I realize I have not wrote in a while. I have been very busy attending seminars, multi-tasking at work, and trying to spread my wings a bit to see the surrounding area. As result, I have accumulated many topics to discuss, but feel that my experience today takes precedence. It may not be much on the adventure scale, but it certainly has a lot of heart.
A few weeks ago I was instructed that I would be visiting a special needs school here in Aomori-shi roughly once a month. I was a bit intrigued by this since people who are mentally and/or physically challenged are not often seen here in Japan. Now I am not suggesting that they hide them under rocks, but in contrast to America or other parts of the world, it is not common to see a challenged person working in your community store. I am not very clear about the place challenged people have in societal Japan, and it wasn't looking good since my only experience was witnessing a mentally handicap man, who was trying to speak to a group of smokers in Tokyo, in which every person pretended that he didn't exist. And the same goes for schools. Children are not integrated here or mainstreamed. There is no range of variation. Anyone with a lisp to cerebral palsy goes to the same institution. No exceptions.
I recognize the potential tangent I could go off on here about the effects on a child's self-esteem, but I am going to save that one for small group discussion.
However, when regarding children, I don't believe the intention is to make them invisible, I think here, challenged people are the responsibility of the family unit, and therefore it is something that is handled internally. I am not doubting that they are loved very much by their families, but I don't know that society as a whole has a tolerance for their condition, or believes that they may harbour any individual power. There are a plethora of challenges all ranging from mild to severe, and people of all types can persevere. The difference is, in my experience, that the belief that one can diligently become a prince from a pauper is a western one. A similarity though, is the belief that people no matter what do have worth, and that no one is left behind.
"Ohana means family, no one gets left behind"
This is what I believe I witnessed today. It was my first visit to the special needs school. I was relaxed and eager for this visit, I have worked with many different groups of children. I arrived at the school to a find a very casual atmosphere where everyone greeted me with a smile. Parents were dropping of their students happily, kissing them good-bye. I met my cooperating teacher and Kyoto- sensei in the foyer and exchanged a very confident introduction in Japanese. I noticed that this school did not have many stairs and had a series of interconnected ramps that ran up and down floors. The windows were spilling in sunlight that reflected off the glossy pathways. We headed upstairs where I was introduced to my desk and the days itinerary. I was only supposed to be there for half a day in which I would be teaching one class with 3 elementary school students. To prepare, I was told to create a sign that included my name, country, and likes. I designed a bright yellow poster that showcased drawn images of myself, the earth with America ethnocentrically centered, and my dogs.
As I sat at my desk waiting for the next period I could hear students from down the corridors making distant sounds in efforts to communicate with someone. I watched children in wheel chairs, some with leg braces, and some lying on platforms covered in blankets be guided past my office. Teachers and aides sang cheerfully or spoke softly to the students. I must say it was a little sobering and I got caught in a brief moment of utter sadness. I had to remember that my purpose was to interact with these kids, not feel sorry for them.
At 10:35 a precession of two teachers and two tiny wheel chairs came to my desk requesting that I join them. Two little guys, age 7 and 8 years, waved their arms in joy at our meeting, smiling large grins, and making happy sounds. Both had cerebral palsy and various other challenges that I could not understand. I shook their hands and told them my name, and then we moved our parade onward. We came into a kindergarten type classroom with a large carpet on the floor, shelves of games and toys, and a chalk board with pictures of the children and their names. We gathered in a circle and sang a welcome song. I was surprised by my ability to speak with the teachers in Japanese and find all the right words to communicate with my new buddies in both languages. I began to show off my poster when another small boy, 6 years old, and paraplegic, entered with his aide. He looked at me and said in perfect English "Hello, nice to meet you". He joined our group and we talked about my poster and I showed photos of Phillie and Mac, which was received with applause and shrieks of approval. We played "London Bridges", which consisted of a sheer red scarf attached to a wall, where the aides wheeled the children underneath, while I held the other end, and when the music stopped I was responsible for draping the scarf around them with a big hug and some tickles (melt my heart). It was a huge success! We continued with a game much like perfection, except one puts small plastic swords into the side of a barrel and hopes that the plastic pirate on top doesn't pop up and fly out. My speaking friend spent the whole game mimicking every thing I said in English, receiving great praise with every word. While the activities were ensuing, one teacher kept blowing up a whoopee cushion and putting under her bottom or another teachers or even lifting the kids out of their wheel chair and making them fart. Then everyone would laugh and say "Kusai", which means stinky in Japanese (of course I got in on it too!). When our time together was up, I received great hugs from my friends, cheers, and a return precession to my office. .,
What a day.
While I was in that class, I realized that the idea is not to hide these children away. The love the teachers had for these kids was clear. They spend more time with these children than parents. Some go to school 8 or 9 hours everyday. The point behind school, is to educate these children the best they can and help them to experience joy and love in their lives. They are not lined up in rows of 8 at desks all day feeling completely oppressed. Hmmmm.....
Does this answer my question about the societal role of challenged people in Japan. No. But it does give me a clearer insight on the value that these children have. They are truly amazing, their teachers know it, and the ones I met at least, are doing an amazing job at simply letting these children live and be loved.
I still carry around a piece of sadness in my heart, because I wish I could see them everyday, not because I feel sorry for their condition. My new friends have given me a memory and an impression that will last my whole life.
