elephant game

I try not to have any regrets about the decisions Ive made. Although I was torn up about staying or going for my next year, I think I've made the right decision about staying. Sure, I do miss home and everything, but my decision to stay means I've got another year of job security, an exchange rate in my favour, as well as being able to save up money for the arduous job-searching I have to do when I get back, which I'll probably need considering the current state of the economy. Plus, it means I'll have more time to travel, and if I travel during the school holidays, I can travel whilst still getting paid! Not too shabby, hopefully it means I have time to travel to further away places, like Fukuoka, Hokkaido, and Jesus' grave in Aomori.

It also means I get to see a whole year level of kids all the way through high school, from them being first years til graduation this time next year. I'll also get more time to "teach" English to preschoolers, which I've written about how awesomely cute they are before.

Speaking of which, I guess there is one regret I have involving my preschoolers. Now, I'm so used to playing with them, carrying them and being kanchoued, that I forget how anti-contact they are back home in Australia - I distinctly remember them telling us at uni, while studying to be a teacher that you're not to make any contact with kids at all, even if it's a pat on the back, in case it's misconstrued. This recollection about what we're taught in Australia comes back every now and then in the middle of playing games with kids, and makes me realise how odd and dodgy some "games" are when viewed from an Australian perspective. I realised this after I invented a game with some of my kids that would probably blacklist me from any future job involving children in Australia.

I'm slightly tall, like 185 cm-ish. Which, in Gifu, makes me taller than everyone but the freaks. My preschool kids on the other hand, range from 3-5, aren't. This height difference means one thing.

So, when kids come running towards me to hug me, I quietly pray they slow down enough to now run straight into me. And, I've been quietly perfecting my technique to avoid head-on collisions (though, unfortunately, usually involves turning around, leaving me easy prey to the kid's kanchouing.

Unfortunately, last week, one kid decided to play "let's stick my head between Narin sensei's legs. After putting his head down beneath my legs, and trying to lift it up to seemingly lift me up with his head, I tried to stop him and distract him by picking up his legs. In doing so, it resulted with his head nestled between both legs as he held on tightly to my legs as well. After realising the awkward position I was now in, and coming to terms with my future career with kids in Australia being over, I put down his legs back on the ground, but it was too late.

"Hey look!" screamed the nearby kids. "It's like an elephant!"
"That was fun!" cried the should-be-traumatised boy. "Do it again!" And despite my hesitation, the boy, along with a few other boys who witnessed the event, decided to try and make me play again the only way how. Usually, when we play the 1-2-3 game (where I hold their hands and lift them as high as I can - fun-sounding game, I know) it means that they try to grab my hands in the same position I usually pick them up, just to make sure I know what game they're talking about. This time, the boys were all getting into position to play this new elephant-game I had just created. With their heads bowed down, the boys charge towards me, heading straight for my crotch, so they can get in position and play again.

Oh, man. I'm so sorry kids. I hope next time I visit your school you'll stop calling out elephant and charging at my crotch.