The Growth Of My Obscene Vocabulary

We gawk and smile at each other in a mixture of panic, confusion, dread and desire to be understood. It’s just me, three girls and a boy. We sit around trying to come up with ways to communicate now that the Japanese Teacher of English, our bridge, our human electronic dictionary has thoughtlessly abandoned us. He has probably gone to pick up his children from school or some other selfish errand.

There are always games, drawing pictures and the like but since I have gotten here I have discovered that my ability to draw on a white board is slightly lacking. My planes resemble Patrick the starfish and my bears, deformed, stunted rabbits. My mom always claimed that all her children could draw but now I realize she never tacked on the qualifying word “well.”

Every Monday and Friday I go to hang out with these kids for a bit after school; I suppose my presence is supposed to be some type of internationalization catalyst. Usually I bring some sort of edible American confection (which will, no doubt, rot their blackened, metallic teeth even more) as an apology for not being able to speak their language. It is always happily accepted with sticky open hands and childish words such as, “Give me. Give me.” Or, sometimes a more polite boy will add on, “Please” as an afterthought. In this instance I learned that they thought American Airheads (remember those?) smelled a bit like Japanese “anesthesia” that they get when they go to the dentist. So they tell me as they tear into yet more sugar packed treats.

For about fifty minutes we sit there swapping non sequiturs. Yesterday however, a conversation ran fairly smoothly as they seem to have mastered the art of asking inappropriate (and personal) questions involving human anatomy and sex.

All of a sudden this clean little “Interact Club” had become an Seventh Grade slumber party with unseemly questions that were asked with such pure childish curiosity and honesty that it was insanely difficult not to laugh.

It all started with my asking what they initially came to mind when they thought of Americans. “Tall,” “golden hair,” “blue eyes” and “strong” were the first things out of their mouth. So, to be concise: Brad Pitt. I was pretty much the antithesis of all they were expecting.

The subject then innocuously enough made its way to hair color. From there it started getting weird.

In Japanese I am asked, “If an American has brown hair, then it is… brown… all… over…? *eyebrows raised suggestively*”

“What? You mean like, eyebrows? Sure. Eyebrows, eye lashes, leg hair, arm hair – yes it will usually be close to the same color…” I see where they’re going with this but I wasn’t about to be THAT teacher.

But it couldn’t be avoided. They dug their heels into this topic (and others similar) and one girl blatantly pointed to her nether regions to make their meaning perfectly clear to the simple American. It seemed bizarre to them that if someone had brown hair they’d have brown or dark hair… in general, yes - all over. Has not anyone explained the process of human genetics to these children? They seem to have separated Japanese people from people in general. What you have, people have and vice versa.

It came down to my teaching them vocabulary that I probably shouldn’t have and them reciprocating in Japanese. Part of me is terrified that they’re going to start running through the halls screaming these words that I have taught them at the top of their lungs. Of course they don’t remember how to say, “See you later” but the inappropriate phrases, they can commit to memory and put into use after hearing whispered once. Impressive are these sponge-like minds.

My Mondays and Fridays differ greatly from each other. On Fridays both the JTE and me are present. It turns into more of a “Let’s Teach Nikki Japanese ‘Cause She’s Clearly Not Learning It On Her Own” hour. Last week we did the kanji for useful numbers ranging from million to quattuordecillion to vigintillion. And on Mondays alone with the students I learn lewd Japanese that I will probably never get to use.

Language is all about immersion, immersion, immersion. My vocabulary will grow by leaps and bounds and I will be fit to talk to absolutely no one, unless someone wants to discuss a centillion (that’s 10 to the 600th power for those of you who care) crotches.

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Published:
11.21.06 / 6pm
Category:
classroom antics, what i call life