The Japanese MK's Guide to Crossing the Street

Hello, anyone who actually reads this blog.  I have been away for awhile because I have been focusing on my fiction writing, which I'm not comfortable posting on this blog as I want to publish it in a book one day.



Anyway, in the past few months, I have been doing a lot more walking.  This is mostly because I now live in a small town where things are closer to home/I don't have to worry as much about crazy people.  This has brought to mind the fact that I kind of use Japanese pedestrian rules over American ones or combine them.  For example, I have no idea which side of the street I am supposed to walk on when there is no sidewalk, so I just kind of use whatever side I want.  But, even more, when you walk a lot more, you cross the street a lot more, which means you have an opportunity to use the mad skills you acquired over years of living in a country with a looser definition of this thing called "jaywalking."



1.  The proper place to cross the street is wherever there is a large enough gap between cars.  I believe the technical rule is at the corner, but sometimes...

I mean, if there is a perfectly opportune moment for me to cross the street right now, why should I go chasing all the way to the corner before crossing.  Now, what constitutes a proper-sized gap?  This is based on the speed limit, whether you are on bicycle or foot, how many/the ages of people are in your group, and how fast you are already riding your bicycle.



2.  Green man walking means cross; red man standing means cross if there are no cars nearby.  Sometimes, the light just takes too long to turn, and there's no cars closing in immediately, so why wait?  Once again, using the parameters above to determine whether or not it is safe to cross when using the second method.

3. If you do decide to wait for the light to turn green, wait for the little birdie to start chirping.  Not available at all crosswalks.  Sound of birdie chirps may vary.

4.  As a child, raise your hand over your head when you cross the street.  This helps the cars see you.  Also, this is something you totally forget in America because your parents never made you do it anyway.  However, when they are making you walk a lot in a big city, that is a perfect time to spontaneously remember and start doing it, much to your mom's embarrassment.

Thank you random person on the Internet who posted this.

5.  When crossing a street with cars coming, cross quickly at first, slowly later.  You will absolutely in no way bother my dad by doing this.  Nor will you hold up traffic.  After all, they have nowhere to go anyway.  And I most definitely do not catch myself doing this nowadays. *shifty eyes



6.  Tired of crossing the street?  Simply walk in the middle.  With the small yard sizes in Japan, you probably spent some time playing in the streets as a child anyway.  So now as an adult, you find it acceptable to walk right down the middle of the road.  Or bicycle.  Or walk while pushing your bicycle.  Do not evacuate the road until you realize a car is driving slowly behind you.  Then step off to the side.  Preferably look dazed like, "Whoa, there are vehicles in the street."



So, there you go:  six simple steps to crossing the street.  Please, by all means, ignore them if you are in America.  Unless you are walking with me.  No, wait, then still follow American rules and save me from potentially doing something terrible one day.

Do Not Pity

I just wrote this poem expressing the way MKs are sometimes made to feel, especially over the holiday season.

Do Not Pity

by Katrina P. Zemke

Do not pity me

And moan over how far away I am.

I already know.

I’m already aware.

And your sympathy sounds like nothing

But words.

Do not claim to understand

That you know what I’m going through

Because you left your child

At a camp five hundred miles away

For a whole summer.

Do not tell me how you cried

The day you left your child

At college in another state.

My parents left me

And flew away

A thousand

Five thousand

Ten thousand

Miles.

I thank you for your prayers.

I thank you for your concern.

But understand:

You cannot know;

You do not know;

Until you have truly lived

This life.

I don’t cry tears.

I don’t mourn all day.

I came to terms

With the reality of my life

Many years ago;

And I am not heartless

Because of that.

Don’t ask me when I will see

My parents again.

If I asked you that question,

Would you really be able to answer?

Maybe I can answer,

But even if I can’t,

Do not respond,

“Oh, that must be so hard.”

This is my life.

This is all I know.

So next time you see me

And ask about my family:

Do not think I am heartless.

Do not claim to understand.

Do not pity.

The MK's Struggle for Contentment

"[. . . ] for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content." (Philippians 4:11b)

I start out with this verse because if I don't, I will have it quoted at me multiple times in comments and PMs following the publication of this post.

Anyway, in this Scripture, for full context, the apostle Paul, greatest missionary in the history of ever that every missionary since must emulate, talks about how he's known having a ton and having a little, but we always quote this half a verse to ourselves whenever we're upset about something not being exactly what we want, or we quote it to others when they're venting to us.

