When will she ever learn?

As a child I dreaded piano lessons. Every Tuesday I would race home from school and cram a week’s worth of practicing into one afternoon. My piano teacher Jeanette always arrived promptly at 7. Pathetically I would try to stall her by asking a million questions: How may cats do you have? How many miles does your car get to the gallon? Did Heidi Reinhardt practice her scales this week? Sometimes I would even antagonize the dog right before she arrived to take care of another 5 minutes. But Jeanette was no fool. Under her steady gaze my courage would falter and I would confess all. I thought eventually she would snap and stab me with the needle of the metronome. But she never got angry. She simply pushed. Gently. After every lesson I felt as if I had been given a second chance. I was a sinner who had finally seen the error of her ways. I vowed from that day forward, I would practice. I would be a model pupil and the protege I was born to be...

And so it was until the door closed behind her. From the far reaches of the house I was lured by the theme song of Who's The Boss (the crack-cocaine of all the sitcoms). I would wander into the living room to find my Dad lounging on the couch, asking me between mouthfuls of potato chips how my lesson was. Lesson? What lesson? What episode is this? Is it the one where Tony sees Angela in the shower...

And so this snippet of my childhood seems so heartbreakingly resonant here in Japan as I struggle to learn Japanese. Last night was our seasonal enkai (staff party). As I was getting ready to leave the house, I was filled with that same guilt and dread. I showed up and squeezed between two teachers who spoke not a word of English. I tried to fake it. I remarked in Japanese that it was raining but had no witty follow-up. Instead, I nodded like a mindless idiot to everything asked of me. It vaguely crossed my mind that they were asking me to lead in karaoke or wondering if I fantasize about seeing the kocho sensei naked: questions to which an emphatic nod is not the appropriate response. And like Jeanette, they pushed. Gently. In the words of my Kyouto sensei: "She must learn Japanese because I can't talk to her". I had an epiphany. I felt inspired. I must learn Japanese. I must practice. I must become the model pupil and protege I was born to be. I am going straight home to study now...goodbye.
To borrow a line: "Destiny spies a man with a blindfold". Surprise, surprise! My good intentions were foiled again! The last time I registered consciousness I was singing a raunchy duet of Careless Whisper with my supervisor and spilling beer down my blouse. Which leads me to an important question: Are we doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past?

I think I've come up with an adequate answer. Dad, it's your fault. You ruined my life.



footnote...don't you think it's about time they made a movie about Wham? My casting choice for the 80s Wham would definitely be Nick Lachey and a platinum Orlando Bloom. Wham 20 years later could be played by George Clooney and a platinum Nicolas Cage...