Party with the Matsumuras

Today I had no classes. In fact, all normal classes are over for the term; we're technically on spring break. I watched in sadness as Kamito and Satomi packed up their desks, and I helped them carry boxes to their cars.

There was a big staff meeting today, where most of the major decisions about next year were made. The meeting decided everything from grade levels to homeroom teachers to club activity coaches. Masuda and Murahashi will be the third-year English teachers. Takahira and Kanemoto will be with the first-years. The three new English teachers will comprise the second-year English department, with two of them helping us with the first-year Oral Communication class.

It won't be long before we have moving day, where everyone will shift to their new seating arrangement. I've been trying to enjoy what time I have left being so near Kamito, Satomi, Masuda, Noguchi, and Yoshihara. I looked up today to see Masuda slap Murahashi on the arm, as Murahashi walked away, grinning. When I asked why, Masuda told me that he had called her the "cancer of this school," a reference to her having been there so long. I asked her why all she did was slap him and not punch him.

The Matsumuras are a family in Izuhara. The Mr. teaches at Ofunakoshi Junior High with Gavin, and the Mrs. is a nurse at one of Joe's schools in Kuta. Yuuko, their daughter, graduated from Tsushima High last year, and was accepted by Osaka University, the third most prestigious school in Japan. She speaks phenomenal English. Until Friday, I had only met her parents once, and then only briefly.

Joe was invited to their house for dinner, and they asked him to invite the rest of us. Rose and I were free, so we joined in. Mrs. Matsumura picked us up and drove us to their house, as it's a bit hard to find. We got to their house to find a kitchen full of food. She had cooked all of this, prepared the presentation of everything, and still made time to hop in the car and give us a ride.

In the living room, we sat at the kotatsu and shared a toast. Laid out on the kotatsu were appetizers: chicken wings and a salad. We nibbled and talked a little before going into the kitchen for do-it-yourself tempura and onigiri.

As we ate dinner, I learned where the Matsumuras get their English ability. While on business in Nagasaki years ago, Mr. Matsumura randomly met a Canadian guy. That guy went on to become the CEO of a gold mining company. They kept in touch, and their families have visited several times. That guy's family apparently moved to England, because the Matsumuras went to Brighton twice to visit. Yuuko went a third time alone for a homestay. This explains wonderfully where she gets her excellent accent.

We started talking about Yuuko and university. Apparently, Osaka was her second choice: she also tested for Kyoto University, the second-best in Japan. On the test, though, she just missed a passing score. Her undoing was Japanese grammar. Not even classical Japanese: she slipped up on the portion relating to modern Japanese. At any rate, the Matsumuras go visit her at least once a month. It's most often the Mrs. that goes, as the Mr. usually goes to visit their son in Fukuoka.

The Matsumuras love to study English. Their living room is adorned with maps of England and the rest of the world--all in English--and they tried to speak English with us as much as possible. Above the kitchen door is a list of tricky English phrases (like get off, get on, get in, get to) and their translation. I thought at first this was for them to study, but I learned that Yuuko had used it to study over breakfast when she was in high school. Her mom still hasn't taken it down. Since my mom still leaves my bedroom exactly the way it is each time I come visit, I completely understand.

As dinner wound down, Mr. Matsumura popped in a CD by his favorite singer: Diana Ross. He sang along in perfect time with "Love Child." This got us talking about music, which got us talking about karaoke. While Joe and I merely like karaoke, Rose loves it; her eyes lit up, and the Matsumuras saw it. We all headed out for Pleasure, a local karaoke bar whose name refers, I assure you, to the most innocent meaning of the term.

Halfway there, the Mrs. decides to go back and get the car; as the Mr. has been drinking, he can't drive. She caught up with us, and we sang for about two hours. Oddly, by the end Rose and I were choosing Japanese songs while the Matsumuras chose English ones. At the end of the night, they insisted on paying, and next insisted on giving us a ride back to our apartments. These people are amazing. What's even more remarkable is that they're one of about twenty families I know here who offer exactly the same kind of hospitality.