I mean, it's not a bad verse, and I've had to remind myself of it.  A lot.  Because sometimes contentment as an MK can be hard.

When I'm in America, I want Japanese stuff.

When I'm in Japan, I want American stuff.

Basically, I want a magical place where I can combine both of my worlds into one ginormous happy place full of Dr. Pepper and yakisoba and all my favorite types of Pizza Hut and McDonald's that has all my friends speaking a blend of English and Japanese.  It would be lovely.

I call it Jamerica.

My journey of MK discontentment began very early at age six.  People believe that at that young of an age, you bounce right into your new life and forget about everything American and start fresh anew with no worries.

However, this "Hakuna Matata" philosophy did not work with me, and within months, I was longing for my American friends.  As I have stated before, my class at my school in America and I were so close, we kept in contact at least once almost every year of my schooling, and so I never fully left them behind.  In addition this, I had occasional cravings for Olive Garden.

As I grew older, my desire to be in America grew ever greater, especially each time I was in America for furlough.  I had already decided that Japan was not the place for me after I was grown up.  My future rested in America.

Except for one problem:  America is not the promised land of everything.

Oh, things have gotten better over time.  Pocky and soy sauce are much easier to get my hands on nowadays.  However, Pizza Hut will never make me a good old-fashioned Japanese seafood pizza, and McDonald's over here can't make teriyaki burgers or shrimp burgers.  Rice doesn't stick together over here (unless you raid the specialty store), and yakisoba and ramen are out of the question if you want something besides the rehydrated goods.  Furthermore, people look at you as if you were crazy each time you lapse into Japanese.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to be an American, and I don't hate living here, but I have no one place where I can have everything I want all at once, and I cannot be the only MK who struggles with this.

MKs are a subgroup of third-culture kids (TCKs).  TCKs belong to no one particular culture, a subject which I discussed in my previous post.  This lack of a single culture brings a potential side effect of discontentment.  Sometimes this discontentment can't be solved.  Other times, the MK is able to substitute in order to stave off the cravings (For example, if I crack a raw egg into my instant ramen, I can survive just that much longer without real Asahikawa ramen).  Hey, sometimes, patience is rewarded and a product becomes available, and the MK nearly dances in the aisle of Walmart, hugging the treasured item like a dear friend (Note:  This did not actually happen, but it's what I felt like doing when I found Pocky there.).  Of course, this is the adult MK's solution.

The child MK is faced with a greater challenge, often having to wait for a package or furlough to satisfy what he wants from America.  An MK who tells you they want Fruit Roll Ups and a Milky Way for Christmas is not lying.  Hey, at age seventeen, I, the girl who spent barely any money, once bought a Snickers at the mall after supper one Tuesday fellowship night and then hid in a bathroom stall so my brothers wouldn't know I'd bought one.  If they saw me, then they might decide to buy one too, and then it wouldn't be as special anymore!  Candy bars can become worth their weight in gold and are a precious commodity among MKs.  Telling someone you had a Butterfinger when you know they haven't had one in a while can be a form of mild torture.  Then there's the splurge vs. save dichotomy:  Do I eat it all right now because I'm excited, or do I save it and make it last as long as possible?

And we will either be terrible or wonderful about sharing our booty.

So, I guess I'll conclude this with ways you can help MKs in their struggle for contentment:

1.  Send MKs still in the field the candy bars and other goodies they ask for.  Yes, maybe that Almond Joy will melt a bit in the mail, but once it gets there...NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM!  Happiest kid in the world.

Yes, I just compared myself to a tiny gerbil.  Clearly you haven't seen me with a bag of M&M's.

2.  Fakey "ethnic" restaurants don't often make good substitutes for when the MK is away from the country they are "from."  Actually, I think that TV dinner I had a couple weeks ago was possibly closer to being the "mushburgers" (family term) I grew up eating at restaurants in Japan than some "Japanese" meals I've eaten.

There is seriously little difference between this meal at Bikkuri Donkey in Japan...

...and this Banquet TV Dinner from Walmart in America.

3.  Next time I start whining, distract me.  Like, seriously, change the topic, because the more I talk, the stronger the cravings get.  As much as you want to hear about Japanese culture, if I'm talking about food, it's best to change the subject.

Or just make me some green tea.  Hot, no sugar, no milk--just the tea.

