Things That Change and Things That Don't—Kobe Mosaic and a Respected Mentor

On the Saturday after Golden Week, I went to Kobe.
My guess that tourist spots would be empty was correct, and I was able to ride the Mosaic Ferris wheel without waiting.
Blue sky, blue sea. A sense of refreshment spread throughout my body.

Sitting in front of me was a mentor eleven years my senior.

The city of Kobe, which I hadn't visited in a long time, had changed a little.

There were more shops for foreigners, and I heard various languages being spoken. But the old buildings were still there, just as they should be. Offering things that visitors enjoy without losing the essence of Japan.
I thought that balance was the elegance of the city of Kobe.

Everything is impermanent, my mentor said quietly. The townscape changes. People change. But, they continued. There are things that don't change, aren't there?
The blue of the sky and sea I saw from the top of the Ferris wheel hadn't changed at all from the old days.

I first met this mentor when I transferred to a certain school.

Right after I transferred, there was someone who kept getting too close to me. I thought it was out of kindness, but that wasn't the case. Every time we met, they would whisper stories about how "I got sick because of that mentor."

But I saw that mentor normally. I treated them normally.

As I did so, I naturally began to understand. The way the children trusted that mentor was evident in every aspect of their behavior.
They interacted with each child after properly grasping their academic ability, personality, and family background. Children can tell when a teacher is like that.

Once, that mentor was in charge of a special needs class.
After a while, I heard this from a parent.

"My child comes home and happily sings the songs they learned at school. This has never happened before, so the whole family is delighted."

When I heard that, I thought, ah, this teacher is the real deal.

The job of a school nurse is a slightly unusual position.

Although they are teachers, they rarely have classes to teach. They don't give grades.
Therefore, they can sometimes be a bit of an outsider in the staff room. In a sense, it was also an advantage that they were less likely to get involved in factions or disputes between teachers.

But I think the biggest thing is that you don't have to evaluate the children.

Whether a child is good at studying or not, or has challenges, once they come to the infirmary, they are just a human being. I find their good points and praise them. I acknowledge their efforts.
If a child shows consideration, I express my gratitude properly. Just because I am a teacher doesn't mean I am superior. I respect them as an equal, human to human.

That mentor taught me that, too.

I realized something while working. It is that children are the ones who hurt other children, and children are also the ones who heal them. That is why I made sure not to overlook the kind children who were around the children who came to the infirmary.

That mentor hasn't changed even now.

Even after retiring, they always send me a LINE message at the start of the week. Sometimes it's a short greeting, other times words of encouragement. Just that alone makes Monday mornings feel a little lighter.

Today, while driving toward Kobe, my mentor suddenly said this.

"If it ever looks like we're going to get into a car accident, feel free to turn the wheel and let the passenger side take the hit."

For a moment, I was at a loss for words.

"Let's go together then 😊"

I said, and we both laughed.

My mentor, who is 11 years my senior, can say something like that so casually. I truly understand the affection behind those words.

We got off the Ferris wheel, ate yakiniku, and had chocolate soft-serve ice cream.
It was a perfectly sunny, wonderful day.

Cities change. Times change. But genuine relationships do not.

Just like the blue of the sky and the sea🌿