Kindergarten Memories

It all started last spring when I first came to Ofunato.  One encounter after another I heard the same words.  "We've only seen foreigners on television.  You're real."  We would laugh.  "Yes, I'm real."
Fast forward to my latest work in Tohoku.  There are many ways to make a difference.  One way is to show children who've witnessed pain and loss there's still something fun in life.  It's okay to laugh.  It's okay if I'm the one being laughed at.  It certainly wouldn't be the last time.

I was five when I went to a nearby kindergarten in Obihiro.  The only foreigner, of course (unless you count the one Ainu boy) my days were filled with drawing, running, eating the lunches my mother made, begging her to replace the raisins with chocolate chips.

I liked my teacher, and I was comfortable at kindergarten except for one thing.  The lone male teacher (even a rarity back then) loomed large in the halls carrying kids on his back piggyback style, three at a time.  We called him "Amano Gorilla Sensei."  I still remember his black, curly hair.  He seemed huge, and definitely very gorilla-like.  I was scared of him.  Really scared.

It was the memory of Mr. Gorilla that led me to ask the local municipalities if I could play with kids in pre-schools and after school programs.  If I remembered Mr. Gorilla from when I was five years old, there was a good chance the kids I was playing with would remember Auntie Amya.  Hopefully, with fondness.  Not like the gorilla memories I have.

I have many goals.  I want to show them the foreigners they'd only seen on television to date were indeed real, not scary, and possibly even fun.  I want them to know English isn't hard.  If this led to them wanting to explore the world, so much the better.

Kids are amazing.  I've learned a lot from them, many lessons coming completely out of the blue.  Don't wear black (it makes them cry).  Bright colors get comments ("Your shirt matches your lipstick").  Bulky shirts end up with hands exploring what's underneath (don't wear these).  Hands find pockets (snap them shut ahead of time).  Earrings are tugged, fingernail colors critiqued.  The lack of socks is a topic of discussion (couldn't have guessed this).

Taking the sting out of the assumption learning a foreign language is difficult is not as hard as it seems.  The kids already know English, French, Portuguese.  They just don't know they know.
"What's this?"  I show them a photo.

 "Lion!"  In unison.
"That's English!"  I wish I could capture the squeals that follow.  I continue with tomato, pool, piano, truck, ice cream, toilet paper.  They know all these words, and when I tell them these are all English words, they start to get it.

Then come the numbers.  And colors.  After all this, I tell them "See.  You do speak English!"  They beam.

And so it continues.  Spreading cheer one kid at a time.