Series "Class 1-1" (1) * A First-Grader in a Daze
April 1962. Tokiwa-cho, Kagoshima City. I was walking toward the elementary school with my mother through that quiet town, where old stone walls stood out, embraced by low mountains covered in evergreen broad-leaved trees. I wore a brand-new jacket and shorts, with an unfamiliar bowtie around my neck. While my heart was swelling with anticipation for a new life I had yet to see, I was more nervous than usual. Perhaps that is why I remember that day, the day of the elementary school entrance ceremony, so well.
A cloudless, perfect Japanese spring day. The leaves of the camellia hedges along the road sparkled as they reflected the spring sunlight. My mother, wearing a tight skirt that was fashionable at the time, said this to me as I walked beside her.
"Watch your step."
I followed her voice, cast my eyes down to my feet, and listened to the contrast between the hard sound of my mother's thin high heels and the sound of my own rubber-soled shoes.
— Mom's footsteps are slow, and mine are pitter-patter and fast —
That's not what she meant by 'watch your step'...
Back then, most of the backstreets were unpaved, the drainage ditches had no covers, and there were depressions in the road surface where puddles could form, or small stones scattered about.
When I entered the gate and turned left, there was an auditorium ahead. Unlike the 'rhythm room' at the kindergarten I had attended until then, there were no decorations shaped like animals or flowers, and I felt like shrinking away in that vast, stark space. In the middle, several portable blackboards were lined up, and large sheets of paper were posted on them. The names of the students from Class 1 to Class 6 were listed there. Classes were decided by birth month, and since I was born in March, I was in Class 1.
From there, we moved to the schoolyard and sat on wooden chairs lined up in front of the morning assembly platform. I listened to Principal Kodama's greeting under the blue sky, but I don't remember a single thing he said. Unlike the kindergarten teachers, his way of speaking was stiff and not at all interesting.
The homeroom teacher for each class was introduced, and the one who came to us was a middle-aged man of average height and build. I was envious that the next class, Class 2, had a female teacher. Following that male teacher, the children began to move in a straggling line, heading toward the classrooms along the connecting corridor. I didn't know where we were heading, just following along. The children were looking around, confused, and not moving forward very well. I felt like yawning.
The classroom was in the school building at the very back of the schoolyard. The first graders were on the first floor. Since it was Class 1, it was at the far west end. Parents were lined up at the back of the classroom, and the teacher stood in the middle at the front. Sandwiched between the back and the front, I felt nervous.
After a short greeting, the teacher began to write his name on the blackboard with chalk.
— Ha... ma... —
Just as he wrote that much, one boy let out a bizarre voice.
"Is it Mr. Hamanoue?"
A burst of laughter erupted from the parents behind us.
The tension that had been drifting in the classroom eased all at once, and perhaps because of that, my memory cuts off abruptly there.
That male teacher's name was 'Takematsu Hamanoue'. He looked like an ordinary middle-aged man, but he was a more fun teacher than I had expected, making us laugh by crossing his eyes or surprising us with a magic trick where he would detach his thumb. The name of the middle-aged female teacher in the next class, Class 2, was 'Ms. Kadomatsu'. I was convinced that the exquisite combination with Mr. 'Takematsu' Hamanoue must have been intentionally arranged by someone.
I thought the content of the textbooks was easy. Any child who had left kindergarten could read hiragana, and the arithmetic textbook was like a simple puzzle; it felt more like playing than 'studying'.
As a six-year-old who was told by my father, a high school teacher, to 'listen to what you're told' and 'don't complain'—to the point of being a bit nagging—I was a happy child who faithfully followed those words, always raising my hand energetically and answering with a smug face.
But once, I took it too far and messed up a little. Because I was told to 'read in a loud voice,' I wanted to be praised as much as possible, so I read while shouting so loudly that my voice cracked... no, rather than shouting, I read while almost screaming. When I finished reading, the teacher crossed his eyes wide and shook his head from side to side.
"Whoa! You used a loud voice!"
He said, acting surprised with flamboyant intonation, and then,
"But you know, you don't have to shout that loudly; as long as everyone can hear you, that's fine."
He didn't get angry, but accepted it with humor.
I was a troublesome child who didn't yet know how to hold back. Even when I was imagining this and that, I tended to be like that; it was not rare for my imagination to exceed imagination and run off into a world of delusions.
On the south side of the school building, behind the morning assembly platform, there was a cool corner where the leaves of planted broad-leaved trees blocked the sunlight, and several plaster statues shaped like children were installed in the shade of a man-made hill. Their size was not much different from my own body as a first-grader.
— Could it be that a child is trapped inside? —
Such an imagination came to me. And I remembered a certain TV program. A horror drama called 'The Mummy of Terror'. It was broadcast the year before, when I was still in kindergarten. The content was about an Egyptian mummy transported to Japan for research that would revive at night, wander the streets, and commit murders, and the plaster statues in the schoolyard reminded me of that mummy's figure and looked somewhat eerie.
