A Respectable Man: Mr. Yamada
How can I accurately describe Mr. Yamada?
He’s of average height, lean, and tanned. He's always quick to share a smile with anyone. But beyond his friendly demeanor, Mr. Yamada is a man of unwavering discipline and quiet strength.
At Yahshiro Elementary, we had a particularly rowdy second grader who seemed to prefer the grassy fields and rock wall beside the gymnasium over any classroom. This student had a knack for slipping away—usually when his homeroom teacher turned to the board or the assistant was distracted marking papers. Without fail, Mr. Yamada was sent to retrieve him.
But this was no simple task. The boy had clearly invested all his skill points into stealth and camouflage. He was a master of hiding among tall grass or blending in with boulders. And when found, he would resist—kicking, punching, and cursing like a sailor.
On one particularly rough Thursday, I witnessed a moment that left a deep impression on me. Mr. Yamada had managed to catch the boy and was carrying him back to the second floor. Halfway there, he stopped, gently set him down, held his hands to prevent being struck, and knelt down to meet him at eye level.
“Young man,” he said calmly, "you can't keep running away from class. You're going to fall behind."
For a brief moment, the boy stopped struggling and seemed genuinely thoughtful. Had Mr. Yamada finally broken through?
Not quite.
That brief pause was used to summon a particularly vile loogie, which the boy promptly launched into Mr. Yamada’s face.
I was just observing, but I was so shocked—and honestly furious—I felt a powerful urge to punt him out the nearest window (gently, and with remorse, of course).
While my patience was thin and fragile as dry grass, Mr. Yamada’s was forged from steel and iron. Without missing a beat, he calmly wiped his face, repeated the same kind words, hoisted the boy back onto his shoulder, and carried on.
That’s just the kind of person he is.
Mr. Yamada works earnestly. While others might stretch tasks to fill time or pretend to be busy, he throws himself into his work with purpose and sincerity. He works right up until the final minute, yet somehow always makes it back to class on time. And in the classroom, he’s just as impressive.
I’ve never cared much for social studies—neither as a child nor now—but his lessons had a way of bringing even the driest topics to life. With minimal prep time, he could transport the class to dusty battlefields, challenge them to think like the leaders of the past, and consider their motivations and next moves.
He carries a sense of integrity that many people have lost—or chosen to abandon. He’s honest, never trying to impress anyone; he simply does his best to help others. That’s why I respect him so much, and why I feel truly lucky to have met him. I pray that one day, God will continue to bless him and guide him to the cross—and that we’ll meet again, in this life or in heaven.