My Most Embarrassing Moment

When I taught English Composition in Japan, I had a very funny, very embarrassing experience which I will try to share with you.  First of all, in Japan in the 1980's, male teachers where I taught were expected to wear at least a white shirt with tie, if not a full suit.  So I dressed up every day when I went to work.  Secondly, the classrooms in Japan are LARGE.  In many Japanese high schools, there are typically 45-50 students per classroom, so there is a platform at the front of the classroom on which the teacher stands so the students in back can see (so they can stick their comic books or personal notes or spitball shooters away before the teacher gets too close.)  The platform is not that high, maybe only 5-6 inches, but high enough for this story.

At the time this embarrassing event occurred, I was teaching my students about prepositions, and was trying to explain the difference between ‘in’ and ‘into’.  I came up with the brilliant idea of showing them the difference.  So I stood by the door, and said “I am IN the classroom.”  Then I walked out, and walked back in, and as I came in, I said “I am walking INTO the classroom.”  Some seemed to get it, some did not.  Using the “shampoo method” of teaching, (“lather, rinse, repeat”) I did the same thing several times.  One of my brighter students asked me if the verb “walk” was the only verb that used “INTO”, and I said, “No, you can jump into the room" (so I went into the hallway and jumped into the room,) and then I added, "And you can run into the room... “   And this is when the trouble began.

I went into the hallway with the intention of running into the classroom.  And I did.  Until my foot caught on the edge of the platform.  Then I proceeded to do a full-body smash onto the floor.  The whole building shook, I think.  People in nearby classrooms probably thought it was an earthquake or a chemical explosion.  The vibrations were so severe, that the chalkboard eraser sitting on the shelf just below the chalkboard bounced up and off the shelf... and landed right on my head.  And not just the top of my head, but on my face.  The left side of my face, to be exact.  When I stood up, there was not a student in their seat.  They were all rolling on the floor, clutching their sides in raucous laughter.  They were pointing at me and laughing.  When I checked my appearance in the mirror by the chalkboard, I saw a crimson-red face half-covered with white and yellow chalk.  I, too, pointed at my reflection and started laughing hysterically. The students who had been able to compose themselves were once again on the floor, laughing hysterically with me. The room was nothing but laughter for about 10 minutes.  When it calmed down, I said, “Well, you can FALL into the room, too!”  And again the laughter started... 

While the situation was embarrassing, and funny as hell, it also led to something special—respect.  After that day, the students of that class treated me with more respect than I had ever received before.  They knew I was serious about my joy of teaching—but they knew I could also laugh at myself.  They knew that I had a lust for life, a yen for Zen (I had a shaved head, and talked about my Buddhist practice from time to time, and had a mind as sharp as a tack, and a heart of gold.  Compared to the horror stories they heard from their fellow students who studied under my Australian counterpart, I was a patient and kind teacher, who genuinely cared about them.  At the end of the school year, the students came up to me, and asked me to take a picture with them.  They framed it and gave me a copy, which I have to this day.  That was also the year I was voted “Teacher of the Year” .  Good, good memories all around.