Take Care, Kids

I clocked out of work for the last time on July 25th at 6:15pm, moments after my coworkers surprised me with a cake. On it, was written (and I translate) "You've worked hard, Sean." It's a difficult translation, because there's no real exact way to interpret the words "otsukare sama desu."
 I think, as it was all happening, that I didn't feel the weight of the moment, so it was all I could do to smile and give my thanks. It didn't really feel like I was leaving.
But that was my graduation party.
 Maybe it's dawning on me very slowly, right now, how finite that moment was, and every moment before that. Until my very last class, I was hauling ass getting crying children into class, pushing them to try things they were afraid to do. I really hope they improve and grow strong, but I may not ever know that, given the circumstances. But I tell myself that, well, what ever happens, it's been a good run.

After three years and a half of watching children come in, grow, and leave, I'm quite happy with the bonds I've formed and connections I've made. I'm happy I was able to make children smile, if nothing else. But as one of my coworkers put it, even if the only thing we change in these kids' lives is to make them realize that there's a world outside of Japan and good people out there, then we've fulfilled our role in helping them grow, and everything asides from that is a bonus.
 I can't honestly say that I was a great teacher, or even a good one. Though I've earned the respect of my peers through hard work, I've worked alongside instructors who could make a child understand they were doing something wrong by simply looking into their eyes, or make a child they've never met before stop crying within a minute. I couldn't work such miracles. But I did study hard, and I did take my job seriously. In my first year, I would spend hours at home doing research on babies and early childcare so that I could better answer mothers' questions should any come up.

"Should I give milk to my baby from a glass bottle or plastic?"
"Either is fine if you don't mind the different weight, but avoid polycarbonate."
Maybe that was the extent of my skills as a children's fitness instructor, asides from my background in (self-taught) gymnastics.

But on that week before I left, as I informed parents I was moving back to Canada, I've had children latch on to me and hold me tight, look into my eyes and tell me they would miss me. I've had a mother thank me with tears running down her face. I've had parents change their schedules so they could squeeze in as many days with me as possible before I left, while others came in unscheduled to bring me gifts. And to some extent, it was so overwhelming that I couldn't put words to my thoughts.
 And as each child or parent did one of those things, it was all I could do to place my hand on my heart and smile, hoping that they understood the gesture to mean everything it did, even if I, myself, didn't know at the moment. But I do now.

 I feel your love.

 I came into Japan fresh out of college, with a degree but no self-confidence, and it was through the kids that I managed to build myself up, dare I say, even more than I had through all my years in school. No one had really looked up to me before I had started working with kids.
 So to some extent, maybe it's I who have grown the most from the experience.

 So thank you, babies, kids, parents, nannies. Thank you for placing your trust in me. Thanks for giving me second chances when I failed you. Thanks for sharing with me your worries and hopes and dreams, and for helping me understand them. Regardless of whether I ever see any of you again or not, I'll be thinking of you and about the men and women you become as the years go by. I consider you all to be unforgettable friends no matter the miles that may separate us.
 Take care, kids.