
The Right Teacher for a Troubled Student
When I’m wrapped in a blanket, lying sick in a dark room, I feel like I’m back in my days of refusing to go to school.
If I didn’t go, the teacher would come to my house. Back in middle school, when I kept ignoring those visits, a classmate who lived nearby started coming by every morning to get me out of bed. We weren’t really friends—just in the same class. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to brush off their kindness, so I’d reluctantly drag myself to school.
The teacher was always right. Adults always say the right things.
I never argued against it. I’d even tell them, “You’re absolutely correct.” But adults would always look uncomfortable when I said that. It’s strange—people hate being told they’re right, even when they insist on throwing logic at a stubborn kid. They want to lecture but don’t want to be on the “boring side” of righteousness.
“You have my support.”
That’s a lie. There’s no way a teacher can single out one student and give them constant, special attention in a classroom. And if they tried, it would only make the student stick out more. Once, after being absent for months due to nasal surgery, I returned to school. The teacher had forgotten the circumstances and got mad at me for not knowing the dance for a class performance they were planning. When asked why I was sitting instead of dancing like everyone else, I didn’t know what to say. I’d just lined up in the gym for class, after all. I didn’t sit out because I was being difficult; it was the only way my young mind could think to stay out of everyone’s way.
“Everyone’s such a good kid.”
I couldn’t be one of those “good kids.” I couldn’t wake up in the morning. The sound of your footsteps and the doorbell at 8 a.m. disrupted my mother’s and my sleep—it was unbearable.
“Going to school will help your future.”
Even if I went to school regularly, it’s not like a kid from Okinawa would easily get into university. Honestly, I think the delinquents racing bikes without licenses and getting caught by the police have a brighter future. At least they’re laughing.
“What’s making it hard for you?”
Does that mean if nothing’s wrong, I have to go? Watching my mom play Torneko’s Great Adventure on the PlayStation was more fun than any class I took.
“Are you being bullied?”
Even kids who are bullied have their pride. They won’t admit it easily. And even if I were being bullied, why would I tell a teacher who doesn’t understand me?
“You’re not even going on the school trip?”
That’s right. Neither my mother nor I have ever left Okinawa. We’ll probably stay here forever.
“What do you dislike about school?”
I hate being forced to do things. I hate reading textbooks. My grades were consistently in the bottom five. Taking tests without understanding anything felt like a form of self-harm.
“Am I saying something wrong?”
Not at all. You’re completely correct. I’m just someone who turned out wrong.
“Is it my fault as your teacher?”
Everything is my fault. And since my mother leaves me as I am, she’s at fault too. We’re a pair of failures living in this tiny apartment.
“Isn’t there something you enjoy?”
Do you think I don’t have joy in my life? I love books and anime. I’ve seen all the Heisei-era Kamen Rider series, Pretty Cure, and Gundam. I’m currently watching Ultraman A from the Showa era. I’m not sad about my situation at all. Oh, and the protagonist of Rozen Maiden, one of my favorite shows, doesn’t go to school either.
“Are you worried about your future?”
Of course I am. But isn’t everyone? Aren’t you?
“Enough. Just listen to me.”
I’ve been listening. I actually enjoy talking with people. Like I said, you’re not wrong, and I don’t think you’re bad.
“Then what’s the problem?”
Like I said, the problem is me. I don’t know how to fix it. I instinctively recoil from things that are “right.” Every time you say something right, I can’t help but feel disgusted. That makes me society’s enemy. My mother’s the same way. Neither of us can hold down a job.
“What should I do as your teacher?”
You’re a good and proper teacher. You should keep guiding other students the same way. That’s the purpose of your job.
“Thank you for sharing, even though it’s hard for you.”
I never said it was hard. And I wasn’t lying when I said I enjoy talking. I just don’t use polite platitudes like adults do. But if I had to share one sad thing, it’s this: right now, you’re closing with a textbook-perfect line, like it’s something you’re supposed to say to wrap things up. That’s the saddest part.
Goodnight. Morning has come, and I’m going to sleep. The rest of the day is yours.