The Last Day of School

My last lunchtime at school was with Grade 6 and the teacher of that class, Yamaguchi Sensei, had prepared something special for me. When I arrived with my lunch the class had arranged the tables into a circle so that the kids could ask me questions if they wanted. After lunch we played a betting game where everyone got ten fake dollars and then played paper, scissors stone with each other for various amounts of money. This game was pretty fun and I thought, "Damn I could have used this in my lessons." After this we all sat down and Yamaguchi Sensei wheeled out a projector.

He had made a short video from pictures of my lessons he’d been surreptitiously taking for months, to the song of Bad Day by Daniel Powter (Not chosen for its title). There were even photos going back to the Christmas lesson months ago. The gesture and the effort he had gone to were way more than I had expected. He had always been really fun and kind, his class were wonderful to teach and had I often told him so. Later on he came up to my desk in the teachers room with the video burnt on to a CD for me and that was the last conversation we ever had.

It was an exhausting and hard day, emotionally and physically. Suddenly everyone wanted my time but I didn’t have enough left to give. At the end of the last fourth year class the kids all made a corridor for me to pass through, shaking their hands and wishing good luck as I went. Some kids didn’t really care but they joined in anyway.

The true atmosphere of the school melted away forever for me as the kids trickled home. The empty corridors grew dark as lights were turned off and doors were closed. All rooms quiet, everything waiting to be used again. But in the teachers room the lights were still blazing. It was time for a different kind of goodbye

I was busy preparing everything for Noah, trying to burn all the files I had made to a CD. At the same time I knew that I was going to have to make a speech to the teachers, my final goodbye.

The meeting started. I stood up to do my speech but it was too soon, the principal was going to say something first. I am not sure what he said, except for the bit where he said, "Probably he doesn't understand much of what I am saying," to which I smiled and everyone laughed.

The principal sat down and I was invited to begin. I spoke in both Japanese and English to try and give myself the best possible chance of expressing anything coherent. I wasn’t worried about making Japanese mistakes anymore I just wanted them to feel something; tears in words.

As I stood up to speak I saw that the faces of my colleagues all seemed to have the same expression. They were smiling, all of them, not happy smiles but kind ones. They looked like parents: nodding and smiling as their young child stumbled through the lines of his first school play. It wasn’t patronising though it was more like affection. They were letting me know that it didn’t matter what I said, they already knew.

I thanked them for being so welcoming to me, ever since day one. I told them how grateful I was for their patience with my poor lessons, complicated games and over abundance of paper, scissors stone. I told them that I would miss them and that, “When I go back to England I will probably forget Japanese, but I will never forget my time at Tomioka Shou Gakko.”
I sat down and they clapped.

Ito sensei gestured that I should leave the room with her so I stood again and we crept out. Perhaps this is a rule in Japan: at the end of the goodbye speech you must leave the room, or maybe it was just for me but it was the last in the long list of surprises of being Nick Sensei. In the office I talked to two of the teaching assistants, one of whom had started at the same time as me. They taught me the secret hand signal for Koto Sensei (the Principal) and we were using it in conversation.

At the end of the meeting I went back to my desk to carry on clearing everything up. The day was not yet over as there was a final meal for the Grade 7 staff, all the teachers who do not teach a specific year (Principal, nurse, receptionists etc). We were going to a nearby restaurant at 5:30 but at that time I was still struggling to get everything finished. The other Grade 7 teachers left early but Shibata Sensei stayed behind for me.

I was heavily burdened with stuff: things I wanted to take home, bags of presents from kids and some from the teachers. Shibata Sensei helped me and as I got up from my desk for the last time I looked out at all the other teachers. I wanted to say goodbye again and Shibata sensei said it would be ok.

“Sayonara,” I called out and they all turned, smiling and waving. I headed to the door taking in their faces for the final time.

As we walked to the restaurant Shibata Sensei said she couldn’t believe that I wasn’t going to be coming in tomorrow. I couldn’t believe it either; it was totally surreal to think that I had left the school. In truth my mind was still there, in the Teachers Room.

In those few hours I had left over a thousand people, their faces and voices never to be part of my life again. I had left a persona too, no longer to be Nick Sensei, the resident foreigner with all the subtle quirks and pains that go with being him. I had left a place; my knowledge of the school was no longer needed, everything from its layout to all the tiny associated movements like how to correctly open the PC Room door. The change was too much to take in; it takes us time to accept that the most familiar things to us are now just memory, not reality.

In the restaurant I had to sit next to the Principal but this was not where I wanted to be. I had a growing feeling that he didn’t like me and I could see why. In trying to justify why I was leaving I had complained about the salary of the job and the unfair system English teachers have to put up with – I was still angry about having to reapply for my job in April for a lower salary. I think such complaints are bad manners in Japan and the Principal saw them as selfish reasons for giving up such a position. He was also reluctant to speak English but we got through some conversations about Japanese food and where I was going to go on my trip.

Fortunately there is always a seat shuffling that happens at these meals and eventually I got around to Shibata Sensei. As usual we talked about anime and how her family all love it, she used to want to be an illustrator.

At the end of the meal the higher-ranking members left first with their goodbyes. The Receptionists, Librarian, School Nurse and I walked together to the bus stop. It was only me and the school nurse who were catching the bus but everyone stayed together. Thinking back together about the past year we all agreed that despite the plethora of English and Japanese mistakes we had somehow gotten to know each other, and it had been fun.

As the bus pulled up I hugged Shibata Sensei and Ito Sensei for the last time. As my long journey home began they waved me off.

Later on at the train station I said goodbye to the School Nurse who was as cheerful and funny as ever. Her train pulled away and with it went my last connection to the school, now condemned to memories happy and sad.

Another feeling welled up in me as I walked home, imaging someone else doing my job, teaching my kids and working with my colleagues. That feeling was regret, and it is one I will carry for a long time.