Thus it has engendered some shares of poison.

I think the island is trying to tell me the "honeymoon period" is over. The weather, which had been idyllic (albeit a bit sticky), has become depressing. I'm almost positive this isn't merely me projecting some burgeoning homesickness onto weather patterns: I've seen sunlight for two days out of the past ten. I guess the silver lining here is that breezy and overcast makes for a much easier trek to school than still and sweltering.

Tuesday I went to my other high school, in Toyotama. Toyotama, as I've probably mentioned, is an hour away by bus. That's right, folks: I'm taking the bus to school again. I even bring a backpack, and it's the same one I've had since... hmm... probably 2000. Jansports last forever. Anyway, I dozed off on the ride Tuesday morning, and was awoken by the driver about fifteen minutes' in. We had stopped at the airport, and he was worried it was my stop and that I was gonna sleep through it. I doubt any Athens Transit drivers would do that.

Toyotama is about a quarter of the size of Tsushima high school--there are only 150 students. The 50 or so per grade are subdivided into two sections each, bringing the total number of sections in the school to a whopping 6. (Compare Tsushima's 17.) There are about twelve teachers (compared to the 40 or so at Tsushima), three of which comprise the English department (versus 7). It's teeny, in other words.

One of the English teachers had called Monday and briefed me--the students were going to gather in the gym for an introduction speech by the principal, and then I was asked to give a short speech. So I dress up, get up in front of the students, and give the same speech I gave to the Tsushima kids on Nagasaki Peace Day. The speech was in Japanese, just like my first time around, and three words into it, all the kids in the gym were gasping. It went okay, we broke camp, and the teachers went back to the faculty room.

I'll be teaching at Toyotama every Tuesday and Wednesday. I'll be team-teaching the entire first (tenth) and second (eleventh) grades--all four classes of 'em. I'm also teaching a group of third-years (seniors) who are taking oral communication as "Option B." Options A and C are for reading and writing, respectively. There are seven students in my Option B class.

My first group was the lower division of second-years. Despite being a much poorer school in a much poorer city, Toyotama's high school has a projector I can hook my laptop up to, something Tsushima doesn't even have. We used the AV room, and it took me a few minutes to get used to seeing my face taking up an entire wall. The class liked my presentation, and seemed to understand most of it. The Japanese teacher translated whatever didn't come across. While most of the class seemed to understand, the girls were the only ones who said anything. Practically all of the guys pretty much ignored the presentation. They didn't make any noise or anything; they just looked away the whole time. I'm new to this whole teaching thing, so I'm still an idealist--I'm clinging to the notion that they want to learn, but I'm just not doing a good enough job of motivating them.

At any rate, I finished the slideshow, gave the little quiz about me, and took questions from the class. Again, the girls were the only ones who participated. The first question: "Do you have a girlfriend?" The second question: "Do you have a fiancee?" I simply said no to the first one, but for the second one, I held up my left hand and wiggled my ring finger, which for some reason caused lots of giggling. Maybe it was the question, I dunno. Anyway, the third question: "Were you in a Harry Potter movie?" She actually didn't get that out in English--she started it, then switched to Japanese, but that's the translated version. I laughed, waited for the giggles to go down, and asked her which character I looked like. She said "head of Gryffindor." For just a second I was crestfallen, thinking I'd just been likened to McGonagall. The bell rang before she could clarify, but I could tell by the way she asked that she wasn't trying to insult me. I sort of forgot about the question for a while.

Between that class and my next one, I had a break in the faculty room. Iwase-sensei sits next to me, and she's probably the youngest Japanese teacher I've met here. She also has the best English accent, which is probably because she lived in Ireland for five years. Anyway, she asked how the class went. I remembered her telling me she's a big Harry Potter fan, so I thought she might be able to help. She sort of cocked her head and looked at me for a second, and said the girl probably meant "captain," not "head," and that she would have been talking about the captain of the Quidditch team. I thought she meant Harry, since a) I assumed the girl would have read up until at least the sixth one, and b) I can't remember much from the fifth book or before. Iwase said that the books are difficult to read, even when translated, and so most of the fans here just watch the movies. There isn't a movie theater on the island, and the most recent movie to be on DVD is the fourth one, so as far as the kids know, Oliver Wood is the captain of Gryffindor's team. I dunno. Do I look like him to you guys?

