I had a private lesson with a 16 year old girl today and it prompted me to finally write about something that, for a long time, I've thought is quite strange.
There are an unusual number of Japanese kids who don't know what their parents' names are, nor what their parents do for a living. Let that sink in a little. It's natural for a 5 year old to not know their dad's name, nor to know what their father does for a living. But a 16 year old girl? It's unbelievable.
I know the names of every family member I can think of, and I know what they do for a living. This 16 year old girl with whom I was talking thinks her father's name is Norimoto. Thinks! I guess this gives her an out when she gets in trouble at school and can't give her father's name to someone so they can call him, but I really can't think of how this is beneficial.
Later in the lesson we were talking about occupations and I asked what her nameless father did. She said she wasn't sure. Okay... not everyone knows exactly what their parents do at their place of work. But most know where they work. "Does he work in an office?" "Um, maybe?" Maybe!? You live with a nameless man who disappears for more than half the day and you don't know where it is this man disappears to?
This isn't an isolated incident; as I said in the beginning, this is something that has perplexed me for some time. I taught a junior high school class a couple of months ago and they were learning occupation names. Only one of the students knew what his father did (he's a pastry maker).
I get that it's rude to call your parents by their first names (at least when you're young) but I don't think it's rude to ask them their names. And unless your father is a member of the yakuza, I don't think it's unwise to ask what he does. Or at least where he works. At the very least, maybe ask the general direction he heads in when he leaves the house in the morning.
15 February 2011
05 February 2011
Pikachu!
The other day, one of my smartest kids -- as usual -- finished his work before everyone else. So I struck up a little conversation with him. He has a Pokemon pencil case and I started pointing to different characters asking their names. I pointed to Pikachu and said, "I know Pikachu, but," pointing to the rest of the characters, "I don't know who these guys are."
Usually kids in any country are happy to go on for hours about who their favourite cartoon character is, what he likes, what his powers are, what his weaknesses are, what happened the last time he did such and such. I've met kids -- they do this. But this smart kid gave me a smart ass answer.
"Why do all foreigners only know Pikachu?"
He's 5 so he said this in Japanese, expecting that I wouldn't understand. And because of the rules at work (we're not allowed to speak Japanese) I maintained the illusion for him. The other two kids in the class thought it was hilarious that he said this, and they laughed and laughed while I sat there with a dumb "I don't know what you're saying in Japanese" smile on my face.
I gave them all extra homework and told them Santa Claus isn't real. But they're smart kids and they like homework, and they don't celebrate Christmas because they're Japanese, so neither of those things had the desired effect; that is, their spirits were not crushed.
Usually kids in any country are happy to go on for hours about who their favourite cartoon character is, what he likes, what his powers are, what his weaknesses are, what happened the last time he did such and such. I've met kids -- they do this. But this smart kid gave me a smart ass answer.
"Why do all foreigners only know Pikachu?"
He's 5 so he said this in Japanese, expecting that I wouldn't understand. And because of the rules at work (we're not allowed to speak Japanese) I maintained the illusion for him. The other two kids in the class thought it was hilarious that he said this, and they laughed and laughed while I sat there with a dumb "I don't know what you're saying in Japanese" smile on my face.
I gave them all extra homework and told them Santa Claus isn't real. But they're smart kids and they like homework, and they don't celebrate Christmas because they're Japanese, so neither of those things had the desired effect; that is, their spirits were not crushed.
03 February 2011
A Stranger in the Night
"What's that sound!?" Aimee exclaimed, awakening our hero from a deep slumber.
"Hm, probably a rat," he said, rolling over to go back to sleep.
"Michael! A rat!? You have to get it!"
"How does one get a rat that's chewing through the garbage bag we put on the balcony?" Michael wondered. He thought that only the summer brought unwanted guests to dine on the garbage on the balcony: cockroaches, flies, cicadas, and other insects.
"You have to do something!"
"Mmm," he grumbled, rolling out of bed. Better end this before it gets worse, he thought to himself. And check on that rat.
"Ooo, it's a big black rat," he said, peering through the drapes. "We're in trouble now."
"Michael!"
"Relax - I'm kidding. It's a cat." He made for bed but was halted mid-step by another shriek.
"We have to feed it!" a suddenly animated Aimee cried. His pleas for sanity went unheard amidst the rattling of dishes.
