A Japan Experience: Homestay

Each of the Fulbright Memorial Fund participants stayed with a host family for a weekend during the trip. Prior to the homestay weekend, many of the educators expressed some anxiety about this portion of the journey. The language barrier, the possibility of committing a social faux pas, and being a stranger in someone's home in a foreign land weighed heavily on the minds of many. To the delight of many of us, the homestay weekend was perhaps the highlight of the trip, and many of our initial concerns disappeared quickly. This tremendous experience was only enhanced by the hospitality of our individual host families, the sense of closeness that developed, and the genuine, mutual, cross-cultural respect we shared.

The Harada Family | Kendo | Oyama Senmaida and Sayonara
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The Harada Family
As I'm sure every participant would claim, I could not have been matched-up with a better host family. The Harada family went out of their way to make me feel welcome and to make my stay an enjoyable one. Of the many amazing experiences over the three weeks we spent in Japan, the time I spent with Takashi-san, Naomi-san, Misaki, Minato, Tetsu, and Ryu ranks among the most memorable.

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the Harada Family outside their home
(l-r): Minato, Takashi-san, Misaki, Ryu, Tetsu, Naomi-san

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I first met Takashi-san, my host family father (otosan ) at the Kimitsu Welcome Reception at the Hotel Sennari. It would not be for a few days until I met the remainder of his family. On the Saturday that we departed for our respective homestays, Takashi-san and three of his children picked me up in the hotel lobby and we drove to their house just a short distance away. The house was across the street from the railroad tracks, on which a train passed fairly frequently, shaking the house and making a low, rumbling sound (apparently, there was a small earthquake that Saturday night, but I simply attributed the movement to a passing train). Takashi-san and the children showed me around their house, a modest home with a section for Naomi-san's daycare business. This area would be my sleeping quarters. I gave them the gifts which I had brought for each of them: a calendar of New York City, several packs of Skittles and Starbursts, a couple of games and books for the children, and a book about Kendo for Takashi-san. Takashi-san is a kendo instructor, and I would get to partake in this activity later in the day. Takashi-san and the children eagerly looked at the photo album consisting of pictures of my house, my classroom, buildings of my hometown, my wife, and my parents. Later, Naomi-san, my host family mother (okaasan ), would be surprised at our front lawn, prompting me to realize that in Japan, a country with minimal living and agricultural space, empty space such as a lawn must be considered quite the luxury. Takashi-san and Naomi-san were more than slighly amused at the two Hondas pictured in our driveway as well as the image of my classroom with the Japanese flag in the background.

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the Harada children with Town of Berlin lapel pins

We then piled into the family van and were on our way to pick up Misaki, the oldest of the siblings, who was spending much of her Saturday at juku (or, cram school). She would get a little time off for lunch. On the way to pick up Naomi-san in the city of Makuhari, the oldest children, Misaki and Minato, practiced what English they had learned in school. I kept my crib sheet and Japanese-English dictionary readily accessible for most of the weekend.

In Makuhari, we ate lunch at a shopping mall. Takashi-san ordered unagi (eel), because, according to superstition, this was supposed to make us strong for our kendo practice later in the evening. Misaki was dropped off at her cram school, and the rest of us drove through a heavily industrialized area to Sodegaura, an area populated with palm trees overlooking Tokyo Bay. It was, as Naomi-san observed, "like California." The children slept in the van the rest of the way home. [TOP]

Kendo
Takashi-san, Minato, and I drove to a local school building where Minato participated in a kendo class with her father. Kendo is the martial art of Japanese fencing and using the traditional skills of swordsmanship. All of the boys and girls in the class were in the later grades of elementary school or early middle school. Several of the children's mothers sat patiently off to the side. I was certainly a major attraction, and after Takashi-san put all of the necessary equipment on me, I was even more conspicuous. Takashi-san showed me the various moves of kendo and spoke of the philosophies that are at the heart of the endeavor. The discipline and focus of the children was impressive, and I felt obligated to put forth a similar effort. Much of the session was based on repetition and skill-work, and Takashi-san and the other instructors put the students through a vigorous workout. Soon, it was my turn, and I was glad to work on the side with Takashi-san. Unfortunately, the helmet I wore was not sized correctly, and every time Takashi-san struck my head, I felt a sharp pain. Out of fear of appearing weak, and knowing that it was not really supposed to hurt had I had the right size helmet, I endured it. I especially did not want to have Takashi-san, my host and now sensei , to feel disappointed in me.

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Kendo class

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Perhaps sensing my difficulty, Takashi-san had the students watch as I executed a series of the newly learned moves. Despite being rather amused, I'm sure, they politely applauded each time, and laughed when I yelled out the phrases associated with each movement. Part of me wants to believe that perhaps they were slighly impressed that I wanted to learn.

The later part of the session was dedicated to sparring. The students were paired up and would fight each other for a minute or two at a time. Takashi-san requested that I yell out, "Hajime!" or "begin," and then "Yameh!" to indicate the end of the time period. Not only did I feel somewhat honored to be in this position, I was greatly relieved to not have my head be the target of Takashi-san's strikes. One of the best moments came when Takashi-san was paired up with his daughter, Minato. Each spar commences only after the contestants bow to each other, and the respect shown by father to daughter, and vice versa, was heart-warming.

Later that night, we returned to the Harada home and prepared to take a bath and settle down for the evening (see Customs: Visiting a Home). This was the part of the homestay that I felt the greatest amount of concern about, mostly because I did not want to do anything offensive, and I was somewhat lacking in confidence about the proper way to perform the task. I showered and rinsed off, and stepped into the surprisingly deep tub. The bath water was not nearly as hot as I expected. Having gone through what I considered to be the hard part, I finally relaxed.