So my second class was with the upper division first-years. It went much, much better than the first one: the class was much more engaging, and they spoke much better English.

My third and final class was the seven Option B third-years. A few teachers had gently commented that the Option B kids aren't the best of students, basically warning me not to expect too much. I don't so much care what their academic section is--I was excited just to have a class of only seven kids. We didn't need a projector with so few kids, so I had them scoot their desks up to my laptop, and I gave my introduction as more of a roundtable presentation than a lecture. The worksheet went fine, and I asked each student individually to read a question and the answer. They were a little sheepish at first, but nobody completely clammed up. After each one read, I thanked them, and then went to the board and wrote one of the words they stumbled over--"Athens," "bulldogs," "university," etc. Yes, yes, I made them learn words about UGA, but it was more to practice phonics and pronunciation--"l," "th," "r," and "s" give them fits. I sounded the word out, and had the whole class repeat after me. To my utter astonishment, they parroted it back almost perfectly--"A-sen-zu" became something much closer to "Athens," "buu-ru-do-ggu-zu" got a lot closer to two syllables," and "yu-ni-ba-shi-ti" resembled "university." It still needed some polish, but I got that much done in five minutes. I was ecstatic.

Even before I coached them, a couple of the girls had excellent pronunciation. I don't know how much material the teachers want me to cover, but I would have no problem whatsoever just using words they already know and practicing pronunciation. Not just drills, but games, speeches, songs, anything involving even simple English.

I was so happy after school, I was almost skipping to the bus stop. My first two days on the job managed to show me everything I dreamed of finding as a teacher: motivated, disciplined, interested students, and proof that I can actually help them. I know things are going to get worse--the novelty will wear off and I'll be more like a regular teacher to them, I'll get burned out on the day-to-day routine, or any number of other bummers. I recognize that, and I'm still bracing myself for it, but despite (and also because of) the inevitable bad days, I'm still savoring how I felt on the bus ride home Tuesday. I even found a girl I like. (No, she isn't a student.)

Wednesday was much the same--I was in Toyotama, and I had the third-years introduce themselves to me. I asked them their names, ages, birthdays, and favorite English or Japanese band/group/singer. From this, I learned all their names, and wound up spending about half an hour coaching them on basic pronunciation of things like "singer" (not 'shin-ga'), "birthday" (not 'baa-su-de-i'), and even simple ones like "is" (not 'i-zu'). I was afraid going into this that they'd find it extremely boring, and would promptly shut down. If anything, though, they perked up. Iwase-sensei thinks they like having a native speaker to copy. At all the orientations and Q&A sessions, they repeatedly mentioned that we might be asked to be a "human tape recorder" for our classes, and they made it sound like a prison sentence. I actually don't mind it, especially when it produces results as quickly as I've managed to. I don't know whether what they've learned will stick (I'm not assigning homework, and there likely won't be a test until the final), but by the end of class, anytime someone would make a mistake that I'd already talked about, the other students would whisper the correct version--not to make fun of the student, but rather to help them out. If I can keep things this relaxed, and keep the students helping each other out, then I might just be able to do some good with them.

Whew. Today... what is today? Oh! Thursday! Today, I was back at Tsushima high school. This weekend is the school's Sports Festival. I don't know what to compare it to--I haven't seen one yet, but just based on the description, it sounds completely foreign to me. From what I've heard, it's sort of like a field day (just with no teams, ice cream stand, or tug-of-war), in that it's out on the school's big field, the students wear different colored shirts depending on their grade, and and it's really hot outside. It's also sort of like a parade (just with no floats, crowded downtown streets, or teeny Shriner cars), in that the marching band will be there, and each student organization will march around. You can tell by my excellent descriptive ability just how hard this thing is to classify.

Anyway, the kids have been practicing for this thing for at least two weeks. When I say practice, I mean classes are cancelled and the student body spends an hour or two a day out on the field, lining up and marching. I saw some of the practices Monday, and it's sort of like boot camp graduation. The kids move in lockstep, they have three different poses when standing (facing straight ahead with feet together, facing the speaker with feet together, and facing straight ahead with feet spread and hands folded behind their back), and they even march in place and sound off. It's almost creepy, seeing 700 people wearing almost exactly the same outfit moving and speaking as one. I'd be impressed if I saw a military regiment marching, but the fact that these are a bunch of 16-year-olds adds something to it.