"What?" she said with a bowl in one hand, the open fridge door in the other.
"I said we can't feed a stray cat right at our door. You don't feed strays or they keep coming back. That's probably a proverb."
"But it's hungry!"
"But it's probably not unhealthy. It was able to climb up to the second floor..."
"Michael, we have to."
"Fine," he said. "But this cat is your responsibility now. I'm not getting up every night when it comes back." Michael laid back in bed and thought about the days ahead when he would be pushing his girlfriend out of bed in the middle of the night to feed a mewling cat. He thought about commenting on the similarities those experiences would have to raising a child together - but thought better of it.
---
Yes, we had a cat visit us the other night. No, I did not want to feed it. No, I am not heartless; feeding strays from your doorstep is just a bad idea. We've fed a couple of stray cats since we've lived here, but they've been away from our apartment. I relented when we shook hands and made the agreement that Aimee would get up to feed/shoo away the cat when it returns.
But it didn't come back. We got up in the morning and checked on the bowl full of milk and it was still a bowl full of milk. It either disliked milk or, more likely, overheard me badmouthing it and decided to make me look like a prick and not come back, because cats are assholes.
However, vindication was mine as I was writing this entry. Not one or two paragraphs in we heard a cry signaling the coming of the Apocalypse; if cats could talk, had they heard that sound they would have turned to each other and asked, "Do we really sound like that? We should apologize to humans everywhere."
We went to the window and nervously looked outside, not wanting to anger the harbinger of doom. Staring back at us was a huge white and gray cat. Yes, a different cat. Not only has Aimee fed a stray from our doorstep, but that stray has gone and told its friends about our place. And those friends have sent their largest, loudest, most-upset-that-Aimee-put-out-milk-instead-of-fois-gras buddy to mewl for more.
"Hm, probably a rat," he said, rolling over to go back to sleep.
"Michael! A rat!? You have to get it!"
"How does one get a rat that's chewing through the garbage bag we put on the balcony?" Michael wondered. He thought that only the summer brought unwanted guests to dine on the garbage on the balcony: cockroaches, flies, cicadas, and other insects.
"You have to do something!"
"Mmm," he grumbled, rolling out of bed. Better end this before it gets worse, he thought to himself. And check on that rat.
"Ooo, it's a big black rat," he said, peering through the drapes. "We're in trouble now."
"Michael!"
"Relax - I'm kidding. It's a cat." He made for bed but was halted mid-step by another shriek.
"We have to feed it!" a suddenly animated Aimee cried. His pleas for sanity went unheard amidst the rattling of dishes.
"What?" she said with a bowl in one hand, the open fridge door in the other.
"I said we can't feed a stray cat right at our door. You don't feed strays or they keep coming back. That's probably a proverb."
"But it's hungry!"
"But it's probably not unhealthy. It was able to climb up to the second floor..."
"Michael, we have to."
"Fine," he said. "But this cat is your responsibility now. I'm not getting up every night when it comes back." Michael laid back in bed and thought about the days ahead when he would be pushing his girlfriend out of bed in the middle of the night to feed a mewling cat. He thought about commenting on the similarities those experiences would have to raising a child together - but thought better of it.
---
Yes, we had a cat visit us the other night. No, I did not want to feed it. No, I am not heartless; feeding strays from your doorstep is just a bad idea. We've fed a couple of stray cats since we've lived here, but they've been away from our apartment. I relented when we shook hands and made the agreement that Aimee would get up to feed/shoo away the cat when it returns.
But it didn't come back. We got up in the morning and checked on the bowl full of milk and it was still a bowl full of milk. It either disliked milk or, more likely, overheard me badmouthing it and decided to make me look like a prick and not come back, because cats are assholes.
However, vindication was mine as I was writing this entry. Not one or two paragraphs in we heard a cry signaling the coming of the Apocalypse; if cats could talk, had they heard that sound they would have turned to each other and asked, "Do we really sound like that? We should apologize to humans everywhere."
We went to the window and nervously looked outside, not wanting to anger the harbinger of doom. Staring back at us was a huge white and gray cat. Yes, a different cat. Not only has Aimee fed a stray from our doorstep, but that stray has gone and told its friends about our place. And those friends have sent their largest, loudest, most-upset-that-Aimee-put-out-milk-instead-of-fois-gras buddy to mewl for more.
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