly acceptable - even 'honourable' among the natives - so long as they serve to save face and accomplish the desired objective efficiently, and with a minimum of loss.

Regional quibbles regarding the true nature of 'honour' aside, I'm there to entertain the kids and get paid, not to lock horns with problematic staff. I'd just as soon have 'management' deal with it.

According to the handwritten schedule slip that Insecthead had given me with my pay packet after Tuesday's class, this morning would be threes, fours then fives. I appreciated this rare, conscientious turn, as he almost never makes a note of who I'm to teach alongside the dates that I'm scheduled. I typically only find out which classes I'm supposed to do when I get there. Needless to say, this makes it virtually impossible to plan or prepare anything specific.

It's lucky that I'm good at improvising. Planning for these classes is an exercise in futility.

I stopped by the office to drop my bag, and the lights were off. Apparently Insecthead was out click-clacking around elsewhere. That suited me fine. I've never been big on vapid morning pleasantries. After making my usual pit stop at the office lavatory, I stepped out on to the second floor landing and stopped just outside of room #1's partitioned side office to pick up my slippers and class materials .

Insect Daughter was sitting just inside the sliders, doing something on one of the computers. She looked up just as I leaned in to grab my stuff, smiled and offered an upbeat, "Good morning! Today, threes fours and fives!"

I gave her as enthusiastic a morning greeting as I could muster, and flashed a 'thumbs up'.

"Threes, fours and fives. Got it!"

There would be a new group of three year olds today. Usually their first English lesson with the 'big gaijin' is a bit of a trauma show. While most of the kids are alright, there's always at least a little crying, and sometimes even a few attempts to break out or hide. As such, our first day is mostly about getting everyone acclimatized; any English practice that occurs is purely happenstance. Things do get better. As a rule, younger children are almost always easier to work with than adolescents or adults. When they reach junior high school age, they suddenly start to clam up. They become self conscious, and no longer want to speak English.

Over the last year, some the kid's latent reticency to participate has been at least partially remedied by Insecthead's cost effective decision to take on an English speaking Filipina teacher. In addition to fulfilling all the regular duties expected of the girls on staff, she's also tasked with giving the kids some regular, basic English lessons. This appears to have helped matters along at least somewhat.

Enter Miss Bianca.

She seems pleasant enough. Looks to be in her mid-twenties.

The head teacher at the first eikaiwa (English conversation school) that I worked at in Amagasaki was a Filipino. Big fat guy by the name of 'T.J'., who had an annoying habit of accosting me between lessons to 'quiz' me on basic grammar and diction. While he'd act as if his aim was simply to 'test' my abilities, it gradually became apparent that he was soliciting me for answers to questions his own students were asking him in class. Apparently he was a bit 'challenged' when it came to the ins and outs of English grammar.

While he could get by in spoken English well enough, I don't think he had any business teaching the language to paying students. He also had more than a hint of a 'regional' accent.

Filipinos have their own way of speaking English, and employ a unique diction - in much the same way Singaporeans do. This serves them well enough in their local context, but it's often colloquial, and grammatically unsound.

While it's a fact that spoken English comes in myriad local varieties - and that being exposed to a range of accents and dialects from a young age can have clear benefits, young kids pick up languages organically - chiefly by mimicking what they hear. This is why having an actual native speaker teach and model the language is so important. The clearer and cleaner the source is, the better. If my kid were learning Tagalog, I'd want the language taught by a native speaker - not a Japanese who'd acquired it as a second language.

When I was told that a new 'English teacher' had been recruited in April of 2021, my initial concern was that Insecthead was planning on replacing me. After confronting him with my concerns, he re-assured me that wasn't his intention. The idea seemed to be more about boosting the school's bottom line.

Recently the pre-school/kindergarten business over here has become a lot more competitive, and English lessons are a big sales point for anally retentive 'nightmare' Japanese mothers concerned with giving their kids 'an edge' when they enter elementary school. His school could now boast of offering two types of English class.

While my 'lesson' has more in common with a rock concert or game show, Miss Bianca's appears to hit some more traditional beats. I don't envy the girl. Actually 'teaching' the crew in there is an uphill battle. It's like herding cats. They're too young. Aside from the ten minutes that I'm in the three year old's class twice a month, I don't have any connection with her. When I do my routine with them, she either slips out of the room, or sits quietly.

At the beginning of last year, I made the mistake of calling on her to help me model something, and she went way off script - which threw a bit of a wrench into what I was doing. As we have distinctly different styles, I go out of my way to avoid any cross overs, so as not to confuse the kids. Aside from exchanging standard greetings and courtesies, we exist in quite distinct orbits.

'Too many cooks in the kitchen', as they say.

