Public teeth brushing and other cultural surprises

Unforgettable memories from one summer at a Japanese school 🏫

One summer, during our annual visit to see my grandparents in Japan, I had the chance to attend my mom’s elementary school.¹ Back in the U.S., my friends leaped over sprinklers and chased down ice cream trucks while I sat with my new first-grade class, trying my darnedest to look at least semi-smart.

Most of the hours spent head down, studying and test-taking and trying to not dizzy myself from learning in a second language are blurred now. My mom’s scrapbook from that visit has a caption noting I did well in kanji (?!!). Regular Kumon classes back home must’ve prepared me for such a victory. There were still charts and pencil shavings and writer’s callus and graph paper and lessons that droned on, of course, but none of that stands out to me now. Maybe I’ve deleted academics from memory. 😅

Another blurb from that scrapbook says attending the school was a culture shock for me, but I adjusted well to the differences. Below, you’ll get to read and relive what I do remember about this unique experience.

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🎒 Everyone else had a $300+ backpack.

The nerves came on that first day, but my family probably motivated me to ganbatte ne! (がんばってね), and I’m sure I agreed to do my best. I worried about showing up to school with a red Hello Kitty backpack instead of a hand-stitched leather randoseru (ランドセル) like all the other kids. For $300+, I could’ve followed the dress code and acquired my turtle shell. But elementary students use the same backpacks for six years, long enough to justify such a price. I only had the summer, so the school made an exception. Hello Kitty it was!

🚶🏻‍♀️ I walked to school without adults (mostly).

To get to school, I had to walk with a group of students. No buses, carpooling, or adult chaperones. Just a handful of kids from the neighborhood following strict walking routes, picking each other up along the way. My grade wore yellow hats as a highlighter for visibility. Walking in public without an adult was so unusual for me that for the first few days, my dad trailed behind. In the U.S., I couldn’t walk past our townhouse without parental supervision. Somehow, I had to trust it was safer in Japan and that it would be okay to travel like this,² even at my age. 🚸

When my group arrived at school and the kids discovered my dad had followed me, they shouted gaijin! (外人), exposing my foreignness before the first period. It wasn’t long before I summoned enough 7-year-old bravery to make the walks without a chaperone lingering behind. This routine ended up being so peaceful and satisfying, showing me what we were capable of as young students. I also became aware of how different society was in Japan and wished (still do!) that back home, I could feel supported by and safe around the general public.

👟 No street shoes were worn inside.

Upon entering the school, everyone placed their street shoes in getabako (下駄箱) or shoe cubbies. I was used to taking off my shoes before walking through my home—a Japanese custom I still follow today—so this wasn’t unusual. We put on our uwabaki (上履き), white canvas slippers with colored rubber toes. Girls wore red, boys wore blue. We wrote our names across the tops in permanent marker, mine reading “エリカ.”³

Images via Wikimedia Commons: Ajari, CC BY 2.0 (left) & Douglas P Perkins, CC BY 3.0 (right)

🇺🇸 I was the first American my class had met.

My 40-ish classmates had never met an American before, so I became a bit of a celebrity, smiling for pictures and striking a pōzu (ポーズ) when asked. I even gave a few autographs. Some kids stared, inspecting me like a specimen sent across the Pacific Ocean. As a hāfu (ハーフ), I thought we still shared plenty of similarities. They probably wouldn’t have believed me if I told them I looked more like them than I did my friends back home!⁴

I didn’t mind the attention, though. I knew they meant well, and everyone was generally welcoming—excluding the class bully. Several girls became my friends. They showed me how to play drawing games to help pass the time, giggled with me on our walking route, and gave me enough kindness to enjoy school in an unfamiliar context. Months later, the teacher mailed me a box with their yearbook (including a photo of me) and a letter/drawing from each student. The thoughtfulness! 🥹

🍚 Everyone ate everything.

When it was time for kyūshoku (給食), Japan’s school lunch program, everyone ate the same meal from the kitchen. This gave nutrition and food to all, no matter a student’s income status. Each student was assigned a role during lunchtime, from serving food to rearranging desks for communal seating. No one ate until the whole class was served.

Picky eaters were out of luck. There was only one meal option, and everyone was expected to eat everything off their plate. Even as a strict rule follower, I had my limits. I made fast friends with a meat-loving boy who gobbled the leftovers I passed in secret. Once lunch finished, we all cleaned up and then brushed our teeth together. I’d rather my teeth vanish than use a toothbrush in public, but I followed along.⁵ At least my Sanrio toothbrush cup was super kawaii (かわいい). 🦷

🧹 We cleaned the school daily.

Whenever I’d leave Japan, I’d miss my grandparents, the food (except for the cafeteria meals), and how ✨ CLEAN ✨ my surroundings were. Japan’s high value for cleanliness and personal responsibility meant we young kids participated in the daily sōji (そうじ) or cleaning of our school.⁶ I raced the other students in a hall-scrubbing-sprint, seeing who could move the fastest while pushing our soapy rags in some sort of downward dog pose. I liked getting to contribute by doing chores, but I was also relieved my teacher never assigned me the bathrooms.

🚽 I feared using the toilets.

The biggest hurdle for me was bathroom breaks. That first day, when the bell finally rang, I examined the stalls and panicked. The bathroom only had squat toilets, and I was not yet over my fear of falling in. I was certain I could disappear into the plumbing, swallowed by Japan’s sewage system forever. So, very rationally, I decided I would never use the bathroom.

When my mom learned this, she talked to the school staff who revealed precious information: one “Western-style” toilet was available. No one used it—perhaps because there was only a curtain for a door? I had to bring a student with me to stand guard. Easily embarrassed and too shy to inconvenience, I drank as little as I could to avoid the bathroom conundrum. ✌🏼

🎡 My class learned to unicycle.

Like many young kids, my favorite time of day was recess. One afternoon outside, my class heard an adult make an important-sounding announcement. The students squealed. I didn’t understand till they led us to dozens of ichirinsha (一輪車) lined at the bottom of a stairwell. We wobbled every which way on our new unicycles, and I reveled in sharing a new experience with my classmates. We admired the older students speeding across the packed sand with their sturdy cores and spinning spokes. A rambunctious group of boys would crash into each other, running over toes and making last-minute 180s. Later, I learned that Japanese public schools are required to supply unicycles—hence why some of the world’s best unicyclists are Japanese!

Now it’s your turn! 🗣️

Have you ever attended school in another country? Did you learn an interesting sport or see your teacher brush their teeth? Tell me more!

Till next time,
—E.T.

1. Japan’s school year begins in April and breaks at the end of July.

2. “Why Japanese Kids Can Walk Alone” by Selena Hoy.

3. My name, Erika, doubles as a Japanese name!

4. I noticed a funny detail when looking at the photos from my mom’s scrapbook. I wore a shirt on my first day that said “American Girl”—as if that wouldn’t set me apart! 😂

5. “Hamigaki: The Art of Japanese Tooth Brushing” by Sarah W.

6. “What Japan can teach us about cleanliness” by Steve John Powell & Angeles Marin Cabello.