The strike is over

The agreement was if we had a visitor, the strike would be over. Late last week our readers' wishes were granted even though it wasn't the type of visitor I expected.

On Wednesday night, when Benny got home from work he noticed that our neighbor boy was sitting outside his front door, exactly two feet from our front door. It appeared that this young Japanese man was locked out and forgot his key. It was getting chilly and dark outside so Benny invited him in.

This boy sat straight in the chair we offered him and didn't move until 8:30 p.m. He sat there, even though we told him to relax. He sat up straight even though we offered to let him sit in a more comfortable chair or even to lay down in the tatami room. We told him he could use our phone to call his family. Or use our laptop to send some emails. At least that's what we thought we said.

This visit was an eye-opening realization of how little Japanese Benny and I know. After the first exchanges of names, ages and offers of water and cookies, we stared at our 15-year-old neighbor unable to continue the conversation. And he stared back. He seemed to stare at everything in our townhouse with wide eyes of wonder. And I couldn't blame him. If I had same opportunity, (locked out of my house, waiting outside when a foreigner invites me in and I can't talk to them), I would have soaked it all in too.


When we realized that we had exhausted our limited Japanese conversation topics, Benny and I smiled, nodded and continued to move about our lives with this boy observing our lives. I feed Olivia. Benny grilled steaks. I cooked Okinawa sweet potatoes and green beans. We offered him a plate of food so he could join us for dinner. He declined by shaking his head and making a motion of eating with his hands and pointing to his home. I translated this action to mean that his mother was a wonderful cook and he didn't want to spoil his dinner.

Benny and I ate dinner and talked about our day to each other with the boy sitting right there. After dinner we gave Olivia a bath and put her to bed.

Was it awkward? At first yes. Then I forgot he was there. And I think he felt like he was watching American television.

When his sister got home, he thanked us and left.

Benny and I wondered what he told his family about the 3 hours he spent with us. I imagine the conversation starting something like this:

"Don't worry Mom and Dad, I'll never forget my house key again. I don't want to be left with those Americans. They are crazy."