Teacher goodbyes, part 1

In the last month, I've learned a lot about the school system in Japan. I had heard about most of it already, sure, but witnessing it occurring firsthand helped a lot. First off, public school teachers in Japan are classified as government employees. While I guess this is, strictly speaking, just as true of American public school teachers, I don't think the association is as strong back home as it is here. Public teachers here are employed by their prefectural board of education, rather than by a specific school. That means that teachers can be and regularly are transferred to other schools within the prefecture. In Nagasaki prefecture, public school teachers must spend four or six years teaching on the prefecture's rural islands, the biggest of which is Tsushima. They're fully aware of this when they begin their careers--it's just part of the job. Because of this policy, teachers finishing their fourth and sixth years are therefore especially wary of being transferred.

This is the way the timing generally works: the first of March is graduation day, and the official end of the school term. Sometime in the second week of March, transfers are announced, and all teachers find out if and where they're going. They then must pack all their things and report for duty at their new school in time for the beginning of the next term: the first week in April. That means the teachers are given the better part of two weeks to adjust to the idea of leaving, pack everything up, say their goodbyes to their coworkers, move to the new place, get situated, and meet their new coworkers.

I'm sure this makes for quite a lot of conversation material among JETs, because of how different it is from what we're used to. I've heard several stories about teachers on their seventh or eighth years not being transferred back, though their spouse and children live on the main island, an hour away. I've even heard about a teacher on the island who, between sobs, explained to one of the ALTs that he's been here eight years, and his wife and children live on the main island, near his dying mother, yet he wasn't allowed to transfer this year.

For my part, two of my English teachers were moved. The husband taught with me at the main high school, driving every day from the town of the smaller high school, where his wife taught with me. There they lived with their two children, just starting elementary school. Their new schools are about the same distance away, so they'll be making the same kind of commute. I also know that they were tipped off about the move sometime during February. This makes me wonder how many other teachers find out early.

Because of this, there are several goodbye parties thrown by the teachers for the departing ones. I went to three: one for the first-year teachers, one for the English teachers, and one for the faculty as a whole.

The first-year teachers' party was held at a local restaurant built in to a small hotel. The majority of the menu was fresh seafood. That may not sound unusual, even when I clarify it was served raw, since this is Japan, and they pride themselves on the purity of fresh food. One dish in particular, though, crossed the line for me.

We were served a plate of sashimi (raw fish) presented with the body of a Japanese spiny lobster. This didn't surprise me--I've been to a few restaurants where the sliced raw fish is presented with the head and/or the rest of the body of the fish it came from. I've also heard that it's not uncommon for the body to still be twitching, so recently was the dish prepared. Even bearing all this in mind, I simply wasn't prepared for what was on the plate.

It took a while for me to figure out what it was. It didn't have any claws, so I thought that disqualified it as a possible lobster, and I was almost positive it was much too big for a shrimp. It didn't help that the other teachers used the word "lobster" and "shrimp" interchangeably when describing it. Never mind what it was--the important thing was, it was the size of a regular lobster. And the back half of it had been cut open, revealing the meat. Oh, and the thing was still moving.

It wasn't flailing, twitching, or anything else that overdramatic. Its legs were making slow, deliberate backpedaling movements. Its eyes were still moving. Its antennae, each about ten inches long, were slowly moving back and forth, brushing against our drinks and other plates of food.

Since I got used to eating sushi five or six years ago, I've grown convinced that it's hard for the sight of food to turn my stomach. Gross topics of discussions or body noises at the table (someone blowing their nose, for example) do the trick, a hangup I'm pretty sure I got from my dad, but the actual sight of strange food doesn't usually mess with my appetite. This, in short, did.

I have absolutely no problem with killing something to eat it. I didn't try to justify my queasiness by labeling anyone a savage or deeming as barbarous their placing such a high premium on freshness. I fully accept that it's my fault for being nauseated by it. Still... man. The thing was still moving.

I found out later that I wasn't alone. Some of the other teachers, while acknowledging that food being served that fresh is the sign of a delicacy in Japan, similarly had their stomachs turned, because they're personally unaccustomed to it. I waited until it had stopped moving before I took a bite. Anyway, I had to settle for a picture, since I figured it'd be a little rude to stop the dining to get a video clip of it.

At that party, I talked a lot with the music teacher. I have several pictures of him strewn about my albums--he's the one with the crazy hair and purple and red long-tailed tuxedos. He's basically an awesome guy, and he loves American music. I learned that night that he teaches almost no European music to his brass band and orchestra, because he's in love with the passion he finds in artists like Gershwin. I also found out that, after nine years here, he'd been transferred away from Tsushima. He was really upset about that. Apparently, under him, the high school band here was the best in the prefecture for eight years running. He went on to tell me that, for the brass band's last concert of the year, they would be playing selections from Porgy and Bess. I had heard of it, but wasn't very familiar with it, so he explained the premise, with the help of a nearby English teacher. As he was talking about it, and how much he loves the music, he got choked up and had to stop to gather himself. Sure, he'd been drinking, but the passion he was showing just in talking about it convinced me to come to the concert.