Say "Bye Bye! Shee you!"

        Last week was one of the most emotionally taxing weeks of school I’ve ever experienced, and I know it’s only going to get worse from here.  Slowly but surely, I have to say goodbye to my schools, and part ways with my students.  To be honest, some classes have been easier than others.  I hate to admit that I don’t always remember my students’ names – I just teach too many kids spread out over five elementary schools and three kindergartens – but for the kids who quiz me during passing period (“What’s my name?  What’s her name?”) and really make an effort to connect with me, it’s been tough.

        It makes me hopeful and excited when I see my students’ faces light up when they see me in the hallway, even when they know it's the day I teach at their school  - it’s as if they’re continually surprised that I show up.  For the younger ones, it’s because they think I travel from “the big city” (or heck, even sometimes from the U.S.) just to teach their classes.  But for the older ones, it’s sometimes like they don’t trust the routine that’s been established the last two years.  Like, maybe I won’t show up this time.

        But having to explain to students that this is the last time has been difficult.  It’s the disappointment on some of their faces that kills me – that realization that this is really happening, and that ambiguous “America” they’ve been hearing about for the last month is a concrete place, and I’m going there. 

With the last lesson at this kindergarten, even though I've only had three months with them, one of the boys said: "I've enjoyed English! Good luck in America!" :'(

        I’ve been pretty good at keeping it together while in class in front of the kids – putting on clownish smiles to keep some of the younger kids from getting teary-eyed.  Until I taught at school KU in the mountains.  All of the students knew that it was our last lesson together, and I tried to keep their lessons as fun and normal as possible.  At the end of the lessons, we’d take group pictures, smile, hug, exchange notes and cards, and say “Bye bye!  Shee you!” like we always do. 

It was hard saying goodbye to this genki bunch at school KU.  So far, I'm the only ALT they've ever had.  D':

        But for my combined second and third grade class, some of them just weren’t having it.  Some of the kids pouted and gave me the stink eye for the whole 45 minutes.  When it came to photos, one of the third grade boys in particular refused to smile, and refused to stand close to the rest of the group.  As the pictures snapped, his eyes became glassy and red.  His homeroom teacher pulled him aside, and reprimanded him for “ruining the pictures” and that “Alliey Sensei wouldn’t want to look at pictures of him crying.”  It was then that he completely lost it, and his tears came freely. 

        I was honestly surprised by his reaction; he was always one of my gekiest students, and didn’t seem to mind much when we told his class the news that I was leaving.  It was rough, trying to shush his tears and remind him that a new, exciting teacher from far away would be coming soon.  Strangely, I’m comforted by the thought that a new ALT will come in August to teach at the schools.  Most of my students will start forgetting about me, and my lessons will start melding together with my predecessor’s lessons, and become just an ambiguous ALT memory.  I know that by next month when my successor arrives it’ll be easier for them to be excited for English class again, however it doesn’t lessen the sting of saying goodbye now.

        To anyone who doubts the relevancy of the JET Program, let me make this clear: This has never been “just a job.”  I would not commit myself to living in the inaka for three years, far away from family and friends, if this was “just a job.”  I would not stay up to all hours of the night and into the morning working on classroom materials and lesson plans, paying for supplies out of pocket, if this was “just a job.”  I would not spend my breaks playing game after game of onigoko if this was “just a job.” 

        But this isn’t just my job; if it was, then it wouldn’t be so hard to say “Bye bye! Shee you!” like we always do.