Someday I'm gonna stop making colossal posts. Someday. Not today, though--I haven't even gotten to the point of this one.

Monday I met with a teacher from Izuhara Kita Shogakkou ("Izuhara North Elementary," not "North Izuhara" or even "Northern Izuhara"). I'd heard whispers about being asked to teach at a local elementary school once a month, so I wasn't entirely surprised. The guy spoke next to no English, so my supervisor helped out tremendously. I'm going to go there whenever Tsushima high school has exams, which would be days they wouldn't need me anyway. That works out to one or two days a month. They said they'd talk to my main vice principal about bringing me to the elementary on Thursday to meet everyone.

Today (Thursday) was originally a half-day, but got turned into a no-class day, in order for the students to practice more for the Sports Festival. (For all the stereotypes of year-round studying and incomparable focus they have, Japanese students and teachers sure spend a lot of time either planning for or getting over holidays and festivals...) That meant I had no classes to teach, and could go to the elementary school earlier than planned. A man came to pick me up--I soon learned he was the vice principal--and on the ride to the school spoke nothing but Japanese to me. I got by okay, but I really, really need to study more.

We got to the school, and I was introduced one-on-one to each of the faculty. The school has about 130 students, and 12 teachers. I was given the tour, made some notes at my desk for a few minutes, and then was led to the gym for my welcome ceremony.

I may have used the term "ceremony" here before. I might have used it to describe the situation in which I was welcomed to my two high schools, where an army of silent students would stand straight-faced while I delivered some rusty Japanese about where I'm from and how happy I am to be here. If I did, I used that term in error. Today was a ceremony.

I entered the gym to find the students seated in loose lines on the gym floor, with "Adam" being mentioned after every third word or so in the general murmur. (I imagine someone tried adamantly to put the kids in perfectly straight lines, and also hoped for complete silence, but soon accepted that you can't keep 7-year-olds quiet or in one place for more than ten seconds unless food is involved.) Along the back wall were two posters: "Welcome to Kita Sho" and "Mr. Adam Shirley!" The vice principal guided me around to the back of the gym (all of this was done at the back of the gym, away from the stage), to the center of the two groups of students. In the middle of the two groups stood two rows of about six students each. Each pair held up a long stick with flowers on it, creating a little tunnel, with a chair in the center of the gym at the end of the tunnel. I can't describe it very well, and I wish I'd taken pictures, but hopefully you get the idea.

Stunned by the reception, I walked through the tunnel and took my seat. 130 voices belonging to 6- to 12-year-olds announced "Hi Adam!" The vice principal stood next to me and introduced me, then handed the microphone over to me. I gave the same speech, with some of the bigger terms ("anthropology," for example) omitted, and got the usual gasps from the students. I sat back down, thinking that would be pretty much it. Next, however, the first- and second-graders were called up: they all replied "hai!", stood as one, and ran to the space between their groups, in front of where I was seated. In loose unison, they said, "Hi Adam Welcome to Kita Sho Please to Meet You" (I don't punctuate because they didn't, and it was that much cuter because of it)

There was a pause, and a song came on over the speakers. To my complete astonishment, the kids began performing "5 Little Monkeys" for me. (For those of you who were deprived of a childhood and don't know the song, it goes like this: 'Five little monkeys / jumping on the bed / one fell off and bumped his head / Mama called the doctor and the doctor said / No more monkeys jumping on the bed! / Four little monkeys / jumping on the bed' etc.) They even had it choreographed, jumping up and down as well as slapping their heads when appropriate. It started out perfectly timed, but slowly the dance fell behind the song. It was awesome nonetheless.

The first- and second-years bowed and retreated to applause, and the third- and fourth-years ran up. They gave a similar introduction, and then sang a song that I couldn't recognize. Something about a pan and Mama, though it wasn't Hot Cross Buns or Shortenin' Bread. Anyway, it was well done, and they finished the same way.

