Tales from junior high

Occasionally our resident teenager deigns to share a story from school with her rapidly aging parents. I try to get her to write these in her blog, but recently she’s barely had time to scratch herself let alone compose new entries (readers may have noticed that it hasn’t been updated in quite a while). So I’ve decided to appropriate her intellectual property for my own pages. You’ll just have to imagine the exclamation marks after every sentence and liberal sprinklings of OMG.
Anyway here goes.

Once a week, Ruby’s class has a session called “moral education” where they discuss things such as feelings and being considerate for others and other lofty noble concepts. (Naturally the kids all think it’s a complete waste of time.) One day the teacher decides to engage them in an extremely weighty topic to wit:
What brings us happiness? Is it money?
Ruby immediately senses a trap: it’s one of those trick questions that teachers use to catch you out. You’re supposed to say clever things like “having lots of friends” and “showing kindness to others” and “doing the best you can”.
That’s right, in order to be happy you need money! continues the teacher.
Come on now, thinks Ruby, you’re really stretching this out. But she doesn’t put her hand up, just in case. You never can tell with teachers.
Which is just as well, because it turns out the answer is indeed money.
We need to make lots of Money so we can buy lots of Things, explains the teacher. Things bring us happiness. But in order to have lots of Money, you have to have a Good Job; for that you’ll need to go to university; in order to get in to your preferred university you need to go to the right senior high school (years 10-12); and in order to get into the senior high school of your choice you’ll need to study hard while in junior high school (years 7-9). So knuckle down and study hard, kids!
So much for moral education.

Another time the kids are given a lesson on safety. Apparently certain students have been spotted walking along the railway tracks on their way home. The teacher tells them in no uncertain terms that they are not to walk along the railway tracks any more. Why? Because the startled train driver might be obliged to slam on the brakes, causing untold inconvenience to the passengers and possibly disrupting the timetable. Furthermore, adds the teacher imperiously, you could get hit by the train and die.
Don’t you just love the order of priorities.

Meanwhile, Ruby tells us that her school has decreed that students are not permitted to swim in the sea until the official beach opening on July 3, another three weeks away. Now, it’s going to be 30+ all next week. In the event that the four of us feel like walking down to our local beach to cool off, Eleni, Felix and I will be free to get in the water but Ruby will have to sit on the sand roasting in the sun out of fear that someone might spot her and report the blatant rule violation back to the authorities.

I can’t even begin to explain how stupid and pointless I think this rule is; how it prevents kids from enjoying themselves; how it insults us as parents by implying that we’re somehow incapable of taking care of our offspring. I suggested that we just choose to ignore the rule, but Eleni and Ruby felt it simply wasn’t worth the hassle, so it looks we’ll just have to abstain for the next few weeks. Or get in the hot car and drive to another beach further down the road. Thanks a bunch, school. As you can see, I’m not very enamoured with the local education system this week. But this is the Japanese way, grasshopper. Clearly I still have much to learn.

At least we all got a swim in last Friday, including Ruby. (This was before we knew about The Rule.) Were the spies out that day? We wait with bated breath for the call from the principal.