Killjoys

It’s testing season (yet again) at the junior high schools so no one minded that I asked to take a half day of leave yesterday to attend the meeting for entering first graders at my daughter’s soon to be elementary school. I knew there would be a lot of paperwork because Japan loves paper. And I knew that there would be a lot of official talking, because Japan loves bad Power Points and long, poorly organized, droning speeches. And I knew there would be some waving about of recommended items, because if there isn’t a detailed diagram of which kind of tote bag your child needs in the multitude of handouts, there will be a “recommended model” on display at the meeting. This is the majority of what I have gleaned from my daughter’s preschool. So in a sense I was prepared to have someone tell me which writing system to use for labeling my daughter’s school supplies. I was prepared to receive instructions on what kind of clothing and hairstyle my child should wear to school. I wasn’t even surprised by the friendly reminder to not let my child touch technology, or to get in a good family breakfast and a full bowel movement before sending my child off to school. What I wasn’t prepared for was for the school to take an official position on sucking the joy out of one of the good things about sending your child to school in Japan- the school supplies. I don’t know if you coveted the lightly scented hamster shaped eraser sets as a school child like I did. But the majority of my junior high allowance was sunk into the exotic stationary supplies available at the local Sanrio and Uwajimaya shops. Pencils with useless dangly charms. Erasers shaped like little frogs. And the pencil cases! Swoon!! Now that I live in Japan, and in spite of my rural setting, adorable school supplies are everywhere. Even the hardware store has rows of glowing rainbow sparkly gel pens and My Little Pony notebooks. Do I need matchbook folders of little post it notes shaped like pugs? Certainly not, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting them. The nation is awash is cheap, cheerful, amazing and adorable school supplies, and here was a stern faced woman in a third generation knock off Channel suit telling me that round pencils were a no-no and to avoid characters at all costs. Then, to add insult to injury, they asked parents to provide their child with a rectangular magnetic clasp pencil box. My nice face definitely slipped when that came out. I think I saw one of the teachers wince when they accidently made eye contact with me while in full bitch-face mode. Perhaps the less stationary obsessed don’t understand my outrage over the pencil box. It’s hard, double sided, with individual pencil slots and a nook for an eraser. Certainly a magnetic clasp would be fairly simple for a young child to use, but the rigidity of the material and design render it inhospitable to any of the fun schools supplies. That blue elephant tape dispenser I snapped up? The rainbow pencil grips? The well designed German pencil sharpener with an ingenious method for dealing with pencil shavings? All incompatible with the regulation pencil case. Boo. I suppose I should be grateful that I don’t have to lose sleep over whether to buy the Finn from Adventure Time or the My Neighbor Totoro cat bus pencil case anymore. And considering my finances at the moment, I really shouldn’t be spending the extra 1,000 yen to get a super cute pencil case for the child. Still, there is so much that troubles me about feeding my child into yet another public school when the last one didn’t do such an awesome job. I want to insulate my child against the reality of the world by providing her with the sunny, new trappings of childhood that I didn’t experience. In the end, it probably doesn’t matter what I choose. Surely the always busy home room teacher has better things to do with her time than hound the child with the cute pencil case. Right? It’s moments like these that I wish I had a Japanese version of Uncle Buck to sic on the kill joys of the world. Maybe I need to give my old lady posse a call.