I first met Sayako while teaching at Seitoku High School in Matsudo, Japan. Seitoku is an all-girls’ school with a specialty in music, so naturally many of the students in my classes were not particularly academic. (I sometimes joked that monkeys behaved better.) And Sayako was no exception.
On the outside, she would be tough to distinguish from other girls in her ko-ichi (10th grade) class. She wore the same blue and grey pleated skirt, white high socks, and blue blazer that were the required uniform of all girls attending the school. Her hair was drawn into pigtails that made her look about ten years old. Of course, dyed hair and pierced ears were against dress code, so she sported neither of these.
In class, Sayako often talked during her lessons and openly prioritized her friends over whatever nonsense I was teaching at the board. When I gently scolded her, she would flash me her sweetest, most innocent smile.
“So sor-ry, Winta sensei,” she would chirp.
But Sayako’s carefree life was about to change. Her parents wanted her to study abroad for a year, so after grilling me about food and shopping opportunities overseas, Sayako set sail for Canada.
About a year passed and I heard nothing from Sayako. When the next school year began, imagine my surprise to see her name at the top of my class roster! In class, she was a completely different person: she was calm and held her head high. Visibly interested in her classes, she now kept other students on task. Her grades soared. I could only conclude that her time in Canada had shaped her into an intelligent and capable young lady.
A few months later, Sayako asked me for help. She wanted to compete in the regional English speech contest and she wanted me to coach her. She’d written a speech about her struggle to learn English while in Canada. For weeks, we would meet every day after school to work on her speech together. Writing, revising, rehearsing, pronouncing, memorizing... until the presentation flowed like water.
On the day of the competition, Sayako was visibly shaken. I gave her a quick hug and reassured her that she was ready. She flashed me her usual smile and nodded. On stage, Sayako performed brilliantly, perfectly inflecting the words and phrases we’d rehearsed while adding perfectly-timed gestures and facial expressions. She cast a spell over the judges; captivating them with her charisma and charm.
After what seemed like an eternity, she was called on stage to receive her human-sized trophy. She skipped up to the stage beaming and gave me a thumbs up sign after accepting her award. Pride swelled in my heart.
The months soared by and soon March was upon us. Delicate cherry blossoms floated on the wind. In Japan, March is Graduation month. Graduation is the most formal occasion for high school students, so an enormous amount of protocol and decorum are involved. Students must demonstrate rigidly formal entrances, uniform standing, and precisely-executed bows when they receive their certificates.
I shifted in the audience, watching as each class stood and then processed out of the auditorium. As Sayako’s class was called, our eyes locked. She broke rank and sprinted into my arms, enveloping me in a bear hug. Tears streamed from our eyes as parents and teachers watched, horrified at this breach of etiquette.
“I’m so proud of you,” I whispered.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she sobbed.
It was at that moment that I realized that teaching was my calling. I could never pursue another line of work. Never. Not after experiencing this.
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