That’s pretty good…
Friday. At last.
Pam and I have officially dubbed Friday, “civilized breakfast morning.” For this reason, and not the standard end of week nonsense, Friday is greatly anticipated. Friday morning still possesses the usual franticness…getting ready for work and school, getting out the door on time, getting to the station in time to meet Sachan’s friend Elisa, and ultimately being able to catch the 7:14 train.
Being a Friday, Sachan had her weekly kanji test. I am happy to report that my involvement in the learning, practicing, studying and trial testing of Sachan’s kanji skills is now at a very minimal level. Pam has embraced this area of Sachan’s education, drawn the line, and stated very clearly that this is a female only domain within our abode. For the record, color me thrilled!!
For the record, kanji was within my realm of responsibility for nearly three years. My approach was akin to a vulture (me) circling and keeping a keen eye on a nearly dead rabbit in the dessert (Sachan) as she scratched out kanji in the sand. Pam’s approach is far less menacing and involves flash cards. (Yes, the vulture just threw up in his own mouth. Seriously, am I the only one finds the mere suggestion of flash cards to be akin to drinking a cocktail of your own urine and bile? Flash cards may be the only thing I hate more than buses, and man do I hate buses!) Anyway, Pam with perfect script, writes out the vocabulary words and phrases in kanji on one side of the cards and the hiragana for pronunciation purposes on the reverse side. Sachan needs only to practice writing them a few times and then studies the flash cards ad nausea.
Each morning we walk to the station together, me in the lead, watching the clock. The other two quizzing each other on their kanji. I need to look back frequently to make sure they are still with me, because sometimes they get some engulfed that they stop walking. (For the record, I am NOT making this up.) I have to remind them NOT to study while going down the two flights of stairs into the station. I discourage them, usually unsuccessfully, from studying as they walk along the platform. The studying continues once they are on the train…standing there, two sardines, practicing their kanji. And yet, I am the one, who according to Sachan, is the weird one in the family.
So it was a typical Friday; a civilized breakfast Friday. Pam and I sat in the Dean and Deluca a few blocks from Otemachi, a few blocks from Nijubashimi, a few blocks from Tokyo station; the heart of the financial district. Pam had gotten her scone and cup of Earl Grey. I was working on a latte and some crusty apple pastry like thing covered in powdered sugar. Classical music played in the background. The sun was shining and we sat laughing.
This was the not the laughter of satisfied parents stealing a few minutes alone. This was the hard to control bursts of laughter one has as flash backs of a recent interaction come in like waves, leaving you ready to burst into another set of snickers while shaking your head in disbelief.
About twenty minutes earlier, we had boarded the train with Sachan’s classmate Elisa. The conversation was bouncing around, sometimes in English, at times in Japanese.
For those of you not living with a bilingual child, you may be wondering, “How does that happen? How does one decide which language to use, when you have more than one at your disposal?” That, is an excellent question. Just last weekend, Pam had asked Sachan, “What language do you use on the playground at school?” Sachan replied, after a moments thought, “Which ever one comes out of my mouth.” For those of you who have walked the parental path, you know the unique tone of voice used in this reply as that slightly self-righteous tone that can only be used by a third grader whose intelligence far surpasses your own.
So the conversation on the train was bouncing around between English and Japanese, but finally seemed to be settling primarily in Japanese. Pam asked, at this point, if the girls would like to use the flash cards to review for their kanji test.
Sachan’s friend, I should point out, is Japanese. She was born in Japan. Both parents are Japanese. Her English and her Japanese are impeccable. In fact, the first morning they met on the train, Elisa refused to speak Japanese to Sachan. I have to say, it was highly amusing watching the fellow commuters stare in disbelief at the Japanese girl speaking perfect English to the American girl speaking perfect Japanese. It was like a tug-of-war with neither flinching or giving an inch. Adding to the amusement, was the fact that Sachan was more than a little perturbed that this girl wouldn’t speak Japanese with her. But that had been weeks ago, and now they used which ever language “came out of their mouthes.” I should also point out that this is Elisa’s forth year at NIS (K-3). It won’t surprise me if in twenty years we find that she has become an engineer or a surgeon or a police detective. She has that kind of perpetual examination and precision you expect of those professions.
Elisa, with her highly analytical brain already in fifth gear, grabbed the cards from Pam and began examining them. Then she went into “just the facts, ma’am” mode.
“These are OUR kanji test words, ” she announced in Japanese with some degree of bewilderment.
Then she turned to Pam, “Who wrote these?” I feel comfortable saying that this information was deemed too important to ask another eight-year about, and so demanded the information from the adult.
Pam responded that she had written them out. Elisa then continued, her level of scrutiny moving up to a formal interrogation level. And then, as a point of clarification, asked, “You wrote All of these?”
Pam, ever so polite when in Japanese mode, replied again that yes she had in fact written out all of the kanji and hiragana.
There was a long pause, some more examination, and then, clearly impressed, Elisa added, “These are really good…” dramatic and thoughtful pause, “…for a foreigner.”
KA-POW!
It wasn’t even 7:30 in the morning and Pam had received the best back-handed compliment by an eight year old. EVER!
I mean what do you do with that? Well, if you are Pam, you take a long sip of your perfectly brewed tea and laugh.
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