opinios

Well, I got through the child discipline seminar alive. Boy was that fun.

I was a member of the "expert" panel, sitting at the front of a room of about 40 elementary school parents. There was a Nepalese woman who ran a restaurant, a Ukraine girl who was an exchange student, and me. What were we experts in? At being gaijins (foreigners) of course!

So it was that for two hours we were grilled (all in Japanese, of course) about the differences that exist between Japan and our respective countries in the way that children are brought up, disciplined, moulded and educated (what do you mean you didn't know that was my specialty?) That's right, two hours. We even had a microphone to talk into. And naturally, the Japanese level of the other two was pera pera (fluent).

So there I was, stumbling my way through, barely making myself understood. Trying to make jokes but not possessing adequate language skills such that my contorted mumblings drew polite but confused smiles instead of raucous laughter. A question would get fielded to the panel, the other two would prattle on in perfect Japanese for about 10 minutes, and then I would umm and aah and struggle to pretend that I had a point before handing the mike over back as quickly as possible.

Did I mention that the hall we were sitting in was freezing?

Somehow I managed to get through this arduous ordeal without looking at my watch every 5 minutes, and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, I failed to take into consideration Japanese hospitality customs.

Yes, in the principal's office afterwards, out came the coffee. For everyone. Black, with cream on the side, as always. Just like I never have it. With a seventy-year old man telling jokes that everyone was laughing at.

Forty-five minutes later I decided I couldn't take it anymore and rudely interrupted to excuse myself. This was bullshit. I wasn't even getting paid. Of course, the immediate response was to inquire why I couldn't stay any longer. I explained that Kim had dislocated her knee, that she needed me at home because she couldn't walk properly and thus struggled to walk to the grocery store to do the shopping. I didn't want to have to play the sympathy card, but jeez, I didn't expect to have to justify myself!

Of course, at the station, the dear little old lady who originally roped me into this insisted I let her buy me a bento for the road. She just didn't understand.

Let me go!