Another ending
This morning I woke up in Kiyono's apartment, after a surprising (or perhaps unsurprising) turn of events involving alcohol and one of those tentative, new-ground-rules nights which turned into a story about her ex/current-boyfriend turning nasty and hence disqualifying himself from the competition entirely. I was back in the lead, through no efforts or talents of my own and I revelled in it. It felt natural again, and while we didn't kiss, and probably won't, it was a lovely feeling of renewed access - to the city, the country, through her.
It's the rainy season at present, a brief interlude between two sweltering months, and the rain today was delicious on my skin. I went to see my fool of a boss - timed between two engagements to minimise the time I had to spend with him, a routine contract signing visit, and he made me wait to emphasise his importance and give me ample time to study the progress of his paunch (yep, larger). Then he said sorry, you've come too late and the kindergarten is full this month. Stunned, I said nothing. Full? It's been understaffed since day one. What the fuck? Why fill it with inexperienced workers when I've been here four months? Was this perhaps punishment, I asked, and he blustered and fiddled with words, only the tiny spark in his piggy little eyes brave enough to tell me the truth, that he was indeed punishing me for speaking up, the vindictive fuck, for daring to criticise Him last time. Thank god, I didn't beg, although I felt tears (anger? sadness?) nearing - I'd already had my final day with my gorgeous kids and hadn't even known it was special. He wouldn't relent, holding to the logic of systems to ward off the emotion in my eyes, instead holding out token work elsewhere, and the possibility of returning to the kindie next month, by which time I will be in Hokkaido, or maybe Tokyo. So this is it then, I said, barely holding it together (so fucking weak, the anger came later) and walked out into the rain stunned, as if I'd been sacked, which in some sense I had. God, it's as if, one by one, I am being relieved of my connections here, the things which made living here worthwhile and different and purposeful - first Kiyono and now my borrowed children.
---
Crazy to think that I'd already hugged Soshin for the last time after chasing him round the room, whisking him up in my arms to administer a tickle, a fellow dreamer at two, his face always wreathed in secret smiles, secret games beneath chairs, the Pooh-Bear towel he slept with dangling from his mouth; already taken Aran for her last hurdy-gurdy whirl in the air, her delighted face fixed on mine and not the dizzying ground below; watched Shuma make little playdoh creations and say mitte, mitte (look, look!) for the last time, watched Koichi count to ten on his own, led the pack in singing Dorothy the Dinosaur, cleaned up after a routinely disastrous lunchtime (Misaki! Please don't pull Hina's hair! Shuto! Why is your lunch on the ground? Shuma! What's that up your nose?), put Ren to sleep by stroking the secret spot behind his ear. I'd already made my last lesson (how will we make a mess today, kids?), encouraged sharing for the last time, already had my last surge of pride at Koki's wobbly letter A's, laughed at Shizuka strutting around behind me, impersonating pompous ol' me, saying go to your futon please. I'll never again get to discover Soshin blocking the toilet with a toilet paper roll, never find secret toy caches days later; never sing with my kids again.
And Hina has called me Papa for the last time, an error I never really tried too hard to correct. Where her Papa is, no-one knows.
I feel robbed, stripped - no time to prepare for this ignominious finish, no gradual weaning, nothing, just bang, you are not needed anymore when the truth is that the new teachers will terrify the children for a month until they earn their trust like I did.
Sometimes I really want to hurt people who hurt me and a fantastical plan quickly formed on the train, still numb - I would write a little diatribe, outlining exactly why he is a Bad Man - his propensity to treat humans as bits of paper to be allocated, his bombastic approach, irrational temper, superiority complex, and I would send this to him. Then (and this is where it gets mean and dirty and low) I would send a copy to all of the email addresses for the company I could find, so that one Embittered Former Employee could work to undermine this giant fool of a man, and my little battle with this man would be somehow worthwhile, and he would fall and lose face and his staff would snicker behind his back or at least feel some solidarity, know that other people feel the same way.
But then it passed, my own vindictiveness and desire for revenge and now I am left with another small sadness which means my time here is nearly ended, I think, and that now is time for movement and change and upheaval, time to destroy the little niche which I made for myself, a little perch for four, five months. Not that it is mine to destroy, really. My former boss and full time fuckwit did a good job all on his own.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll sneak back into my kindie and say goodbye to the kids, who I will miss. Even if I come back, the kids will be older, changed, a different phase of childhood and I will be forgotten, a dim tugging, a memory that once this person had hugging rights and diaper changing rights, playing rights and teaching rights, back then.
---
I think perhaps the most satisfying feeling in the entire world is when a small child, humming after toilet time, slides his hands up your arm to help me change his diaper. It's a simple, entirely natural movement - the little one trusting the big one, unthinking, but every time one of my charges did it, I had massive, fatherhood-inducing surges of emotions I can't describe. A strangely heady admixture of pride and protectiveness, perhaps.
God, I'll miss them.
