The first plane ride that I ever took was headed for Japan. My parents were in charge of an international exchange student program and had been invited to attend a high school graduation there. They decided to bring their youngest daughter along for a little cultural education. Our destination was for Kagoshima, a city in the south of Japan. It was a conservative place where few tourists visited and my mom knew it. She took me shopping giving me colorful and loud clothes, trimmed my blonde hair and pierced my ears for the first time. Being the youngest I was used to hand-me-downs and being forgotten at restaurants and stores. I loved the attention and new things I was receiving: a girl could get used to this.
Once we arrived in Japan we toured the south along with the necessary business meetings that involved fancy restaurants where I sat on the ground and had to remain painfully silent, eating raw fish. I have to admit, as much as I desired attention, the constant invasion of my personal space was slightly overwhelming: my hair was stroked and my face was petted. My mom succeeded at her aim to make me different: I could have been spotted miles away.
One particular day my parents and I were waiting for a train finishing up a long day of tourism. A large group of boys coming from school entered the station on their way home. Being that this happened about fourteen years ago, my memory is a little burry, but from what I do remember there may have been around ten thirteen or fifteen year old boys. They looked at me and made a beeline to where my parents and I sat.
I scooted even closer to my mom for protection, I felt severely outnumbered. All the boys circled around me, and the leader of the group sat down next to me.
“You are very beautiful.” He said sweetly.
I blushed and mumbled my thanks. I could hear my parents giggling. The leader of the group of boys kept on asking me questions of where I was from and how old I was. They were surprised I was only ten because of how tall I was. It was true, at the time I was tall for my age and even was the tallest in my elementary school class, I was proud of it. It was difficult for me to concentrate on what these boys were asking me. I’m sure they were very pleasant, but I had never been “hit on” by anyone before. I had witnessed it happen multiple times to all of my older sisters but other than little crushes from my fellow classmates, it had never happened to me and I didn’t like it. It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand him; it was that in my frazzled state I literally couldn’t hear him.
My parents were kind enough to answer their questions for me being that I was unable to. My heart was beating so hard it was all I could listen to. In the theory of fight or flight, the flight symptoms were beginning to kick in.
I turned to my parents and mumbled if I could get money for some soda. Knowing I was looking for an excuse to escape. My dad smiled and gave me enough money to run to the soda machine conveniently located just outside. Without saying goodbye I left as quickly as I could. I felt like the soda machine was some sort of saving grace. I bought a coke and then checked to see if the group of boys was still where I left them. Sure enough they were, chatting happily with my parents.
I waited for a long time, hiding behind the soda machine, hoping that my train didn’t come before theirs did. Eventually luck showed itself to be on my side. The group of young teenage boys eventually left and I gingerly made my way to my very amused parents.
My parents teased me then, and they continually teased me after. Fifteen years later to the day, one of their favorite stories is to tell about the time their little innocent ten-year-old daughter was hit on in Japan. Unbeknown to both them and me at the time, it was a moment that broke the dam.
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