The Harada family had a meal that I imagine was not normal for a Saturday night. A large sashimi platter, bowls of rice, and several other food items were put on the table. We each said "Itadakimasu ," a phrase with no exact translation, but essentially a phrase of thanks (see Customs: Eating and Drinking). The children giggled at my handling of the chopsticks, with which, until then, I thought I was becoming much more skillful. I struggled with the seating arrangements on the floor, but I made do. Takashi-san, Naomi-san, and I, using a mixture of our respective native tongues, what we knew in each other's language, and from flipping through the pages of Japanese-English dictionaries, talked at length about Japanese history, the state of education, world politics, and other relevant issues. We drank bottles of Sapporo and Ebisu beer ("biiru ") and shared many common sentiments until 2:00 AM in the morning. I rationalized that it was about one o'clock in the afternoon back home. Despite our fatigue, we enjoyed the time we had together, a time we knew was coming to an end much too soon. [TOP]

Oyama Senmaida and Sayonara
We awoke early the next morning and ate the sashimi leftovers from the night before. Minato was to take part in a kendo tournament that day, and much like American families with young, active children, much of the day was planned around this activity. The event was a good drive away, in the town of Maruyama-shi, so we left fairly early to arrive at the kendo tournament. The students from the night before recognized me, and they seemed to appreciate my good luck offerings. Inside the facility, the large crowd and watchful parents never yelled at the officials or tried to intimidate or distract the opponent. All of the participants bowed to each other and to the officials before and after each match. The event offered a striking contrast to similar activities in the United States.

We drove along the coastline of the Boso Peninsula, following a route that was mountainous and curvy. Occasionally, a fleeting, but spectacular view of the ocean was spotted. We ate lunch at a restaurant named Coco's, which reminded me of a Friendly's. Like American children about to go to McDonald's, the children seemed especially excited to eat here. We continued driving until we arrived at a beach near Wada. Early morning surfers were hanging it up for the day, and the beach was ours to take in the view.

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the beach at Wada

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The Harada family rented a rice field in Kamogawa, in an area known as Oyama Senmaida (senmaida: "thousand terraced rice paddies"). The plots are "harvested by hand, which requires ten times as much labor as harvesting with machines . . . [therefore, it] becomes a community [or family] event" (http://www.wajima-city.or.jp/english/htm/alt/senmaida.htm). Takashi-san stated that one harvest of rice from their plot fed his family for six months. Several families were working their plots when we arrived. I got the feeling that this excursion was a special family event for the Harada's, and it was one of the ways that they spent time together as a family. I was excited to finally see terraced rice paddies, and I took a fair number of pictures. Takashi-san had brought along a sack of rice so that he could strip the outer shells and expose the grains. A special machine was used for this, and I became curious about how Japanese farmers performed this task prior to the advent of the machine. A worker at the site explained this and showed me a rudimentary tool with long, metal teeth that would serve the same purpose as the more modern machine.

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the terraced rice paddies at Oyama Senmaida, Kamogawa			Takashi-san and Naomi-san

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Rice, of course, is Japan's most important crop, and is a staple of the Japanese diet. It is eaten at nearly every meal (in fact, the word for rice, gohan forms part of the words for breakfast, asagohan [literally, [morning rice"], lunch [hirugohan ] and dinner [yorugohan ]). Prior to visiting Japan, I was very concerned about my chopstick skills, especially with rice. I found however, that Japanese rice is very sticky and clumps together, making it easy to be manipulated by the chopsticks (see Customs: Eating and Drinking).

Naomi-san explained to me the kanji which made up the children's names. Each child's name consisted of several kanji, one of which was () or ta. Ta is the kanji for rice paddy, a part of Takashi-san's name, and therefore, a part of each child's name. It seems that an American cultural equivalent would be the practice of determining middle names after a grandparent or the like. Names in Japanese culture have great significance. The family name comes first, an indication of the importance of the family and the group. In addition, younger siblings refer to their older brothers and sisters as oniisan ("older brother") and onesan ("older sister"). Older siblings, however, can call their younger brothers and sisters by their given names. This custom reflects a broader emphasis on hierachy and respect for authority and age.

On our way home, we stopped at a local Shinto shrine, at which preparations were being made for the Hachiman-jinja Shrine Festival later that evening. As we walked through the grounds towards the front, Takashi-san explained that it was only proper that we were to walk through the torii, or gate, since Shinto practice required this protocol. Together, we walked up the steps of the temple and offered a silent prayer. I found it interesting that Takashi-san did not hesitate at all to include me in this religious practice, which to many Japanese, is subtly woven together with Buddhist beliefs. Additionally, Takashi-san did not seem the least bit concerned about the possibility of me taking offense. Of course, I took none, but the fact that he was seemingly unaware of this is perhaps a testament to the general tolerance of Japanese religious perspectives towards other religious beliefs. I can hardly imagine an American bringing a foreigner into a house of worship without first making sure the visitor was comfortable. Local festival organizers offered us sake , and I was invited back for the festivities that evening.

We spent the last hour or so together at the house. The boys horse-played while the girls and Naomi-san put together a chronology of how we spent our time together. Takashi-san presented me with a kendo sword (bokken), one which he used in tournaments in Europe. As flattered and honored as I was, I was concerned about how I would carry this weapon on the plane. With a kendo sword, my baggage, and many incredible memories in tow, the Harada family dropped me off back at the Hotel Sennari, where many of the members of the Kimitsu group were engaged in teary goodbyes. As the van with Takashi-san, Naomi-san, Misaki, Minato, Tetsu, and Ryu drove away, I waved until they were out of sight. [TOP]

Week 3

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