This morning I woke up in Kiyono's apartment, after a surprising (or perhaps unsurprising) turn of events involving alcohol and one of those tentative, new-ground-rules nights which turned into a story about her ex/current-boyfriend turning nasty and hence disqualifying himself from the competition entirely. I was back in the lead, through no efforts or talents of my own and I revelled in it. It felt natural again, and while we didn't kiss, and probably won't, it was a lovely feeling of renewed access - to the city, the country, through her.
It's the rainy season at present, a brief interlude between two sweltering months, and the rain today was delicious on my skin. I went to see my fool of a boss - timed between two engagements to minimise the time I had to spend with him, a routine contract signing visit, and he made me wait to emphasise his importance and give me ample time to study the progress of his paunch (yep, larger). Then he said sorry, you've come too late and the kindergarten is full this month. Stunned, I said nothing. Full? It's been understaffed since day one. What the fuck? Why fill it with inexperienced workers when I've been here four months? Was this perhaps punishment, I asked, and he blustered and fiddled with words, only the tiny spark in his piggy little eyes brave enough to tell me the truth, that he was indeed punishing me for speaking up, the vindictive fuck, for daring to criticise Him last time. Thank god, I didn't beg, although I felt tears (anger? sadness?) nearing - I'd already had my final day with my gorgeous kids and hadn't even known it was special. He wouldn't relent, holding to the logic of systems to ward off the emotion in my eyes, instead holding out token work elsewhere, and the possibility of returning to the kindie next month, by which time I will be in Hokkaido, or maybe Tokyo. So this is it then, I said, barely holding it together (so fucking weak, the anger came later) and walked out into the rain stunned, as if I'd been sacked, which in some sense I had. God, it's as if, one by one, I am being relieved of my connections here, the things which made living here worthwhile and different and purposeful - first Kiyono and now my borrowed children.
---
Crazy to think that I'd already hugged Soshin for the last time after chasing him round the room, whisking him up in my arms to administer a tickle, a fellow dreamer at two, his face always wreathed in secret smiles, secret games beneath chairs, the Pooh-Bear towel he slept with dangling from his mouth; already taken Aran for her last hurdy-gurdy whirl in the air, her delighted face fixed on mine and not the dizzying ground below; watched Shuma make little playdoh creations and say mitte, mitte (look, look!) for the last time, watched Koichi count to ten on his own, led the pack in singing Dorothy the Dinosaur, cleaned up after a routinely disastrous lunchtime (Misaki! Please don't pull Hina's hair! Shuto! Why is your lunch on the ground? Shuma! What's that up your nose?), put Ren to sleep by stroking the secret spot behind his ear. I'd already made my last lesson (how will we make a mess today, kids?), encouraged sharing for the last time, already had my last surge of pride at Koki's wobbly letter A's, laughed at Shizuka strutting around behind me, impersonating pompous ol' me, saying go to your futon please. I'll never again get to discover Soshin blocking the toilet with a toilet paper roll, never find secret toy caches days later; never sing with my kids again.
And Hina has called me Papa for the last time, an error I never really tried too hard to correct. Where her Papa is, no-one knows.
I feel robbed, stripped - no time to prepare for this ignominious finish, no gradual weaning, nothing, just bang, you are not needed anymore when the truth is that the new teachers will terrify the children for a month until they earn their trust like I did.
Sometimes I really want to hurt people who hurt me and a fantastical plan quickly formed on the train, still numb - I would write a little diatribe, outlining exactly why he is a Bad Man - his propensity to treat humans as bits of paper to be allocated, his bombastic approach, irrational temper, superiority complex, and I would send this to him. Then (and this is where it gets mean and dirty and low) I would send a copy to all of the email addresses for the company I could find, so that one Embittered Former Employee could work to undermine this giant fool of a man, and my little battle with this man would be somehow worthwhile, and he would fall and lose face and his staff would snicker behind his back or at least feel some solidarity, know that other people feel the same way.
But then it passed, my own vindictiveness and desire for revenge and now I am left with another small sadness which means my time here is nearly ended, I think, and that now is time for movement and change and upheaval, time to destroy the little niche which I made for myself, a little perch for four, five months. Not that it is mine to destroy, really. My former boss and full time fuckwit did a good job all on his own.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll sneak back into my kindie and say goodbye to the kids, who I will miss. Even if I come back, the kids will be older, changed, a different phase of childhood and I will be forgotten, a dim tugging, a memory that once this person had hugging rights and diaper changing rights, playing rights and teaching rights, back then.
---
I think perhaps the most satisfying feeling in the entire world is when a small child, humming after toilet time, slides his hands up your arm to help me change his diaper. It's a simple, entirely natural movement - the little one trusting the big one, unthinking, but every time one of my charges did it, I had massive, fatherhood-inducing surges of emotions I can't describe. A strangely heady admixture of pride and protectiveness, perhaps.
God, I'll miss them.
posted by Doug @ 7/04/2005 11:45:00 pm
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