Little Close Encounters

I have always been afraid to speak to children in Japan – it is probably because their Japanese is so much better than mine, and not only is that extremely humbling but also very embarrassing.  Now I know there is no way I can compete with the natural development of a language – the constant attention of mother, the daily give and take with brothers and sisters, grandparents, and friends…not to mention television.  I mean, who can compete against television?!

Image by Danny Choo via Flickr

Not that it is a competition, but as you learn a language you like to think that you can go beyond speaking like a kid…maybe better than a kid.  Of course this only happens with a lot of practice and the memorization of adult type words and phrases….but enough of the language acquisition lecture.

It seems silly to be intimidated by the littlest language companions, but sometimes I am.  Actually, when you come right down to it, kids probably make the best language partners.  They’ll ask anything and everything without hesitation, embarrassment or any inhibition.  They welcome any conversation and they don’t mind at all when you make a language mistake.  That’s no big deal to them, after all kids are pretty much used to a world filled with the puzzling, the perplexing, the bewildering. They take it all in stride when things don’t make sense to them….so many things don’t.   So, are far as they are concerned, your Japanese (my Japanese) is perfectly fine and quite often fun and amusing.

There is a story circulating about a fine young man – a graduate student at an English speaking college here in Japan - who when asked his name by a few children at a local party, tried a little bit too hard with his Japanese.  His name is Omar and in his desire to help the kids understand, he pronounced his name in the “Japanese” way and told them his name was O-ma-ru (adding a “u” at the end of his name)….to which to the kids broke into squeals of delight and gales of laughter asking him, much to his own confusion, to repeat this name over and over.  They were perfectly delighted to learn that his fine man’s name was “potty”…which is what “omaru” means in Japanese.  Now really, what can be better when you are five and six years old than to have an adult tell you his name is “Potty”?  Needless to say he was a big hit at that party.

Neighborhood in Japan

My own encounter a few weeks ago has made me rethink my strange allergy to speaking with kids.  This time it was the English-speaker’s turn (me) to be amused.  On a brisk walk home from the grocery store, I happen to bump into a couple of kids from the neighborhoods – one child I knew from down the street, but the other was new to me…and me to him.  I stopped my exercise to greet Kochan, but it was his walking companion that jumped to the head of the line to interact with me.

“Gee,” he said looking at at me, his mouth agape, his 8-year old eyes fixated on my face, "You look like a foreigner (gaikokujin mitai.”)

"I am a foreigner, I replied, and I'm pretty sure the world stopped spinning for him right then.
"EEHH, Really!”  I could see him trying to process this as he further studied me.  “Do all foreigners walk that fast," he asked.

“No, all foreigners do not.  I was just walking very fast because I was exercising,” I said in near perfect Japanese.  His face relaxed a bit, but I could tell the inquisition was not yet over.

“How come you know Japanese?" (nande ninhongo ga wakaru) he demanded, his brows squeezed tight forming the lines that would one day show age rather than wonder.
"I studied it," I replied at which point I thought I was going to lose him altogether.  So he and Kochan, as kids do, decided this was just about enough for now and scooted on up ahead of me to home.  As I watched them disappear from sight, I realized  how much I had enjoyed that encounter with those kids and probably them with me as well…and to think how simple it all had been and how big the pleasure -- and all I had to do was....speak.