a history of me

Our national nightmare is over. This morning I woke up without a drop of sweat on the bed. Indeed, I was downright chilly. Japanese summer has finally ended, just two days after the Autumnal Equinox (which is actually a holiday here). This means I can actually wear clothes at home again! Let's hope Japanese winter doesn't show up and ruin this feeling before December.

Besides the not-at-all-gradual change between the seasons, the big news this weekend was my first undōkai or "Sports Day." I expressed some confusion two weeks ago at the massive amount of time committed to the preparation of this event, particularly at the expense of academics (and even more particularly, my classes). Now that I've finally seen one for myself, I think I understand how the undōkai is such a big deal, although I'm still fuzzy on the why.



As you can see from the pictures, this is way different than the Field Day we had at my elementary school. This is an area-wide event, not just a day of outdoor games for the children's sake or an exhibition for proud parents. Local business owners and board of education officials were in attendance. Tents, flags, props, banners, speakers, sound systems...all of this was set up by the students, teachers, the PTA (yeah, they use that acronym even though none of the words match in Japanese) and eager locals who spent Friday, Saturday and early Sunday morning getting everything ready. One teacher told me he was up at 5 AM which means he probably arrived at school before I even got out of bed.

The event was supposed to take place on Sunday morning but, as noted here, there was a tremendous downpour that forced them to postpone. Considering how often it rains in Japan in September (this is typhoon season, after all), I was surprised to hear that this was the first time that has ever happened. While they always designate an alternate rain date, this meant they spent the rest of Sunday morning revising the schedule of events. With their rain date being on Wednesday, they had to cut about half (!) of the planned activities as those relied on community volunteers who have regular jobs. For a school with less than seventy students, they were clearly counting on the participation of more than ninety adults from the area.

So all this means that the impressive exhibition I got to see on Wednesday was ultimately a mere shell of the intended display. The number of attendees was pretty scarce, no doubt due to the weekday obligations of the parents, but most students I met said at least one parent showed up and many children said they had extended family members in the audience. I can't imagine how many people might have come if Sunday hadn't been rained out. The school's playground is not very large and only a small portion of it was sectioned off for spectators. There also wasn't much in the way of shade - would hundreds of people have crowded together like some kind of rush hour train platform and stood there, watching their children and grand-children run relay races? All signs point to yes.


Gigantic red, white and blue balls - it's not just a metaphor for American hubris anymore!

Let me try to explain the gist of what goes on: the children are divided into three teams: red, white and blue. They march into the "arena" carrying a flag and wearing little colored sashes to identify their team - otherwise, their uniforms are identical. The teams compete, sometimes as a whole but certain events only feature a section (i.e. the first graders) of players while the others sit on the side and cheer. BOY, do they cheer. There's even a cheerleading competition where each squad puts on a skit with a story that requires them to cheer for themselves - kind of meta, I suppose. I was one of the judges for that event, actually. I had to evaluate the teams on "voice," "movement," and "idea."

If you've ever played Ouendan!!, you can imagine what these skits were like. The red team staged a superhero battle where the cheers encouraged the hero to defeat the villains, but they were sorely lacking in props or costumes. The villains were just children in trash bags! The white team cheered for a fictional Olympic softball pitcher in the gold medal game (Japan is super-jazzed about finally beating the US - you have no idea), eventually using one of the giant balls seen above to bowl over the opposing batter. They also collaborated on an impressive (and unexpected) "dragon dance" where all of the children formed a line and moved together, the lead child holding a box for a head. The blue team also went with an Olympic theme, lauding gold medalist Kosuke Kitajima (using their blue pom-poms to simulate the water) but then making a curious segue to the new Miyazaki film, Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea (I suppose both involve water). I was blown away when the children inflated a giant representation of the title character right on the field!


Go ahead, make your own Buffalo Bill joke about putting things in baskets

Beyond throwing my vote towards the outcome of the undōkai, I was asked to assist in a most flattering way. While the children handle a majority of the announcements, even offering some play-by-play encouragement to their peers during the competitions, they asked me to precede each event with some kind of English description and they wanted me to put some flair on it. This struck me as a little odd as precious few of the attendees understood English in any meaningful way, but I love using microphones and hearing my own voice, so I happily accepted this "narrowcasting" assignment. This was all on short notice, so I had to really improvise in describing these events I had never seen before. In the case of the tamaire (seen above), it's a game where each team tries to put as many tama ("ball") into the basket held above their heads before time runs out. Since the literal translation would be inappropriate ("Insert balls") and "basketball" is another game entirely, I just shouted "Fill the baskets!" They seemed pleased.


Considering how much that must hurt, a good number of them are smiling

Not everything at the undōkai is a competition. This picture comes from the last event of the day, kumitaisō (I dubbed it "team aerobics"). All the fifth and sixth graders went onto the field and started stretching and contorting themselves in a highly rehearsed sequence. Only a teacher banging a drum gave them any direction - no one offered any verbal instructions. As it went on, they formed pairs, and then groups of three, four, and so on until forming a giant pyramid.

Watching it all unfold before me, I couldn't help but be seriously impressed by the undōkai. Everyone chips in and invests a serious amount of their time in planning, rehearsing and eventually executing such a large exhibition for the community. Even in its lessened state, the undōkai was intimidating. Our town had just one elementary school, much larger than this one for sure, and I can't fathom being able to hold such an elaborate event for the public. Meanwhile, this rural district has six elementary schools and they all manage to engage their surrounding neighborhoods every fall. I'm assuming the middle and high schools engage in even larger displays.

My biggest lingering question is why. What is the significance of the undōkai? Is it just really fun for all parties involved? Is it an important lesson in teamwork for the children? Is it intended to reinforce community solidarity? It is designed to reassure parents that their children are doing more than reading and writing all day? I know that these are all possibilities, but I have this nagging feeling that it's really viewed as important for the emptiest reason possible: they do it every year because they've always done it. Considering the recent negative trends in Japanese education, especially in Osaka where test scores routinely rank at or near the bottom of the chart, could this time be better spent in class? I don't say this to disparage the tradition, because as traditions go this one is fun and I'm looking forward to seeing this again next fall, but I'm always curious about traditions I suspect are perpetuated for tradition's sake.