Games

"All women become like their mothers. That`s their tragedy. No man does. That`s his."

- Oscar Wilde


I`ve been very busy, over the past twenty eight years, turning into my father; as much as one can be busy turning into somebody they were already like in the first place.

If we have children to see another version of ourselves - which some people think we do - then my dad did a good and thorough job of it. I have his hot temper, his mood swings, his sense of humour, his impulsiveness, his generosity; I have his hair, his legs and his nose (even if it`s "not quite as pretty", as my mum points out regularly). We get angry at the same things, hurt at the same things and laugh at the same things; if something happens to our family, we almost always react in the same way. As a child we used to have battles that were worryingly even: I would stomp, he would stomp, we would both shout and huff and puff like little dragons, and then be firm friends again within ten minutes and forget all about it. He is the original version of me, and I am just the little mini carbon copy: the compressed, smaller, female version of somebody better. Which makes it very difficult to write about my dad: just as it is hard to see myself objectively, it is also hard to clearly see my father.

I`ve been so very busy being him, however, that I didn`t notice that at some stage along the way I had turned into my mum as well.

Yesterday I taught a class of 37 nine year olds; and by teach, I mean that I did my best to stand at the front and entertain them like a clown while attempting to shovel new knowledge in while they weren`t looking (I am far more performer than I am a teacher, and would ride a unicycle into class and beep a rubber horn if I could only learn how to, as long as it got them to listen to me).

Attempting to get them to remember the names for body parts not included in "Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes", I stuck features all over the blackboard, divided the class into teams and got them to race to the board and smack whatever body part I chose with a fly swat, earning points for their team. Which they did, with great enthusiasm, except that the classroom shape meant that one team was at a distinct disadvantage: they couldn`t get to the board as fast, and so fell significantly behind. In an attempt to even it back out again, I announced that the last two rounds would be double points: a rule that meant the under-dog team tried extremely hard, and ended up winning.

Amid the screams of sheer jubilation (I gave them all Disney stickers, and nobody can over-state the impact of stickers on Japanese children), however, there were other sounds: moanings, groanings, outright shouts of indignation and quite a few tears. Everyone else in the class, in fact, had kicked off, and there was outright mutiny.

"It`s not faaaaiiiirrrr," they whined as loudly as they could, sitting with their little arms crossed firmly and their bottom lips stuck as far out as they could get them. One losing child slammed his pencil case on the floor and stomped off to sit behind a cupboard at the back of the room with a face like a screwed up crisp packet; another burst into tears and started tugging at her own ponytail in a worrying display of self-abuse.

As the roars of anger and indignation got louder and the tears became more pronounced, the winners looked more and more shamefaced, and I watched the chaos in guilt and dismay: regretting the day I had purchased Winnie the Pooh merchandise in the first place. Which I continued to do, until - finally, after the umpteenth indignant little roar - something inside me snapped.

"Right!" I screamed in fury. "Sit down. All of you, sit down immediately!"
And they did exactly that in terror, because I am normally the teacher they plait the hair of and try and climb up the legs of during break times, not the one who goes purple and bangs her stick on the board (which is what I was doing at this stage).
"I will not have this, do you understand?!" I shouted. "This is an absolute disgrace and I am ashamed of all of you! If you are going to play a game, you will do it properly, do you hear me? You will lose with dignity and you will win with dignity or you will not play. If you cannot be happy for the people who win and take your own losses with good grace and with a good attitude, then I will not allow you to play games at all, do I make myself clear? I will not have bad losers!"
And they all stared at me with round eyes.
"Do I make myself clear?" I yelled.
"Hai," they all said in unison.
And then - because I had shouted in English and none of them had any idea what I was talking about - I turned to my colleague.
"Translate, please," I ordered.
"Umm," he said, clearing his throat and looking anxious. "I`ll try."

Later, as the children filed out of the class, I turned to him.
"I`m not having it," I told him angrily. "I`m not having it, Harai. That was absolutely not acceptable."
"Maybe we can play games with no winners?" he suggested. "Children get very upset if they lose."
"I don`t care," I snapped at him. "School is more than just about learning maths and history. It`s about learning to be a good person, and to win and lose with grace. They are never too young to start learning that, and it`s about time they started."

And then I suddenly fell silent.

"It`s not faaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrr," a five year old Holly Smale screamed in my head, throwing a board of Snakes and Ladders on the floor and declaring that she hated the universe and everyone and everything in it.
"Pick it up," my mum said angrily.
"No, it`s not faaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiirr."
"Pick it up and go straight to your bedroom, young lady," my mum shouted in a fury that she rarely ever shows; in a family of people with hot tempers, my mum is the noteable exception and remains calm and gentle at all times.
"I haaaaaaaaattttttttttttttte yooooooooouuuuuuu," I yelled at her, and got taken up to my bedroom bodily and thrown on my bed, still kicking and screaming.
"I will not have this, do you understand?" she told me, and then gave me exactly the same speech I had just given my nine year olds.

It`s only the beginning, I know: my mum is going to start coming out of me more and more as the years go on and I have children of my own that I have to try and stop being little monsters. But Wilde was wrong: becoming my mother is not a tragedy at all.

Life is full of many, many games we are forced into playing; both those inside the classroom, and those outside of it.

And it was my mum that taught me the importance of knowing how to lose them.