The fifth- and sixth-years got up next. Even though they were nowhere near as restrained as the high-schoolers, they looked pretty shy compared to the first-graders. Their song started over the speakers, and it took me a few bars to accept that it was what I thought: Daydream Believer, by The Monkees. It was definitely Davy Jones singing, too, not just some cheap cover. As cool as it was that they were trying, I knew from the beginning that it wouldn't work so well--the kids weren't really trying to sing the lyrics, but they kept their mouths moving and pretended to be keeping up with the tune. (According to Eddie Izzard, after all, that's 90% of effective public speaking.) I was just impressed that they were trying--American elementary choruses would be hard-pressed to sing those lyrics.

After they finished, the fourth, fifth, and sixth graders ran into the middle, formed a loose arrangement, and waited for a song to kick in. Three notes into the song, I recognized it: The Chicken Dance. Sure enough, the kids started doing the chicken dance. After repeating the basic movements of the dance, the kids joined hands and ran around in a circle before doing the dance again. The song got cut off after about a minute, and everybody in the gym stood up and came to the floor--students and teachers alike. We all did the Chicken Dance, including the running around in a circle part. It was awesome.

After the introduction, I went back to the faculty room. I had heard that I'd be eating lunch at the school, and that I'd be eating with the sixth graders. The teachers' lunch trays were made up in the faculty room, and I waited until a shy kid came to the office doorway and sheepishly announced (in Japanese) that he would take me to the room. The classroom had about twelve students, and they had their desks arranged into fours, forming a makeshift table for their trays. I had been given a chair pulled up alongside the desks, and squeezed my tray in among theirs.

Lunch consisted of a bowl of corn chowder-type soup with carrots and zucchini, a roll, a hamburger patty, a small portion of noodles, edamame-flavored yogurt/pudding/dessert, and a milk. It was one of the tastiest meals I've had on the island. The kids weren't shy at all around me, but they didn't use much English--I probably hurt some feelings before I finally realized that "sensei! sensei!" was being directed at me. I was holding my chopsticks in one hand, and trying to get the wrapper off my straw with the other. The kid beside me, probably assuming I didn't know how to open the straw, deftly took it from me, deliberately opened it, and just as slowly poked it through the hole in the milk box. He wasn't showing off or anything--just being helpful. The same boy showed me where to put my tray and my garbage when I was done, too.

After lunch, the school has an hour-long recess. Today was another soggy day, so the kids had to stay inside to play. After everyone put away their trays, helped do the dishes, and took out the trash, they all pushed their desks to the back of the room, making a nice open space for playing. The teacher asked me to come visit with the fifth-years before they finished their lunch, so I talked some with them.

At first, I stood next to the kids' desks, with several students flocking to me. Two or three at a time would stroke the hair on my arms, ask me questions, and make comments about my eyes. After a minute or two, I noticed one or two kids constantly moving to stay on the outside of my periphery--I'd glance from side to side, and they'd try to move out of sight. I turned around just in time to see one of the little twits holding his hands together, fingers interlocked, with his index fingers pointing outward in a sort of handgun pose.

Those of you who know what I'm driving at have probably known since I started that paragraph; for the rest of you, this is the instrument the kids use to perform a kancho. I casually squatted down, and remained that way for the rest of the day. Everybody told us at orientation to watch out for kancho. Heck, even the other JETs on Tsushima told me. I was still shocked to see the kid getting ready for it--I guess I just assumed the joke would've lost its allure by now. I thwarted them, though. Hah!

The rest of my time at the elementary was spent playing with Jenga blocks. We tried to play the actual game of Jenga, which lasted a good thirty seconds before it devolved into building our own block towers while others tried knocking them off by pelting them with blocks. It was a lot of fun, but I don't remember being allowed to (or even wanting to) run wild like that when I hit fifth grade. Running around was still fun, but these kids were carrying on like kindergarteners.

The vice principal drove me back to Tsushima high school, where I helped one of the English teachers proofread the script for a student's speech. You can tell from the title of this post (which is a quote from the speech) that it was pretty slow-going. It was worthwhile, though, and the teacher appreciated it greatly.

Wow. That's the last three days. I'm off tomorrow and Monday, because I'm working Saturday and Sunday. Tomorrow night the teachers in my apartment building are throwing a party for me, and Saturday night the entire high school is throwing one for me. Hopefully I can get away with drinking as little as I did last week.

This has easily been the best week I've had here so far. I've met the students, and I've had a lot of success with some of them, which is definitely encouraging. I've figured out where to pay my bills, which is always handy. Not bad, huh?