This story started around 1975.
My parents were tired of hosting teenage students and had requested instead, a professor.
Mr. (Professor) Toshi arrived one early summer day with his 15 young students who were hosted in homes nearby. The visit was for about 2 weeks, and almost daily the students, their host families, and Mr. Toshi would gather at the local school. We had all arranged for American cultural home-town experiences—the County Fair, local farms, our local town, a big-time local historic site, the Buena Vista winery (with limestone ageing caves), fresh bread and local cheeses picnic... and a trip to The Big City (San Francisco)!
When we picked him up from the airport, he was gracious, and quiet. My little brother (around 10 yrs) was trying to teach him English (???). “That’s a HOOOORRRRSSSe.” Sounding the word ‘Horse’ out as we drove by a farm. “This is a CAAARRRR… and that’s a L-I-B-R-A-R-Y!” Little brother, the ambassador and self-appointed linguistic advisor? (We did our very best to silence him, but he was so sincere, and really won Mr. Toshi’s heart.)
My mother recalls Mr. Toshi reading the paper in the morning, asking, “What is this? ‘There is not a mean bone in his body?’” We talked a lot about meanings and metaphors. It was fascinating. He asked so many questions.
We all--both slowly and so quickly--developed not just a deep connection, but a love that would tie our families together for more than 40 years.
Mr. Toshi was a soft-spoken sage, in every sense of that word. He was kind, polite; not the least aware of any of our customs, and also very much like a kid in a candy shop—eyes wide open, every minute. This was his first time to America.
He brought ‘instant Miso soup’ packets with him so that he never felt too far from home, and helped himself to a raw egg with hot rice and soy sauce for breakfast, other than the meals he was subjected to for the rest of the day. He did not care for green bell peppers—he would never have complained, but the look on his face when we offered him seconds.... WE KNEW.
Mom quietly and suddenly said, “Oh dear, this might not be your favorite?” He finally confessed and we all started talking about horrible cultural foods! We were all laughing.
Still makes me smile that this silly thing has stuck in everyone’s mind after all these years.
My dad was quite the international and we were all adept with chopsticks, which made our new guest feel even more at ‘home.’ Sweet. (Can you pick up a single grain of rice? YES! Can you pick up a pasta noodle??? HAHAH! Of course he could, but he let us have the game!)
We really didn’t have a ‘spare’ room, so my brother got a sleeping bag on the floor in the room I shared with our little sister. (This no doubt would have been exciting to him… sort of like camping-out!)
We took Mr. Toshi to visit a couple of Japanese shops during a visit to nearby San Francisco where he was amazed that many of the same products were less expensive than in Japan!
Aside from the times touring around and spending time on campus with the other kids, the evenings were absolutely enchanting.
His English was actually quite good, and he expressed himself…slowly, in a soft voice…full of thought… in a way that humbled us. Such kindness. “If you know another’s language, you know his heart.”
I called my family to complete this story:
My father reflected, “How do you go about making friends? It just happens… and then there is some element of time, and exposure. We had nothing similar in background. But Toshi had an ability to engage which was staggering. The depth and wisdom made me feel like a minion.”
Mr. Toshi brought some of his philosophical writings with him, and reading anything he’d written, you knew you were in the presence of a true Master. His words were full of beauty and richness and insight. He wasn’t just a philosopher, he was a sage. This was the kindest, deepest wisdom. In some ways, and actually in many ways, he changed not just the way we thought of things, but our lives.
The kids: Once among the Japanese kids, my little brother—with black hair, deep blue eyes, and quite the little man, had become a STAR and every little girl wanted to marry him! He fell in love with the oldest girl, taller than him, large breasts(?), quite the beauty, and soooo sweet. All of the kids were amazing. Did we understand each other’s language? Most of the time, probably not. Did we understand each other? Absolutely YES. So much laughter, so many smiles; open hearts and minds.
There was a talent show at the end for all the kids, tons of fun, and tears were flowing like rivers when we had to say good-bye! =-(((
Two years later, I applied for a scholarship for a year of study in Japan, and eventually made it to a brief visit to Professor and Mrs. Toshi’s house during my stay.
About a year after my return to America, my father was transferred to Japan for about 5 years where he and Toshi met regularly; a short train ride away near a sacred temple. They had become the best of friends.
Upon Toshi’s death, we were notified. Mrs. Toshi did not have any English, but I still read and wrote Japanese (wow, that last part isn’t so easy anymore!), and we exchanged cards and a couple of letters.
Over the years, I have had experiences, either as a host or a guest… and a few have been truly life-changing. This is why I have decided to host again. (Oh, and I DO have an extra room and bathroom now!) Many of these visits have made my life so amazingly rich—and not just me, but for everyone. This kind of experience is what it is all about: Live, love, share!
For this story, I interviewed my mom, dad, and little brother to fill in little details I might have forgotten. Writing all the while, I had a smile on, and shed more than a few tears in his honor.
Dedicated with all of our love to Mr. Professor Toshi.
Best to all,
PS: and with AirBnB, it’s not your obligation to be a driving tour-guide!
Kim
