Many years ago,
I lived on Shodo Island in Japan’s Inland Sea and made ends meet by teaching
part-time in a variety of institutions, including two local secondary schools
(see blog entry 36) and a small juku, or cram school, with low desks
planted on a tatami mat floor. In the juku, my students ranged
from elementary school youngsters squealing and full of energy to bleary-eyed adults showing up after a long day at work for a
weekly fix of English.
As my
Australian friends say, my goal was to give “good value”. I wanted everyone to
leave with a sense of accomplishment, as well as have a good time. In general, I believe the adults and
children in these classes did make progress but sometimes I wasn’t really sure.
The most challenging age group for me to work with was the junior high
students.
My elementary
school kids had few inhibitions and were willing to take chances, laughing at
their mistakes as they learned, while the senior secondary students swaggered in
with some language under
their belts. The junior high kids
were caught in the middle in a state of limbo. No longer small children, they
were still not old enough to come across as savvy. They lacked confidence. No one volunteered; no one laughed without prodding. These
students always seemed to be looking over their shoulders to confirm how others
perceived attempts to speak. At times, teaching this age group was exhausting.
On the other
hand, this is not to say that they did not make progress. In fact, one of my
more stellar students, Nobuko, was in junior high. She was shy and one of the last people I would have
pegged as a successful language learner; however, by the end of her first year
in my classes, Nobuko’s listening comprehension had skyrocketed and, although
she was reticent, when she did speak
the language was comprehensible. How had she gone from a silent, shy girl to a
surprisingly comfortable
communicator in such a short time? One day after class, I asked Nobuko to tell
me her secret.
Although introverted,
Nobuko had a dream to see the world. Upon entering junior high school, she
began studying English and concluded this language was a key component for
making her dream come true. But how could a girl from a small island find a way
to use the language she
was learning in school? As things turned out, Nobuko stumbled upon the answer
by accident.
Every Sunday,
Nobuko would board a ferry and head
to the big (well, relatively big) city of Takamatsu on Shikoku, one of Japan’s
main islands. There she studied sketching and painting at another cram school. The trip was long, but Nobuko loved what
she was learning.
One Sunday,
Nobuko’s teacher took the group to Ritsurin, a traditional park located near
the center of Takamatsu. The group settled in beside a small pond filled with
lotuses and everyone was instructed to draw a single blooming flower. The locals say that, if
you go early and sit quietly, you will hear the sound of the lotus blossoms
bursting open in the morning sunlight, but Sunday is definitely not the day for
this experience. Ritsurin is a major local attraction and every Sunday the place is swamped
with noisy tourists!
On this
particular Sunday, Nobuko set up her easel and quietly began to draw one bloom
that had caught her artistic eye. She focused intently upon her painting,
blocking out the chatter of passersby, lost in her own secret world. Suddenly Nobuko’s bubble was burst
by a large group of foreign tourists speaking in English. Distracted, she
looked up to discover about ten senior citizens hovering around her easel.
A little
terrified, Nobuko shyly said, “Good morning.” The group reaction was a flurry
of apologies for interrupting her concentration followed by effusive praise for
her impressive drawing. Nobuko was thrilled by this praise but even more excited that she was able to
communicate with the friendly group, answering questions about her name, age,
school – all the simple things that make up a basic conversation. Soon Nobuko
was being complimented on her English, as well as her painting ability.
As things
turned out, Nobuko had stumbled upon the ideal way for someone shy to strike up
a conversation – put yourself in a promising venue and maybe the other person will start talking first. Thus began a routine every Sunday after art
class of heading to Ritsurin’s
lotus pond, teahouse or bridge
where tourists fed the carp. She would sketch or paint, waiting for someone to gaze over her shoulder and comment on
that day’s masterpiece.
Some visitors would take a photo with Nobuko then send
it to her along with a short letter or postcard. She would bring these messages
to class, once pointing out the
commemorative stamp some friendly stranger had taken the trouble to paste on
the envelope. People really did seem to care about this young girl who made
their visit to Takamatsu more memorable. And Nobuko’s ability to communicate in
English blossomed along with her painting skills.
It amazes me
how clumsy first encounters can be. I have had total strangers accost me on the
street in Japan asking to
“practice English”. I appreciate their eagerness to learn but this approach
lacks finesse and can be off-putting. Small talk about the weather or
commenting on one’s surroundings (“Aren’t the flowers beautiful this time of
year?”) is a great way to slip into a conversation but such “ice breakers” are rarely taught in language
classes, at least in the places where I have lived.
Many years ago
while completing my Master’s degree in England I began to fear that my Japanese
ability was deteriorating. One Sunday, I decided to get my nose out of the
books and re-join the real world by heading to the National Portrait Gallery
in London. My plan was to
soak up some culture and, if I was lucky, meet a few unsuspecting Japanese
tourists to talk with. As things turned out, I stumbled across an entire tour
group from the Osaka area. Moving into position in front of the Chandos
portrait of William
Shakespeare, I waited for a break
in their chatter then declared in a rapt
tone of voice, “Omoshiroi desu ne...” (“Isn’t it interesting...”).
A few jaws
dropped but before the group could turn and run I quickly interjected, “Where
do you all come from?” The stage was set. Surrounded by ten native speakers, I
began asking – and answering – questions. “Where did you learn Japanese?”,
“Which part of England are you from?” “Why did you come to study in England
instead of Canada?” After an hour of strolling through the museum with this
entourage, I was reassured that my Japanese skills were still intact. I also
thought of Nobuko. Maybe I didn’t paint but I could certainly identify which
artwork would appeal to a tour group from Osaka and use it as bait for a brief
but fruitful encounter.
There are many
ways that we can access opportunities
for developing our listening, speaking, reading and writing skills in another language. In my next
blog entry, I will discuss some of my own ideas, including online approaches.
On the rare
occasions when I get back to Takamatsu, I try to visit Ritsurin. Maybe I am hoping to run into a woman painting
flowers by the lotus pond, quietly waiting for a passing visitor to praise her artwork and strike up a conversation. On the
other hand, I know that clever girls usually grow into intelligent young women
who move on with their lives, and I assume that Nobuko is one of them.
