The Capacity for Kindergarten
In an (so far failed) effort for my daughter to learn Japanese through immersion, my husband and I enrolled Franny in a Japanese kindergarten, called yochien. Fortunately, his company provides an interpreter to assist the American associates in Japan with logistical support for things like enrolling their children in school. In my case, they actually provided two interpreters. That should have been my first clue regarding the intensity of this process.
The second clue should have been when Franny’s teacher took her into the classroom to participate so she did not have to wait while I filled out paperwork. For more than two hours the school administrators talked about a piece of paper, usually featuring a confusing chart, in Japanese. Then my interpreters would respond in Japanese. I would sign the paper, and everyone would move on to another item. You may be thinking that this procedure is missing a standard part of the interpreting process. I agree with you. Thus, I sat there thinking this was information I needed to know, and yet I was not included in much of the conversation.
At one point the interpreter said the school was asking if there was something I try to do with Franny every day. I answered honestly, “Uh…. Survive.” I believe this was the first time the school got this particular answer.
Eventually, Franny was brought back into the room and measured for her uniform, which includes two hats, a jacket, two long-sleeve shirts, two short-sleeve shirts, two shorts, and one pair of long pants. She was also assigned a third hat for the playground and an earthquake helmet. No seriously, an earthquake helmet. I was provided a list of supplies I needed to purchase, which included two pairs of shoes. White plastic and nylon Mary Janes to be worn inside the school and tennis shoes only to be worn on the playground. Franny would also need a water bottle on a string that can be worn around the neck or over the shoulder. I needed to find towels of a specific size with an open seam. I was instructed to run elastic through the seam transforming the towel into an apron to be worn at lunch. (We take great pains to not refer to this item as a bib, because Franny is a “big girl” and big girls do not wear bibs.) The school also requires that everything – and I do mean everything - down to the individual crayon and pencil must be labeled with my daughter’s name. Pro tip – buy a fabric stamp and stickers of your child’s name on Amazon.
At the end of the over two and a half hours, I was handed a pile of clothes, a 63-page manual for the school (in Japanese), a stack of other papers (in Japanese), and a big bill (in yen). One of the interpreters asked if I had “the capacity for all of this.” I immediately became agitated. I put myself through law school. I passed two bar exams. I have done dozens of jury trials and motion hearings. I testified before the Ohio Legislature countless times regarding complex legislation. Of course I had “the capacity for all of this.” In fact, I told the interpreter I found that question to be offensive. Take that!
Then the interpreter said she would not help me shop for the school supplies as previously planned because the enrollment appointment with the school took too long. Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut….
I managed to purchase all the necessary items on the list. I labeled every crayon, every hat, and every sock with Franny’s name in Japanese. I even read through all the papers and the 63-page manual using Google Translate. It took a long boring and literally back wrenching week.
On my daughter’s first day of school, she put on the pants, the shirt, the jacket, and the hat. She looked liked Charlie Chaplin. While she absolutely hated it, I have never laughed so hard. In hindsight the hysterical laughter did not help the situation.
Eventually, Franny stopped complaining about the uniform and we tried to get into a rhythm with drop off and pick up.Every day I send her to school wearing shoes for walking and with two additional pairs of shoes for the school building and playground, shoe bags for all the shoes, a hat to wear to school and one for the playground, silverware, an apron, a lunch mat, the school backpack, a yellow bag for large items being sent home, a name tag, a tag establishing her as a walker not bus taker, and water bottle. Every day I take Franny’s temperature and submit it to the school on their app. EVERY. DAY.
I drop her off around 9am and I pick her up at 2pm. On top of the school day being unbelievably short, they also have approximately 1000 holidays built into the school schedule. On at least one day, I showed up late for pick up which had been seemingly randomly scheduled for an earlier time. On another day, Franny and I got ready and walked to school just to realize it was a holiday and no one else was there.
Usually, at pick up, all the kids and parents congregate onto the playground. I go through the checklist to make sure we are taking home all the items I sent with her to school. Not surprising she is usually missing one of these items. In those early days, Franny and I were just adrift in a sea of Japanese we didn’t (still don’t) understand. One day we were going through the usual checklist when a little girl came up to us. She spoke to us in Japanese, and I did not understand what she said. I heard her say “America-jin,” which, as you probably guessed means American. I assumed she was asking if we were American, so I responded “Hai, America-jin.” Meaning “Yes, American.” The little girl then screamed at us at the top of her lungs and ran away. For the remainder of our time on the playground, the little girl would not look at us. I tried to catch her eye to give her a big smile in hopes of repairing whatever damage I may have caused, but my smile was only met with a glare and a sharp turn of her head. To this day I have no idea what she said and why my response was so offensive.
At the end of this month, every parent, including me, must participate as a “parent-teacher” for a day. Apparently, I will “teach” a bunch of Japanese children with whom I cannot communicate. I must wear clothes I do not mind getting dirty. I cannot wear jewelry. I must pull my hair back. And I need my own set of indoor-definitely-never-been-outdoors shoes. Sadly, I do not believe those plastic and nylon white Mary Janes come in my size. I need to bring a plastic bag for my outdoor shoes labeled with my name. I need to bring my own silverware. I need to remove my fake nails (I no longer have acrylics, but if I did, I would be exceedingly pissed).
Upon further reflection, my answer to the question, “Do you have the capacity for all of this” should have been a resounding “NO!” I might be a lawyer in America, but I do not have the capacity for kindergarten in Japan.