It started out like any other day. Well, not really. For one thing, I was able to wake up without the assistance of a heater for the first time in months. Only 7C this morning! I put on my best (and only) suit, and granny biked off to work. It’s Friday February 28. It’s graduation day.
Flowers at Momoyama Castle – evidence of Spring’s approach
School schedules in Japan are quite different than in America. The school year begins in April, then after a month-long vacation in August, second semester begins in September. The third and final semester is from January to early March. Hence, a late February graduation.
Toryo sakura tree on a snowy Valentines Day
Toryo High seemed a bit quieter than it typically does at 8ish in the morning, due to the absence of the first and second year students. I parked my bike and headed upstairs toward the teachers room, where I was met by the usual chorus of “ohayou gozaimasu” (good morning). I set my stuff down at my desk and did a little investigatory work with my supervisor to figure out what was going on today (I honestly had no idea what the schedule was). Graduation starts at 10, be in the gym by 9:40. Got it. Now on to the next investigation. What is that noise coming from the discipline room? I walked down a few row of desks toward the small room attached to the main teachers’ office. On the floor was a carpet of newspaper beneath two chairs covered in plastic. A third-year girl was just exiting the room in an exaggerated fit of coughing as she swatted the punishing air from her face. The noise? Hair spray. Welcome to the Toryo Barbershop. “Ohayou gozaimasu!” I called as I entered the room to greet my three young teacher buddies. “Nani kore?” (What’s this?) In a comedic blend of English, Japanese, and pantomime, they explained the situation. Toryo students are not allowed to dye their hair, but it’s not uncommon for some to shirk the consequences in the name of fashion. But today, graduation day, that won’t fly. So my comrades, one of whom is partly in charge of student discipline, converted the small room into a barbershop, complete with a dark-haired mannequin head, to fix this problem. “This,” my P.E. teacher friend explained with a smirk as he held up a can of hair spray, “Japanese natural black!”
gearing up for a school party with the teacher buddies
Hair color wasn’t the only thing that needed to be in order today. Rather than funny gowns and hats (why do we wear those anyway?), the graduating third-years were all in their typical uniforms. Perhaps typical isn’t the right word. Today, the top buttons were all fastened, the ties were all tightened, the pants were all suspended in place with black belts, and the skirts were all at a modest length. They looked good! And very uniform.
Around 9:40 I made my way into the gym, exchanging my school-building-slippers for a pair of gym-slippers, courtesy of the PTA. I took my place against the wall with some other teachers to greet the guests. Most of the parents were already there, seated on backless benches and quietly chatting with their neighbors.
At 7:45, the school band began to play as we stood to welcome the graduates. Two by two, they followed their homeroom teachers in perfect formation toward the benches in the front, standing at attention before an elegant stage. The entire stage was draped in a gown of crimson and gold curtains – the colors of Toryo High School. I smiled, remembering the identical colors that draped the stage of my high school graduation (but trying not to think of the University with similar colors). In the center of the top curtain, the school emblem proudly shone in gold. On the wall beneath the emblem were two flags – the red and white of the Japanese rising sun, and the royal floral colors of Kyoto Prefecture. Beneath these was an elegant golden screen, like something a geisha would change behind in a Hollywood movie. Before these stood a beautiful vase of flowers on the right and a mounted flag of Toryo High on the left. Between these, looking ever so much like a boss with his powerful posture and wooden podium, was the principal.
flag of Kyoto Prefecture
At exactly 8AM (Japanese punctuality) the ceremony began. “Rei!” Everybody bowed before taking a seat in unison. Before a painfully quiet gymnasium, the principal began to read his speech. As the concluding words left his mouth they were swallowed up by the dense silence of the crowd. Do we clap? He quietly put down his speech then stepped back from the podium. “Kiretsu!” The harsh voice of the vice-principal brought everyone to their feet. “Rei!” Without making a sound, we all bowed again. As we stood our eyes followed the principal as he exited stage right, stopping to bow before the Japanese flag prior to descending the stairs. At the command of the vice principal we took our seats again. A few seconds later the principal was making his way back to the stage, bowing once more before the flag. Then came the roll call of the graduates. With a sharp “hai!” each student shot to their feet as their name was called. Once the entire homeroom of about 40 students was on their feet, the “team captain” of the class approached the principal and his podium on the stage, bowing once left, once right, then once before the principal. A single certificate was presented to the homeroom leader, who returned to his classmates after a few more silent bows. The class bowed in unison before sitting once again. One class down, 8 more to go. As the procession carried on, I stealthy looked around as I struggled to keep my posture on the backless bench. Drowsy eyes drooped with sleepiness, followed by heavy heads as chins came to rest on chests with folded arms. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who found this less than exciting. At least they could understand what was going on. I debated following suit for a moment as I noticed the young teacher sitting next to me was no longer fully conscious.
After about 290 students had all risen to their feet and bowed in perfect unison, and after a few more speeches read from various people, and after my posture had reached a nearly pathetic state, we were all called to our feet once again. The band played the school anthem as we all sang (or pretended to sing) along. Then, like a film in reverse, we all applauded as the graduates exited in the same manner they had entered. Owarimasu (finished) – no tassel flips, no cap tosses. Outside, the new graduates, with uniforms already back in the usual fashion, exchanged flowers for photographs with friends and family. Some of the emotions that had been restrained throughout the ceremony were starting to show, as teary pictures were taken with friends that would soon be parting ways. Toryo had been something special to all of them, that was clear. And though I never taught any of these graduates (I only teach the 1st years), I knew I would miss them too. As I quietly stood back and observed, a few familiar faces excitedly approached me with yearbooks and pens. Ya, I would miss them too.
KonnichiWhatsup 