Hagi High School Graduation

Japanese high schools across the nation all hold their graduations on or around March 1st, and me being a Japanese high school teacher, I was cordially invited (ordered) to attend. I was told to come in at about 8 AM, the time which I usually show up for work. The day before March 1st being a Friday, this proved to be much more difficult than I could've imagined.

A friend of mine is an exchange student who lives with one of Hagi's most wealthiest and well-known families, and since this friend was leaving in a few days, I was allowed to come to the sayonara bash that was to be held in his honor. There would be wine, beer, liquor, sushi, other various dishes, I thought. but what sealed my decision to attend was that remembering the other parties that were thrown, the host father, Mr. Toyota, has an unwavering affinity for beef.

When I arrived at around 6:30 PM, I greeted the other guests and made my way to the patio where the grill was. On the floor outside, bundled and bloodied in stacks of newspapers I saw several prime cuts of choice steak. I've mentioned before how rare the opportunity is for me to eat such high quality beef, so I feel as if there is no reason to express what is already obvious as my supreme excitement.

I'll skip through what happened at the dinner party and my glorious reunion with my beloved red meat, and I'll summarize by saying that I did not leave Mr. Toyota's house until well in the early morning. To this hour I cannot remember the process of leaving his house, getting back on my bike, and riding to my apartment. Because of how much alcohol I consumed, the events of the night are one gigantic interwoven blur.

Black out.

(Sounds of voices singing a celebratory tune wake me up in the morning. There was some sort of parade outside, I didn't bother finding out what for)

What the hell now? I wondered as I began to play the guessing game of 'what time could it be' that you play when you just wake up in the morning on your own.

"6 o'clock, 6 thirty?" I think to myself while rolling over to check the clock.

The clock read, 11:00.

Shit!! I'm an idiot!! As I sprang from my bed and threw off the covers all in one swift motion, I ran through all the possible excuses I could use so that I wouldn't get into serious trouble. I hastily fitted into my gray suit and pedaled like a madman to school hoping I could still make the ceremony and squeeze in unnoticed. When I got to school I opened the sliding door to the teachers office and gulped in anticipation of what would surely be my final hour as an employee of my school.

Laughter. A vicious thundering of laughter swept through the room as I made my way to my seat. The few who had noticed that I just arrived were quick to tell me that I smelled of alcohol, and that I must have a terrible hangover. They were wrong! It is impossible to have a hangover when you are still drunk! In short no one really cared which was fortunate enough for me, so I'm able to keep my job and live in this country. In my state of panic and confusion I still had the good idea to bring my camera, so here are some pictures.

Some girls I taught. The one in the front middle is Hajime, aka The Artist Formerly Known As Hajime. Isn't he adorable?



Daigo and Mori. I can't think of a better title for this picture than 'The Jock and the Nerd'. Can you tell which is which? Daigo (the jock) was only in my class because he had too many P.E. credits and mine was the only open class. Mori was very good at English.



2nd year students on the baseball team waiting for the 3rd year students to come out so they could give them individualized farewell presents. I told them all to look casual as I took the photo to make it seem more natural, yet they are all pretty much looking at the camera.




There is a gene in the genetic makeup of Japanese girls that requires them to flash a peace sign when someone says, "Hai, Cheeeezuuu."



After the graduation ceremony there was big party for the teachers. Everyone was lined up at the window because of the beautiful view of the beach.



After finding Patrick Stewart's long-lost twin brother, I had to get photographic evidence. (see other blog entry)



These are the women who worked like slaves to bring food and drinks to the rowdy mob I arrived with. The woman on the right was so old and feeble, she died shortly after taking this photo.