When do people realize what they are? When do people start to
love their country? When I think about being Japanese, I end up
thinking about this gift I received from a Japanese boy. I
was six years old living in the U.S. with my family when my
paternal grandfather died in Japan. Because of my age, I didn't
quite understand what death meant. Also, because I hadn't seen my
grandfather since I was four years old, I wasn't that shocked
about it. But instead I remember that I didn't like the idea of
going back to Japan and missing my birthday party. My grandfather
died on my birthday. Missing school and going to a place I hardly
remember for a funeral seemed to be a miserable trip.
My mother, my older brother and I reached Hiroshima Airport
the day after we received a phone call and heard the sad news
from my father; my father had gone back to Japan before us. The
sight of Hiroshima City was something new for me so I didn't feel
like I had missed this place for a long time. We went right away
to where the funeral was held, and there I saw my father crying
for the first time. When I saw my father's back as he was crying,
I finally understood what was happening.
My father, mother and my older brother of three years must
have missed Japan and wanted to come back. But I think they had
never wanted to come back this way so it was going to turn out to
be the worst trip we had ever had. But when my father decided
that our family would stay in Japan for a month to complete the
funeral, my mother decided to put me in the elementary school she
used to go to, during our stay. She thought maybe I would never
get to experience Japanese elementary school, so it would be a
good chance. That sounded exciting for a change.
So my days of going to an unfamiliar school had started. I
can't recall the time clearly, but I do remember how exciting
everything seemed to me. A lot of things seemed to be different,
for example, the lunch we ate in the classroom. It was my daily
routine to ask what is today's lunch to the teacher. Kids
speaking dialects of Japanese was surprising for me, as I thought
only old people spoke dialects since I usually heard only my
grandmother and grandfather doing so. The chickens and
rabbits we had to take care of, the candy shop in front of school
where a lot of kids bought candies after school, I loved all of
these things.
But I bet they were also interested in this weird girl who
looks liked a Japanese but talked English too. That should have
sounded weird to these kids living in the countryside of Japan.
they asked me many questions about the United States and about
who I was. And above all, many kids asked me to write their name
using the English alphabet even kids from upper grades who I
didn't know asked me to do it when they found me on the
playground. I would use a short branch and write their names on
the sand. Everyday there was news to report to my family.
So it started to turn out to be hard for me to leave this
school and go back to the United States, but one month passed
really quickly. A month was too short to become best friends with
someone but it was too long to be able to say good-bye
easily. On my last day of school the class did a little
farewell party for me. Many of them gave me cards, messages and
gifts that will always remind me of Japan. The gift a boy gave me
turned out to be a gift that I will never forget.
He gave me a big Japanese flag. It was made of cloth and
handmade, but the color of the round red circle in the middle of
the flag was beautiful. It really looked like the sun rising
above the horizon. It made me realize that this is my home, my
country. My mother said that it is kind of weird to give such
gift; I thought that might to be true, but I was still happy to
receive the gift. I started to understand what he might wanted to
say to me. I think his messages were to not to forget that I am a
Japanese although living in the United States and to remember the
days I have spent in this country. I have received his messages
and here I am loving these two countries, thinking both of them
are my homeland.
by Masako Teshima
