Zapwriter

If you were asked to name a schoolteacher from your past whom you considered to be exceptionally dedicated to the well-being of his or her pupils, would you struggle? I would.

There were, truth be told, teachers who expressed particular qualities that were celebrated among my friends. Some used metaphor and allegory to explain math, some possessed a humor that was at odds with the exhaustively bleak Catholic school system in which we were enmeshed, and still others were amusing to watch for their very apparent resignation that the kids just wont listen. I enjoyed them when presented with the opportunity.

It is of no meager annoyance to me, though, that the teachers most memorable were those I would consider the least worthy of remembrance. There was a science teacher who reminded us of his extensive education before insisting that he be referred to by his earned title – Doctor – when addressing him. And I recall – with a degree of discomfort – an irascible, middle-aged lady who would glare through her horn-rimmed specs and down her warty beak as she berated me for not using cursive. She shouted as an uncouth Westerner might shout at a non-English-speaking foreigner, but with the extra fifty decibels of raw passion that comes exclusively from those with an unfaltering belief in the purity of wavy handwriting.

One could hardly blame the woman for her lack of foresight – using a pen is so twentieth century these days – but perhaps a colleague might’ve taken a moment to explain to Mrs. Crabapples that; a) beyond normal speaking pitch, the relationship between clarity and volume doesn’t necessarily improve, and especially so when the speaker is so adenoidal; and b) the message is of greater value than the serifs adorning it. (Or should be.)

In fact, as far as I can recall, nothing that was taught even resembled ethics or morality or – permit me this expression – deeper meaning. Religious classes skirted it, really, focusing attention instead on oft-repeated dogmatic instruction. We were taught we have these good qualities called values because some men had them thousands of years ago, and they were important… because. There was no relevance, no poignancy, no questions asked.

I say this, of course, conveniently forgetting those occasions we read about in the papers where educational institutions were thought to have crossed the line in teaching students about a controversial topic (pick one!); that the children were too young to understand it, that only the parents should decide when their younglings should hear of it, or that the school itself doesn’t even know what it should be.

Toshiro Kanamori, a primary school teacher from Kanazawa, Japan, has clearly never heard of such nonsense and is the teacher everyone wishes they had. I suppose it would be more accurate to say that he is the teacher I wish everyone had. He is the central figure in Children Full of Life, a few-years-old documentary that tells the story of Kanamori and the life lessons he teaches his Grade 4 pupils.

He engages with his students on a level that appears almost incompatible with a typically etiquette-bound Japanese society (to say nothing of the image-conscious West). He encourages them to confront their demons, to confess weakness or wrongdoing, but mostly to let others ‘into their hearts’. Certainly, I’ve never seen ten-year-olds show more respect to an elder than this group.

Kanamori displays a genuine compassion for his kids, and uses it in sharing his wisdom and his beliefs on the importance of being happy. Although not elderly, he appears to possess that indefinable quality known as the “old soul”. Is it the manner in which he speaks confidently but never arrogantly – his head forever turning skyward – or is it the gentle, life-affirming smile he greets his subjects with each day?

I wont say too much of what goes on, but I will tell you that each little anecdote is unnervingly emotional. Even for those watching with their hearts on standby, it is impossible not to be moved at least once throughout the duration of this story.

Be prepared, also, for the moment you wish you had at least one of your childhood years over again.

Apologies to readers for the lack of updates – my new job is stealing too much time. (This will change, no doubt, as I learn to disregard the tendency to impress my employer.)