"Threes, fours and fives". I was curious to see what the three year old's class looked like.

I'd be heading downstairs for the first two lessons, then back up to the second floor for the fives.

Just as I was making my way to the stairs, Erratica stuck her head out of the sliders to room #1.

Oh, Jesus. Not again.

'Teacher Shaun! First five year class now! Today, five, three, four.'

????

Here's the thing - Insect Daughter had just told me, 'threes, fours and fives'.

I usually get a 'heads up' from the office if they're shuffling the order of the lessons. Someone apparently had their wires crossed. I stopped, locked eyes with her, and shrugged my shoulders,

"Sorry? Fives, fours, threes?"

"Yes. Five year class now."

She seems to enjoy asserting herself. Acting like 'a boss'.

To be honest, after the performance she'd treated everyone to on Tuesday morning, I wasn't in the mood to humour her any more than absolutely necessary. I'd become convinced that she was suffering from some type of neurotic mental disorder. I backed toward the railing, put my bag down, raised my eyebrows and nodded.

"I'll wait"

It wouldn't matter what I said - she wouldn't understand, or would misinterpret it. I'd hold off until I got the go ahead from higher up the food chain.

Her eyes narrowed. I could sense her fuse burning. She wanted quick compliance, and wasn't getting it.

'Shaun sensei! Good morning! Shaun sensei! Good morning!'

The five year olds were on the move.

Long COVID suddenly appeared from room #2, and her kids started streaming out and squeezing past Erratica to get into room #1. She looked at me and gestured toward the larger room.

'Good morning! Fives first today! So sorry!'

With that, I picked up my bag, edged past Erratica, and took up my position in front of the board. Long COVID's kids gradually filtered in, stashed their hats and melodicas into their cubby holes, and mingled with the kids already in the room. It was a full house.

It took a few minutes to get the ball rolling. I guess one of the boys was being un manageable, and Erratica decided to give him hell right where he was standing, as opposed to escorting him out of the class, and admonishing him out by the railing. I don't think it helped to ream him out in the middle of the room, in front of a captive audience - but that's what she decided to do. I felt bad for the kid. I think we've all had teachers like this at some point. Volatile and histrionic. She was doing it on purpose - to shame him. To his credit, he didn't cry. He stood rigid, obstinately staring at the floor as she knelt down, clutched at his arm and yammered at him.

When we finally got going, everything fell into place. There were no further issues until we were into our last fifteen minutes, and it was time for,

"B - I - N - G - O, B - I - N - G - O, B - I - N - G - O, and BINGO was his name - O!"

This is an old stand-by that almost always works, as long as it isn't overdone. To start, I get kids to volunteer to come to the board, then have them draw one giant letter on the board, until we have ' B - I - N - G - O' spelled out. Sometimes I extend it by asking them to use a specific colour of chalk. Seeing as this was their first time, we stuck with white. While some of the kids can manage it, others need a bit of prompting...so if they're not getting it right away, what I do is trace the letter on the board with my finger, so all they need to do is follow the faint shape of the letter with their chalk, and everyone's happy.

When we got to 'G', a girl threw her hand up to volunteer, and as sometimes happens, totally froze up once she got the chalk in her hand. I traced out a big 'G' for her, and before I knew it, Erratica was between us, holding the girl's hand, and attempting to guide her chalk along the shape I'd made with my finger. I was a bit stunned. The girl hadn't even had a proper chance to try it herself... and if she couldn't manage after a bit of encouragement, I was already right there to help her. Did she think I was incapable?

As far as I knew, this was my class. I had to start setting some boundaries as diplomatically as possible, so I gently interrupted Erratica.

"It's OK. We're fine. She can do it. Thanks."

Erratica looked up at me, then dismissively kept guiding the girl's hand and chalk.

I raised the register of my voice ever so slightly, and repeated myself.

"Really. It's OK. She can do it. Please. Thank you."

With that she looked back up at me, let go of the girls hand, and backed off.

I almost let out an audible sigh of relief. With a little encouragement, the girl managed something that kind of resembled the 'G' I had traced, A boy came up and did the 'O', and we were off to the races.

No sooner had we wrapped up all the stomping singing and clapping, than I found myself in a completely unexpected situation.

Long COVID was suddenly standing right in front of me...flanked by Erratica. Their postures were tense, and suggested

confrontation. I immediately knew something was up. The atmosphere had changed almost instantaneously. She leaned in toward me ever so slightly, and said,

"Time to stop."

What on earth was she talking about? I took a step back, and glanced up at the clock hanging over the blackboard. 10:53. The lesson doesn't finish until 11:00. What was the problem? The kids were chatting amongst themselves in the background, waiting for the next thing. I'd been angling toward my lesson materials bag for the 'action song' cd-r to carry us through to the end.

