September 18, 2009: My Kyoto Host Family

Went to a Japanese pub (Izakaya) with my host parents day one.
I want them both!

My host mom and me.

Let me introduce you to my host family before I continue on my adventures. I love coming home because I love to interact with my host family, and just listen to them talk. They use Kyoto-ben (the Japanese dialect for this city) all the time, which I find entertaining and definitely cool. I can understand it, and have been trying to be able to use it myself. It’s hard because once you’re used to a certain way of talking, it’s hard to use a totally new word instead or end a word slightly differently that you are used to.

My host mother is 66 years old, but she acts like a 30 year old. She is so active and healthy. To show me around we each rode on a bicycle (even up small, but steady inclines) around the city. She goes to the gym regularly, works part time, and pursues her hobby (making these works of art with just paper; I’ll post pictures sooner if not later) through classes and regularly at home at her own time. On top of that she cooks and cleans (does all my laundry and folds my clothes! I feel like a child!) and pays very close attention to the way I eat my food so she can adjust when preparing for my next meal.

My host father is 67 years old and works full time at a business company. He is always reading the economy newspaper. On the days when my host mother works part time, she comes home late, and he makes dinner instead of her. He’s always encouraging and happy. 7 years ago he almost died (some kind of illness having to do with his heart almost failing) and they didn’t have a host student for 7 years, but before that, they hosted 12 students, so I am number 13. They have kids, but they are grown and married with kids of their own.

My host mom and dad always bicker, but playfully, with laughter and expressive intonation. I love it! Generally my host father says that someone should make sure something or the other is cleaned or properly wrapped, and my host mother whines and says she is only one person, and orders him to do it. Then he sighs and says she’s right, and gets up right away and complies.

Yesterday I was doing my homework in the living room, creating sentences with new grammar that we learned in class, and asking them if it sounded correct. Sometimes I was a little stuck and they helped me out, and I tried to make a sentence that was something to the effect of: It’s is psychologically difficult to understand a 10 year old girl who wants to wear makeup. My host father thought my sentence was okay, but suggested instead of 10 year old girl, that I could write boy. My host mother, from the kitchen, yelled at him, asking him why he would teach me such things and that my sentence was fine. And told him he was gay. Later that night they somehow brought it up again, and my host mom said my host father says those types of things because in actuality he is more than a mom than a dad. I laughed hard. I feel like I am living in a comedy. I feel very comfortable here. Their hospitality alone makes me want to stay another semester, although I know I shouldn’t.

The first night I met them (Saturday), they took me to an Izakaya (Japanese Bar restaurant, where young people go) in a very young/active part of the city. They ordered so much food. They didn’t even ask and ordered 3 big glasses of beer. I don’t fancy beer, but it would be rude to refuse, right? So I drank it. Slowly. My host mom loves beer, drank the whole mug, and ordered a second smaller one for herself. She definitely has a high tolerance. I was impressed she didn’t even turn red. I, on the other hand, even though I am just half Japanese, was glowing, radiating heat, and was a nice shade of rose. My host father, unlike my host mother, doesn’t have the best tolerance for alcohol and was also a bit red in the face. I can’t believe they got me slightly drunk the first night they met me. Why? I’ll ask them tomorrow. Then afterwards we passed by this ice cream place that served huge $150 ice cream dishes and more. I was impressed by the towers of ice cream, glued to the display glass, and so we sporadically walked in and my host mother and I each had a tower of ice cream. My host father, because he is at risk for diabetes, had a small Japanese dessert.

To call them awesome is truly an understatement.