During lunch break, I met Ms.Y and talked about what happened yesterday. “Yesterday, when I passed by the stair landing, I saw a boy sitting there alone, and when I looked at his hands, he was gripping a cutter knife.”
Y works part-time and this is her first job at this high school. Actually, I heard it’s her first time working at a high school at all. Until then, she had worked at a special needs school until retirement, went to a culinary school for two years to get a chef’s license, also holds a home economics teaching license, and was scouted to work at this school after attending a committee-hosted “Dormant License Utilization Meeting.” She’s debuting as a home economics teacher after turning 60. She has teaching experience, but no experience interacting with real high school students.
Y continued her story.
“So, he held the cutter blade against her wrist. I thought it was dangerous, but I also knew I shouldn’t provoke him, so I called out to a teacher passing by to watch him, stayed under supervision, and went upstairs to quickly make a phone call.”
Y just wouldn’t stop talking. It seemed like she was looking for someone to listen.
“Then, school nurse was contacted, came to get him, and they went to the infirmary together to calm him down.”
‘That’s good. That was a wonderful way to handle it.’
I felt relieved that Y could handle situations even when dealing with students who have serious problems.
The story about T telling the nurse’s office about the cutter boy should have immediately reached the vice-principal, but there was no mention of it in the afternoon meeting.
When I worked at Special needs school, such stories were quickly shared with the staff. Maybe it was because the school I had previously worked at was a special school attached to a hospital for students with emotional problems. Like the time a student pressed a steel bed against a nurse and a male nurse seriously injured his hip, or when an elementary student threw the pointed end of a large math triangle at a teacher, or when a student jumped from the second floor of the hospital and got seriously hurt. Even if you weren’t in class, we were able to know who had what problems, what their current situation was, and whether we shouldn’t get involved.
We weren’t allowed to leave scissors or cutters on desks in the staff room, and male teachers weren’t allowed to wear ties. That was because they could provoke students and potentially lead to unexpected accidents. Anyone would feel bad being grabbed by their tie by a student.
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The Japanese female prime minister was shown around the world at the G7 meeting, sitting alone at the round table looking uncomfortable, shaking her chair like a little child. The news is reporting that she faked parts of her career in the U.S. I heard she listed an internship that even high school students could do on her resume with a federal congressional investigator and became a politician. She probably climbed up to become prime minister using these kinds of tactics.
I wonder since when schools started being called ‘toxic’ workplaces? When I started my job, school was still lively. Students caused all sorts of problems, but if you took the time to talk things through, they admitted their mistakes and genuinely reflected on them. In the end, we could deeply understand each other’s positions and ways of thinking, and they grew a lot and graduated.
Nowadays, there are a lot of students coming in who already have a primary doctor. For example, a student with orthostatic dysregulation who can’t get up in the morning, or a student who stays up late on their smartphone and could sleep early with no issues, will end up diagnosing themselves and choosing an illness.
“I go to a psychiatrist,” some students say, full of pride.
If you say, “So what?” it might hurt their desire for sympathy, so I just nod lightly and quickly change the topic. I don’t get too involved with students who are mentally unstable. Listening to them can make them stick to you and sometimes even hold a grudge. If they get a little upset, they want to take the victim stance and say, “The teacher hurt me.”
There was also a teacher with anorexia. She took months off work. During her leave, she went to Disneyland with her child multiple times and came back to school to hand out sweets. She couldn’t teach but wanted to be a homeroom teacher for graduating students and even pressured management with a doctor’s note. I felt relieved when she was transferred. The number of people wanting to become teachers dropped sharply. It seems like only young people with a primary doctor now want to become teachers. There were repeated new hires with anorexia. Basically, they were inflexible and earnest. They insisted on what they thought was right. Maybe that’s why they became sick, with such dedication.
I thought about quitting this job. Because three teachers resigned without even greeting the workplace. Two were in their sixties, and one in their fifties. One had a physical paralysis, and two had cancer.
One of the teachers in her sixties fell on a snowy day commuting and hit her head hard, becoming paralyzed on one side. Another had cancer and lost twenty kilograms from summer to autumn, and at some point, just stopped coming to school. Finally, the teacher in her fifties went on leave, got transferred, and passed away at the new location. She had cancer. They are allowed three years of medical leave, but it didn’t even last a year. I ended up taking over her classes during her leave because no one else came to substitute. No extra vacation or pay was given for that. I felt like this workplace was going to kill me.
I dream of a happy retirement. At the farewell party, I imagine looking back on my teaching career, expressing words of gratitude to the workplace, and the following week, giving my final speech to the students from the stage. I plan to sing a song without accompaniment. I’m already taking private lessons. The instructor is a woman a bit younger than me, but she has a deep interest in spiritual matters, and during the lessons, I feel deeply moved from the bottom of my heart. Over the hill, songs like Space Battleship Yamato, Moon Desert, Love Shining, Hello Baby—these are songs I’ve sung before. Some are chosen by the teacher, some by me. Sometimes I even cry while singing. I feel some part of my heart is being strongly purified. It’s much better than getting a bad psychologist.
***
Here’s an update on the Cutter Boy. About two weeks later, just when I had forgotten, there was a report about him in a teacher’s meeting. Apparently, there are times when he just stares at the cutter quietly in class. However, the attending doctor advised, “The cutter is his charm, ” so his actions were ignored. ‘Just watching the tip of the blade calms him; there’s no risk of hurting himself or others.’ But is that really true? Don’t they consider the anxiety and safety of the other students in the class? Or the safety of the teachers? Two years ago, when a student committed suicide, the young homeroom teacher resigned at the end of the school year. The faculty didn’t have the strength to support him. Yet the principal was promoted elsewhere and the vice principal got a raise. Even though a few years back there was an incident where a student killed a classmate with a cutter. Can the danger posed by a boy who can only keep himself stable by staring at the tip of a cutter really be taken so lightly?
The incident where a sixth-grade girl killed a classmate with a cutter happened in 2004. It caused a huge uproar all over Japan. She spent her middle school years in a correctional facility and later reintegrated into society. She was just an elementary school student back then… I wonder where she is now and what she’s doing. She should be in her 30s by now.
What kind of future awaits a boy who keeps himself together by staring at the tip of a cutter? I don’t know. I can’t know what goes on beneath the uniform. Of course, the same goes for the other students too.
After the teacher’s meeting, I reported to Y that the cutter boy had been mentioned. Part-time staff don’t have to attend the meetings.
“I’m glad. I wish I had been told sooner,” Y said.
“I think so too. But the management staff only have experience in full-time schools, so they’re not very aware of potential dangers.”
“I see.”
Y, who always comes to work in a white shirt, looked disappointed.