In the north corner of the premises, there was an incinerator that is no longer seen today. First graders were still treated like babies and didn't have to do cleaning, but we were also not allowed to go near the trash incinerator.
At that time, a fatal accident involving a child occurred at an incinerator at some elementary school, and the teachers gave orders that 'you must never go near the trash incinerator'.
However, when told not to go near it, I became curious and couldn't help it. When the sixth graders were throwing trash in during cleaning time, my eyes would inevitably go to what was beyond that.
— Maybe someone is hiding in there? —
When playing hide-and-seek with friends, I felt like I could hear a voice saying, 'Come over here. Come on, come on,' and I always had to fight such temptations.
Thus, before I knew it, the trash incinerator had become a 'mysterious, enchanting space' filled with riddles.
Looking from my house in Tokiwa-cho, the elementary school was to the east, but further east than that was a park called Josai Park. That park was large enough for elementary school students to play rubber-ball baseball, and since there were no other such parks, it was a special playground for children. The only drawback was that it was a bit too far from my house.
— Ah, I wish it were closer —
Always thinking that, I would trudge along the long road feeling a bit bored.
One time, I had a dream like this.
The schoolyard trash incinerator that I was always curious about. Making sure no one was around, I snuck inside. When I crawled inside, hunching over, I saw a small, round exit further in.
— No way, I can't believe there's a secret exit like this! What's it like outside? —
I crawled my way there, and when I went outside... it was none other than Josai Park.
Looking back at where I came out, I saw a large concrete pipe. A concrete pipe placed in a corner of the park. It was a secret entrance that no one knew about.
— I see! A magic passage was hidden inside the trash incinerator! From now on, I can fly here from school right away! —
I feel like there was a moment when I was convinced this dream was reality. The 'secret of the trash incinerator' melted the heart of this delusional boy.
Following the trash incinerator, the seed of my delusions became the 'sales department'. It was a small shop located in the middle of the connecting corridor. There was a young, beautiful woman there, but she looked like a certain famous woman.
Every time I passed by, I was curious about her, but I couldn't stare, so I would glance at her out of the corner of my eye and pass by. While repeating such things, my usual delusion habit began to stir again.
— Could she be the real thing? No, that can't be right —
And then, I had a dream like this.
— One day, a large black luxury car came to the elementary school. It stopped near the sales department, and the driver who got out said this toward the sales department.
"I have come to pick you up."
Then, a beautiful woman wearing a white dress appeared from inside the sales department. Her face was... oh my, it was... the nation's object of admiration, Crown Princess Michiko —
Ever since I had that dream, I started thinking about outrageous things, such as that the true identity of the older sister at the sales department might be Princess Michiko...
— But why would she come to an elementary school in Kagoshima? Maybe she's observing us while handing out notebooks and pencils, wondering if everyone is being a good child —
One time, when I realized I had lost my eraser and thought 'I have to buy one,' I asked my mother, and she put some small change in my school bag pocket.
Even so, for some reason, it was hard to approach the sales department.
That day, I went home without being able to buy it after all.
The next day, I was nervous again and couldn't go in front of the sales department.
The day after that, I was restless from the morning... Just before going home, I finally made up my mind and reached the front of the sales department.
"Please give me an eraser."
Only a voice that sounded like it was fading away came out. I took my school bag off my back and put my clumsy hands into the pocket. Then...
— It's not in there! —
Even when I looked into the pocket, it was empty.
— This is bad! This is veeery bad! —
The Princess Michiko I admired was watching. I was panicked. I could feel my face getting hot and turning red.
What finally came out of my mouth was an even smaller voice than before.
"The money... wasn't in there."
The older sister made a dumbfounded face and sniffed as if it were a bother.
Looking closely from nearby, her face was completely different from Princess Michiko's.
I was hurt by the shock and embarrassment. A first-grader trudging home with slumped shoulders.
As soon as I got home, I protested to my mother with great intensity.
But her reaction was casual.
"It had been in your bag for days, so I thought you didn't need it anymore and took it out. But why are you so angry?"
My mother asked that with a blank face.
I couldn't answer anything.
There were all kinds of kids in the class, but starting with myself, everyone looked unreliable.
— Can I really become an adult like this? —
Compared to that, the adults around me always looked full of confidence. When I walk down the street, I look around, but adults look straight ahead and walk straight. This seemed like a big difference.
— Alright! From now on, I'll walk straight like an adult too —
I decided that in my heart.
If I don't overcome this, I'll never become an adult. Thinking that, I straightened my back and started walking while staring far ahead.
— Yeah, this is pretty good. At this rate, it looks like people might think, 'This kid is somehow different' —
I was very satisfied with myself as I walked with my chest puffed out.