"Sorry? Is there a problem?"

She got right up in my face. The timbre of her voice intensified noticeably.

"Time to go down to next class. FINISH!"

As I mentioned before, Long COVID has this 'tough girl' air about her. Kind of a mix between an aggressive police woman, and a biker chick. I was suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Nervous. My breathing shallowed, and my hands were starting to tremble. The 'fight or flight' response. Our body's are amazingly responsive machines.

I took a step back toward the sliders. Suddenly Erratica moved in to close the gap. It seemed like they were giving me a narrow perimeter. Treating me like cops would treat a potentially volatile suspect. I looked back over at the clock. 10:54.

What the fuck was going on? Lord knows what the kids were thinking. This was humiliating. I tried to respond; but the 'teacher' tone in my voice had been replaced by something a bit more shakey and tentative. I motioned toward the clock.

"Look. We still have time..."

She took another step toward me, and made a pointing motion as if she were going to poke me in the chest dead center with her index finger.

"NO. GO NOW!"

What the actual fuck? I was at a total loss. The only thing I could reasonably compare this to would be an unruly or boisterous drunk being bounced from a bar or restaurant by a cadre of surly security staff.

("Alright buddy, you've had enough for tonight...time to go home!")

We all know how that scenario usually plays out

To make matters worse, when I turned around, I saw that the Filipina girl, Miss Bianca, had suddenly appeared and assumed an additional blocking position in my blind spot. Where on earth had she come from? The three of them had effectively encircled me. Like cops. What were they expecting me to do? Lash out?

The Hydra's three heads were in place.

Enter Kinder-Queen Geedorah...all shrieking, fire breathing and dragon wings a flutter.

I was outflanked.

I can only guess that Erratica had gone to fetch Bianca just after I'd suggested that her assistance wasn't required at the blackboard. I knew that her fuse had been on the burn earlier, and she likely wanted some payback.

The Filipina decided to get her two-bits worth in.

"Teacher Shaun, the chil-dren are miss-ing their lunch! You must go out and down the stairs to the next class

imme-di-ate-ly!"

I looked back at the clock. 10:56. 'Missing their lunch?' Absurd. It wasn't even 11:00. How on earth could they possibly miss their lunch? It's not catered in. Everything's done up downstairs, in house.

Long COVID should know all about that - she'd been exiled to the kitchen for a year. In my 26 years at the school, I'd never seen a single kid miss lunch. Ever.

What on earth was going on here?

Long COVID looked like she was loosing her grip, and suddenly gestured aggressively to the sliders and barked,

"GO! LEAVE! NOW!"

There it was. Kid gloves off. She was ordering me to get out, like a dog. I guess she'd had enough of being 'nice'.

Miss Bianca turned to Long COVID and Erratica and mused,

"Look! Nat-u-ra-lly, he is becom-ing offen-ded!"

What the actual fuck? I was standing right there; yet she was referring to me in the third person.

Who did she think she was talking to? Neither Long COVID or Erratica had any English aptitude to speak of.

"Offen-ded"?

Poor choice of words.

More like astonished. Even emasculated.

Or thoroughly deflated. I quickly and quietly went to the side of the blackboard, scooped up my class materials, and got the fuck out of Dodge. My heart was still pounding. I had no idea what the kids had made of that spectacle. I couldn't wrap my head around what had just happened. Those three cunts had blindsided me. I really hadn't seen it coming. They'd got the drop on me, subverted my class, then made sport of me in front of the entire group.

It was certainly a far cry from the tearful farewells I got at the end of last term. Times change.

It was just shy of 11:00 am. I went down the stairs and waited outside of the four year old's class. My head was still swimming, and it took a while for the adrenaline rush of the Kinder-Queen Geedorah mutiny upstairs to subside...but I somehow managed to push on through. All things considered, it went well. The show must go on, after all.

I wrapped with the threes, and there was surprisingly little in the way of crying or melting down...and no escape attempts. Fortunately, Miss Bianca decided not to join us. Obviously, that would have made for another awkward situation. Children are really sensitive - far more so than adults. They can sense when something is 'off', and watch everything we do.

I couldn't figure out what that three headed cunt Hydra upstairs had been thinking when it decided to take me down in front of all those kids. Moreover, I didn't get the motivation. Was this payback for something? Was there some kind of grudge at play that I wasn't aware of...or was I being sent a message?

By the time I wrapped up the threes, the shock of what had gone down upstairs had started to settle into angry indignation. As I dropped my slippers and class materials off at the partitioned side office, I looked up to see Miss Bianca sitting at one of the computers. I guess she'd decided to hide in there as opposed to showing up for the three year old's class. She cocked her head to the side and gave me a broad, Cheshire Cat grin... just rub to it in, I suppose.

