You said what now?

"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter." -- e.e. cummings

Last night, just like every Wednesday night from 7:30 - 9:00 pm, a handful of odd characters, including myself, gathered to participate in another engaging meeting of D.E.C. This D.E.C. is also known to us in the assistant-English-language-teaching circle as an ekaiwa. An English conversation class.

As in all official Japanese business, when this hodge-podge group of English aficionados decided to convene, concerns of a title were brought up and labored over. We -- and when I say we, I mean my moderately-good English-speaking Japanese counterpart, who happens to be the vice principal of Ojika Elementary School -- decided the title of our class would be D.E.C. Now, I'm sure you, with your extra large craniums, can probably decode that abbreviation without firing out too many extra synapses, but I'll do the dirty work for you. D.E.C. stands for Dawn's English Club, of course.

The class consists of anywhere from three to 10 participants a week of varying English ability. The only requirements are that the participants must be over 18 years old and have a love of the English language. Some people have come and gone but I do have a few regulars.

They are: the Ojikan bred, dock-working father of a former student who's picked up an interesting habit of coughing instead of saying things like "um" or "uh" while he's thinking; the junior high school health teacher who has an undying love, almost obsession, with her dog which she forces to make the six-hour round-trip ferry ride once every month so she can spend time with him; and the aformentioned elementary school vice principal who has one of the all-time worst haircuts I have ever seen. (I'm wondering if he asked the stylist to leave long, girly curls whisping about his eyes and ears, or if that was just something that the stylist came up with on their own.) He also brings his wife, but I hardly count her as a participant because rarely does he allow her to speak, let alone figure anything out on her own. I wonder if that kind of communication only happens when they are giving a go at English, or if it's a universal aspect of their relationship.

Along with my regulars, other random town's folk (with varying language abilities) attend my class. I try to find games and worksheets that will allow even the most remedial English speaker some kind of accomplishment, but also is challenging enough for the choking dock-worker and the canine crazy. This can be anything from brain teasers to cross-word puzzles.

Last night we discussed some quotes from famous Americans. They really liked the one from Benjamin Franklin. He said, "Fish and visitors smell in three days." But, my favorite was the one by e. e. cummings that I've written at the top of this e-journal.

It got me thinking. I actually laugh quite a lot on Ojika. Now, I'm not saying that every day is a walk in the koen, and all I ever suffer from is cheerful giggly fits, but I find that my days are generally filled with at least one activity, observance or conversation that makes me slap my knee and wish I had someone else here to appreciate the absolute strangeness of being in Japan.
An example:

About a week ago, the high school students and teachers participated in a community service project where we planted trees at a local park. During this activity, I had a chance to talk candidly with some of my students. Through a muddled combination of English and Japanese, I was educated on the nuances of Japanese professional comedy by the high school sophomores. A scary thing to have happen. I soon found myself doing a little dance and chanting "junga, junga, junga" for anyone who'd watch. The kids hooted and hollered and even recruited my supervisor to make it a dual performance. I've since had a good laugh about it too, but I have a feeling it's funny to me for a very different reason.

Most of the time, I feel like I get to participate in my own personal gong show. - A less gross version of X-Factor. - Or, one of those MTV snippits where the entice suntanned co-eds to do zany things with a couple sweaty hundred dollar bills.

Another easy laugh comes from the many moments of miscommunication in a land where the language I have does me little good. This is a difficult area to navigate. Usually it is something I have said that makes others laugh, and me feel foolish; or is something that someone says to me that contorts my face into uncontrollable shock, horror or humor.

An example:

Yesterday, the high school was virtually shut down for entrance exams. Students from the junior high school were escorted around the building by the "intimidating" senseis. This meant that almost everyone was doing some sort of useless business and the staff room was empty. Close to the day's end, one of the teachers looked at me and made a very common English mistake. (One that I've heard from other ALTs.) The PE teacher looked me straight in the eye and, in an attempt to strike up a conversation in English, said, "you're boring." There's a fine line between being boring and bored.

I agree with cummings that every day should be filled with laughter. I find myself laughing a lot on Ojika - some of it at my own expense, but it's funny none the less. And I'm confidant in the fact that being an ALT for the JET Program I won't run out of material.

And THAT is the end of the story.