A good day

I knew it would be a good day when I woke up and noticed the morning glories had taken over my bicycle wheel. They had managed to do that in just one night. Those teeny greedy hands grasping and twisting their way forever upward to greater light.

I love morning glories: their eager exploration and abundant generosity. No day ever the same. Each morning’s blessing so ephemeral: blossoms lasting only a few hours and then shriveling into maimed fists of rapid decay.

But that morning, still blurry-eyed and bathrobe clad, I stumbled out to talk to this gentle intruder and to ever so carefully explain that she was welcome, but her place was elsewhere. She seemed to understand as she graciously yielded her delicate thread of green to my clumsy fingers. I twisted her round and round, extricating her from the spokes of my bicycle. Then I gave her a nice pole to climb and the next day she obliged me with a magnificent bouquet of purple trumpets.

Later, more awake, rushing to work, I came upon a sea of very well behaved, uniformed students. They were lined up in neat rows, obviously on a day’s outing. To the zoo? A park? A nursing home? A museum? I never queried, but I did speak to one fellow, who in jest had stuck his hand out to greet me, a big lumbering foreign woman.

He was fourteen, it turned out, and his name was Kenji. He had a sister, a pet dog and turtle. He loved sports and wanted to become a movie star. I learned all this in a few moments, as we shook hands and tried to make ourselves understood to one another. Of course, his buddies were rolling with laughter and hitting him repeatedly whenever he tried to say anything in English. Finally, his tall sedate teacher glided over, probably to check on the reason for all the commotion and to gently usher his charges towards their waiting bus.

That afternoon my own college students brought me their beautifully executed term projects: handmade books written in their marvelously circular English, following the pattern of their Japanese minds, and illustrated with teeny detailed drawings of people, pets, flowers, stars, kimonos and traditional food.

It delights me no end when uninterested students wake up and as if by metamorphosis are suddenly able to produce wonderfully imaginative pieces of craft. They become so eager to please this stern, demanding teacher. So of course, they leave my office beaming from the praise I shower upon them.

For the most part Japanese schools operate using an archaic structure: the all-knowing Sensei (teacher) stands in front of the class, giving monotone lectures, some of which have been planned twenty years, maybe forty, before. It is not unusual for students to sleep, play with their cell phones, or talk to their friends. Only at the end of term does energy focus enough to produce a term paper or a project of some sort and maybe to sit for a final test.

I do not teach that way. I do not give final exams, but I do give a lot of homework throughout the term. I also assign final projects. I try to make things relevant. I have my students go into the city, find foreigners and interview them in English. They must take photos (on their cell phones is OK) to show me they actually did the assignment.

I have had them clean up the rubbish in parks, photograph it, categorize it, and ask questions about who threw it and why. Most kids come back from this exercise as advocates for maintaining cleanliness in public places. They tell me it helped them stop and think whenever they find themselves ready to toss a wrapper or plastic bottle under a bush or on the street.

My students make lists of promises of how they personally plan to improve the environment. Later in the term they chart their progress and discuss the experiences they had doing something concrete in their immediate area. Many students tell me it was the first time they felt empowered to actually make a difference, no matter how small.

They also text message each other on their mobile phones, in English, of course. They write snail mail letters to me, not only for them to learn how to write an address and a letter in English, but also to help me build up my collection of exquisite Japanese stamps!

I have them write recipes in English and then actually make the dishes so we can have a class party and sample their delicious treats.

There are so many wonderful possibilities to make English learning be alive, fun and relevant. The authorities in my college, however, do not get it. I was let go from my job because, “We don’t like the way you teach”, even though they had never stepped foot into my classroom. Yet, despite the dismissive, demeaning outlook of the administration that cost me my job, I can walk away proudly, knowing “my” kids’ hearts and minds were opened, even if only for a split second in time and space. And I trust that little glimmer of joy in my own heart is a memory I will carry with me forever.