Fucking Stockholm Syndrome cunt.

In case she'd somehow forgotten, she's a gaijin, too. She should know better.

I turned and looked away. Naturally, I wanted to let the cunt have it. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm full of invective. Over the years, I've been told more than once that I have just about the most toxic mouth going. It's a source of pride.

But, no. I wasn't going to engage. I was going to shut up and take the high road. Let my age and years of experience guide me. Karma will handle her.

I ducked out and into the main office, where Insecthead was standing in his computer nook.

"There's a problem in the five year old's class...."

Suddenly Insect Daughter was at the sliders, all ears. Maybe she'd heard some talk, or seen something going on through the partition a bit earlier.

So, it was father-daughter story time in the Insect's office. The big snitch-out. Names were named, and nothing was spared. I told them that the atmosphere in the class was toxic, that my lesson had been inexplicably cut short, and that Long COVID, Erratica and Miss Bianca had come at me like cops, humiliated me in front of the kids, and that Long COVID had ordered me out of the room like a dog.

They both listened patiently, and apologized. This is something that Japanese people will do when they're at a loss for anything else to say.

It's generally lip service.

I wrapped it up, and they told me that they'd talk to the three headed Hydra, and find out exactly what had happened. Hopes weren't high that they'd actually do anything. In situations like this - particularly where there's a 'gaijin' involved, the native parties usually twist things around in such a way as to make themselves look like the victims. Things are inevitably cracked up to be the fault of yet another 'cross-cultural misunderstanding', the gaijin receives a 'caution', and the agitators walk away unscathed.

When I got down to Mina's van, she'd been waiting fifteen minutes. We'd have little time to eat lunch, as she had to be in uniform and doing her chemotherapy job at 1:30. As we drove back, I apologized for being late, and told her what had gone down - and that I'd had to properly snitch the cunts out to the Insecthead and Daughter before leaving.

I felt deflated and arse-kicked. Like my days over at the kindergarten may finally be drawing to an end.

...to be concluded in The 72 Japanese Microseasons of my Discontent - Part 10 : 小暑 Shōsho (Lesser heat)

And just like that, it's the mid-summer solstice. Top of the hill. The chequered flag officially fell on rainy season last Tuesday - about a week later than it usually does. We'd been enjoying a long spate of unseasonably mild and pleasant weather until Friday, when the first serious hints of the encroaching heat and humidity started to make themselves felt.

Yesterday it was dank, rainy and humid. Today, we got some sun, and it was pretty close to 30C. To be perfectly honest, the sunshine, heat and humidity is fine with me. While I'm not a big fan of the rains, I'll take summer over winter anytime.

We had to host okasan for the first time in three weeks. She had a thing out of town with her sisters last weekend; so we agreed to shift her schedule to the last two weekends of this month. That means we'll be taking her on next weekend, as well. Mina wandered in to my 'office' a few minutes ago, and muttered something about having 'reached her limit', and being, 'ready for today to be finished'. They just came back from a jaunt out to the local drugstore. Apparently once they got there, okasan started demanding this and that, like little kids do when they're out shopping with their parents. Mina ended up having to buy her a box of these expensive, new-fangled masks. It seems that (like a kid) okasan couldn't wait until tomorrow, and had to open the box and slap one on right away. Never mind the mask that she was already wearing was less than an hour old, and perfectly good. No. She had to put on a new one right away. This pissed Mina off. I told her that it was a case of 'easy come, easy go', as okasan rarely pays for anything, but that she might want to gently remind her mother not to be so wasteful.

Not that it would make any difference.

As far as her bi-weekly report card, she managed her second consecutive 'C', though in the homestretch she looked to be veering perilously close to a 'C-'. She immersed herself in painting her postcards after breakfast, then continued on after lunch. When we came back from shopping at around 3:45, the table was clear, TV was off, and she was laying down on the foldout cot she sleeps on in the front tatami mat room.

We can only hope that next weekend will be as quiet and uneventful.

Okasan's latest postcard, commemorating Tsuyu (Rainy Season).. She did a series of these at the kitchen table today. The one she chose for me is the only version with a bright pink umbrella - the others were all blue.

Two weeks henceforth, I'll be back to conclude our Insecthead's Kindergarten serial drama, and rake over any other stray coals that we might have missed. Until then, you'd do well to remember that...

"No matter where you go, there you are".

There, and nowhere else.

Panic attacks. I've known people who suffer from them, but never experienced one myself until fairly recently. Apparently it wasn't going to be 'business as usual' anymore.