Today was Parents’ Day at one of my elementary schools. The parents were invited to come in and watch classes. The teachers were very nervous. Lady B, the teacher who speaks the most fluent English sat down and had a meeting with me last week. We crafted the lesson plan down to the minute. She was so anxious about me screwing up that I actually started to hyperventilate at the idea. The parents must be impressed!

My friend’s situation reveals how desperate these teachers are to please the parents. She knows Japanese fairly well. She spent most of the morning translating her elementary students’ questions in front of their mothers. Then, during a later lesson, the Japanese teacher explained to the mothers that my friend speaks absolutely no Japanese. Their brilliant children had gracefully pantomimed their meanings to the poor mute and confused gaijin. The parents had seen my friend speak Japanese. And yet the mothers all nodded with pride over the resourcefulness of their little darlings, while my friend stood shocked and furious.

I really don’t speak Japanese. So I really don’t know what the teachers were telling the parents about me. But I never got the chance to see many parents. There were a few wandering around during the early periods of the morning. But most were expected to arrive the period right after lunch. I was eating lunch in the teachers’ room as usual. Only the vice principal and the teachers without homerooms eat lunch in the teachers’ room. Halfway through my lunch, the room became flooded with all the other teachers. This was odd, but it was already an unusual day. The vice principal got up and spoke. Everyone looked at each other and whispered nervously. When the vice principal finished everyone suddenly jumped up, started flipping through official books, whipped out their cell phones, and started yammering frantically. All lines of the school phones were occupied with incoming and outgoing calls. “Hello? This is ___________ Elementary School.” I felt like I should get on my cell phone, too. Peer pressure.

I sat at the lunch table, chewing, and frowning at all the abandoned lunches. Lady B came up and said, “It’s a bit of a secret, but, one of the teachers came down with the measles. Our class is canceled. The school is closing down.” So that was it!

Pandemonium broke loose. The children didn’t know what was going on, but they knew something was wrong. I could hear the roar of curious energy from all sides of the school. I got on my cell phone, too, called my company to tell them I would be leaving work early, and then kicked back and watched the chaos. The parents were just arriving. Someone was standing at the door turning them away. The phone rang every moment the line was free. The teachers that weren’t on the phone or dealing with parents were herding the kids through soji (school cleaning) and then back into their homerooms. The kids were way too wound up to clean or to sit at their desks.

It was hard for me not to giggle. And I did giggle when the giggles just couldn’t be stifled. I was hyped up with the energy of everyone else but without the panic. What an uproar. I smugly cruised the commotion. I had nothing to worry about. I was an American. I had been vaccinated. Why such a frenzy? It isn’t meningitis or anything.

I can understand reasons for not vaccinating. Some research has linked the MMR vaccine to autism Japan hasn’t vaccinated for measles in decades. Measles were considered eradicated and of no concern anymore. But recently, were outbreaks around Tokyo and the measles were working their outwards. Now they are threatening Parent’s Day in Maebashi.

Since I didn’t have any students to account for, I was the first teacher able to leave. I drove my car very slowly out the exit, while the kids streamed out of the school like rats abandoning ship. Just as I reached the main road, one of the younger students said something very odd to me.

“Pennis!” That’s the way they say “penis,” pronounced like “tennis.” I suppose it could have been “tennis.” These kids don’t have very good pronunciation. But why would some one shout “tennis” at me? (As if there’s more of a reason to be shouting “penis.”)