Past
Column: Kozix
Copper Capers
My
first trip to Japan
James
Kozick
My
mission: to visit my wife, Stephanie, teaching in a university
exchange program in Kobe and to experience Japan.
My
pack contained casual clothes except for one pair of my best clothes
to be used for a special university event Stephanie told me we
would be attending - an event that turned out to be more special
than I had even imagined.
The
event was a dinner in Stephanie's honor timed to coincide with
my visit. It was held at a French restaurant somewhere in the
heart of Kobe.
The
place was packed with Japanese faculty and a handful of us gaijin.
The Japanese "French" chef was ever present making sure
everyone had enough food and drink.
Little
did I know the baptism was about to begin.
As
a kid in our home there were three spiritual icons present. There
were the mixed icons of a picture of the Pope with a Jewish Yarmulke
hanging on it - symbolizing the cultural mix of our own family.
And in my room, there was a carved wooden statuette of the laughing
Buddha. Much to the chagrin of my Western family, later in life
I went with the Buddha.
So,
here I was in the land of Buddha and a figurehead of this Japanese
university - a veritable "high priest" of the Japanese
culture - was sitting across from me pouring wine for his Western
guests.
Then,
all of a sudden, a glass of red wine toppled over and spilled
all over my best clothes and me. The "high priest" and
I were both stunned. We literally didn't know what to say to each
other.
Still
in a state of shock, I stood up to go to the bathroom and clean
up. As I stood up I banged my head into the low hanging light
fixture. (Were my embarrassments to end in the land of the Buddha?
No, not yet.)
In
the bathroom I soaked my clothes with cold water and miraculously
removed much of the wine. I returned to the table awakened by
the chill of the water and looked like a human wet dishtowel.
Back at the table I announced, "I've had my Japanese Baptism."
The
people at the table kept offering me dry towels to stuff into
my shirt to help dry me out. So, now, I was morphing into a cross
between the human wet dishtowel and the expanding Pillsbury doughboy.
A
friendly Japanese woman faculty member seated next to me began
to talk with me in English. After several days of struggling to
talk to Japanese with my sukoshi Japanese vocabulary, all of a
sudden it occurred to me that I had no difficulty communicating
with her at all. I looked at her and said in amazement, "Your
English is excellent!" Her eyes widened and she replied,
"I'm an American!"
One
of the event organizers began to point around the room and ask
people to give short speeches. This went on for some time. Most
of the speeches were in Japanese and I understood virtually nothing.
Then, out of the blue, he points to me.
Without
any preparation, the newly baptized wet human dishtowel, Pillsbury
doughboy gaijin got up and gave a short speech - on what, I don't
even recall. But, whatever it was, they seemed to like it.
So,
there you have it, my unexpected Japanese Baptism. While I can't
claim to have reached satori, the mixed spiritual metaphors of
the "awakening" still wash over me now leaving me just
as confusingly refreshed as I was then by the wine, cold water
and a bang on the head.
I
always wondered why the Buddha was laughing. Now I think I know
why.
Postscript:
several weeks later, after I had returned to the states, the person
who had performed the baptism for me approached Stephanie on campus
in Kobe. Still visibly embarrassed by the event, he asked her
to wait while he went to his office. He returned shortly with
two gifts for his Western visitors.
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James Kozick
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