In 5th grade we were given a choice. I say choice but in reality it was like choosing between being the kid with six fingers, and having to deal with three days of a minorly abrasive rash. Everyone chose the rash, the alternative was madness. At that age, to not attend an event with the majority of your classmates was to set yourself up for (what seemed like) a lifetime of future exclusion. You could never tell when something unifyingly significant would happen, and those not around would have to stretch their stomachs full of envy as the story was told over and over again. Replay value for 10 year olds is inexhaustible, so everyone went along with it. We were told that we were going to be marooned somewhere in the ichy woods for a long weekend under the auspices of the didactic duo Melarvie/Poulin, but after we discovered it was to be held at the El Shadia bible camp, we expected a fate much worse than having to poop outside. This would be an endurance test for our patience, a torture-rack of tediousness, millennia of preachy monotony crammed into a barrel of fun -less monkeys, the one’s who didn’t make the cut. I remember having pre-departure visions of leech-filled beds and prison-style imitation gruel based meals. The only upshot was that it would be shared misery, sure we’d suffer, but we’d suffer together.
Last weekend, I hosted the exact same thing with an Asian twist. A group of 50 6-9 year old Japanese children signed up for the summer English camp, so drawing on the past experiences from my ongoing youth, I packed accordingly; a bandana, two changes of underwear, some goofy shades, and a quart of whiskey (the latter being only for medicinal purposes and my did I need it). At the very beginning with the kids, there seemed to be very little difference between my El Shadia trip and this one; the children were all nervous, not wanting to leave their mothers, and shy around the strangely tall, western-looking counselors. However these reservations took all of about an hour to sublimate into the pollution-less air of the northern Chiba hills. The kids were climbing all over me like ants on a honeyed rice cracker when a striking difference hit me (poked me actually, but I’ll get to that). These youngsters’ counterparts in The States, effectively me at camp in my younger days had an ingrained subtle ubiquitous homophobia common to most American pre-teen groups. The Japanese youth on the other hand, seemed not to be bothered in the least about it. Let me elaborate; Stateside, unless you grew up on a commune or in San Francisco, touching a member of the same sex’s privates or backside immediately earned you, at the very least, a fierce ripping. If the offence was great enough, or you caught someone in a bad mood, you were more likely to draw punches than harsh words. In Japan however, it’s perfectly normal, it’s even become a game.
Kancho, the first time I heard it I found myself wondering if it was the name of an adorable Japanese mascot, maybe Barney’s counterpart; Kancho the morose Japanese monkey. However, if you’re an English teacher living in Japan, it becomes a psychologically traumatizing fact of life. The aim is simple, start with your hands clasped in prayer, next extend the index fingers of both hands out to form a point, finally take the contraption and try to stick it up teacher’s ass.
Before you come to Japan, they send you a list of important details to keep in mind when making the transition. These are things like bringing extra clothes because large sizes are impossible to find. Or not blowing your nose in public because the Japanese find it offensive. But nowhere on that list, and I mean nowhere, did anyone ever mention that a kid might try to stick his (or her) fingers up your butt. Now if you’ve ever been around kids, you’d assume the boys would be the perpetrators the majority of the time, but the females are the ones you really have to watch out for. Worse yet is that I find that I naturally let my guard down around the really little girls. They’re adorable; they could hurt a fly, then BAM! Like a true kancho assassin they strike with accurate ferocity. Yet another thing I'll never get used to…