However, as I walked, it started to feel a bit cramped.
— No, I have to endure this. It's me who will be in trouble if I can't become an adult —
Even though I tried hard to walk like that, I didn't pass by anyone, and no one was watching.
— Well, when there's no one around, I guess it's fine —
Distracted by flowers on the roadside and a cat that jumped out, my initial resolve flew away. As usual, I was looking around here and there, wandering aimlessly...
After I got home, I finally realized my big failure and felt deeply regretful.
— Alright! Today, I won't give up, and I'll do my best until the end —
However, no matter how many times I tried, the result was always the same.
One day, after looking around and wandering as usual, I squatted down on the side of the road and peered into the gutter. Back then, gutters were made by lining up natural stones, and sometimes Japanese mitten crabs would hide in the gaps between the stones. While I was absorbed in searching, I suddenly heard a voice from behind me.
"What are you doing?"
I was startled and turned around; the owner of the voice was my father.
I was embarrassed.
I had been so enthusiastic about walking straight, yet I had completely forgotten and was squatting on the side of the road, innocently peering into a ditch. I had been seen in such an unsightly state. Of all people, by my own father, the one I least wanted to see me...
Not knowing what to do, I just froze right there.
Apparently, I looked blank at that moment. My father would tell me repeatedly, even long after, that it was as if I had been spoken to by a stranger.
"Maybe you didn't recognize me because I had stubble on my face."
That's what my father said.
But that wasn't it.
There was no way I wouldn't recognize my own parent's face. I was just purely embarrassed.
One Sunday, I was taken by my mother and boarded a bus at the Tokiwa stop on the Joban Line. Since that was the starting point, the bus sat with its engine off for a while, waiting for the departure time.
The inside of the bus was quiet.
To kill time, I looked around the interior. The first thing that caught my eye was the back of the driver in front. I had always thought the driver who operated the big bus was amazing. Seeing him in his uniform and cap, he really looked cool.
Several adults were sitting in the seats. Everyone was waiting quietly, unlike me, who was looking around. It was a big difference from being a child.
— No, I'm not a little child anymore either. I'll show them something mature and impress everyone —
I wondered how I should do that. The first thing that came to mind was the action of checking a wristwatch. But I didn't have a wristwatch. Was there anything else?
The word "five o'clock" came to mind.
My mother was a teacher at a night high school, and she often said it when she was leaving for work.
"Oh, it's already five o'clock, I have to hurry."
I thought that time was the entrance to the adult world.
I turned to my mother and said, trying to sound a bit sophisticated:
"Is this bus leaving at five o'clock?"
A burst of laughter erupted.
The whole bus was filled with laughter.
— Why? They laughed when I said five o'clock. I thought everyone would be impressed —
With my head down, I had no choice but to endure the laughter.
That day, when I finished my errands and returned home, I asked my mother first thing.
"Why did everyone laugh?"
"It's because you said it was leaving at five o'clock."
"Why do they laugh when I say five o'clock?"
"It's strange for anyone to think that everyone would just sit and wait until evening."
"But Mom, you said you were leaving at five o'clock."
"I don't say things like that."
"You said it when you were talking to Dad at home."
"You must have misunderstood something."
Like this, I would occasionally make blunders, but as long as I raised my hand energetically in class and answered questions, I would be praised just for that, and if I wrote answers on tests that were like riddle games, I would get big circles drawn with a red colored pencil. Television and radio transmitted people's voices and appearances as if by magic, and if I looked outside, buses and cars were running.
— What a convenient world this is!
I'm glad I was born as a human.
I'm really glad I wasn't born as a dog, a cat, or a turtle —
I thought so from the bottom of my heart.
Around that time, I often heard this song on the television.
― You have your dreams, and I have mine
If we bring our two dreams together ―
― Bring dreams together?
Only I can see my own dreams...
How do you combine them?
I am the only one seeing this world through my own eyes.
I cannot see this world through someone else's eyes.
What must it look like to them?
Perhaps...
what I see with my eyes right now might just be a dream that only I am seeing ―
My delusions never ceased.
― Isn't this world a bit too well-made?
It feels like it was made just for me.
Perhaps...
I might be having a long dream.
What will happen when I wake up from this dream?
What form will I truly be in when I wake up?
Since I'm having such a long dream, maybe I'm an animal that sleeps for a long time?
If so, the real me who is having this dream...
might be a bear in hibernation ―
My late uncle once said something like this to me.
“When you were a child, Medo-kun, you were quite the dreamer.”
Apparently, my cousin, who is three years younger than me, was dragged along into it too.
When I was told that, I didn't immediately grasp what exactly it meant to be a dreamer.
But looking back on it now, it seems I was a pretty severe case of a daydreamer.
Since then, time has certainly passed.
I'm not sure how close the current me has come to the “straightforward adult” I envisioned back then.
Perhaps I am still just pretending to be an adult.