4.  Understand that I am caught between two cultures and that I appreciate both America and Japan.  Don't think I'm McWhinyPants.  I'm just experiencing homesickness, and homesickness does pass in time.  We never fully leave behind where we've been, and until we absolutely adjust to our new world, support us and love us just the crazy-messed up way we are. :)

Where Are You From?

So, you're at college for the first time, just chilling on campus, getting to know people when someone asks THE QUESTION.  THE DREADED QUESTION.  The question that you can't thoroughly answer in the same two or three words everyone else in hearing distance can.  You want to change the subject, but you have a feeling that won't fly.  Oh, why did they have to ask it?

"Where are you from?"

"Where am I from"

Oh, four simple words that any normal American can answer succinctly.   Oh, maybe they'll have to take a few extra sentences to explain where it is in relation to other major cities, but you...there is no escape.  There is no good way to answer this one in short form.  To answer in short form is to tell a partial truth, so you make your decision.

"Union Grove, Wisconsin."

Your mouth for some reason gives this person the half-truth.  Yet it is completely true.  You are from Union Grove, Wisconsin, and right now, you don't have time to explain all about Japan.  You're not in the mood, so you just claim to be from America and explain you live about an hour from Milwaukee.  Case closed.

A few hours later, you're hanging out with other people, just getting to know them, when someone else turns to you.

"Where are you from?"

This time, though, you feel a bit more relaxed.  Maybe you don't care about this person oodling over you in awe as they discover the full truth.

"Japan."

It's still not the full truth, though, you think as you start answering the inevitable questions (including possibly the one about if you speak Chinese).  You are a proud Wisconsinite, supporter of the Green Bay Packers and the Milwaukee Brewers.  You don't mind being called a Cheesehead and believe dairy farms are normal, everyday sights.  You hate the Illinois and Minnesota teams with an instinctive passion, and Michigan stinks pretty bad too.

Finally, the whole story spills out.  "Well, really in America, I'm from Union Grove, Wisconsin.  It's about an hour away from Milwaukee...No, I live about six hundred miles north of Tokyo...Okinawa is not really Japan...Okay, cool, your uncle was in the navy...Well, actually I was born in Iron Mountain, Michigan.  Hey, who wants to play Foosball?"

Ugh...THE EXPLANATION.  I haven't met a single missionary kid who likes giving THE EXPLANATION over and over.  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a missionary kid meeting someone must be in want of a place to call "home."

"Home" is such a strange term.  The country our parents hail from is deemed our "home country," even if we have spent less than half our childhoods there.  We talk about "going home" for furlough, but when the time is over and we head back to the passport country, we also call this "going home."  Do not be surprised to hear an MK call a hotel room or the house where he is spending the night "home."  We are a group who has lost what that term means, other than a place we spend the night not strapped in by seat belts.  In short, everything but planes, cars, boats, buses, and trains is "home."

Examples of "not home"

A missionary kid is someone destined to feel like a foreigner no matter which country he is in.  Even if he lives in another English speaking country (the United Kingdom, for example), his family constantly speaks of family back in America.  Even if he exterminates all traces of his American accent and assimilates to the British culture, he will still find himself with some obligations to America.

WE ARE SORRY WE MADE THAT DOCTOR WHO REFERENCE!

American relatives will question why he has that accent, and if he can just turn it off while he's in America.  Would you ask your cousin from Texas to lose the accent while visiting you in Minnesota?  The MK will be told he is a 'MERICAN!  Yet he feels British, but because of American relatives, he can never fully be one.

MKs in countries where their native languages and/or skin colors don't match face even greater difficulties.  It is more than adapting an accent.  An MK in Germany will go to public school and speak German all day, but at home that night, she must lay aside her German language to speak English among her family.  She may look perfectly German on the outside, allowing her to physically blend in, but culturally she does not fit in here.  After returning to America for college, she discovers that this "homeland" is foreign to her.  She marries a missionary guy and they go and serve in Germany together, but they are still Americans, speaking English at home to their children.
Or perhaps, jump over to Peru, where an MK of Hispanic descent is home schooled and, for whatever reason speaks little Spanish (Okay, highly unlikely situation, but I'm trying to cover a lot of geographical regions here.).  Perhaps she can once again blend in physically, but as soon as she struggles to communicate, she is discovered to be an American.  Yet returning to America, she sometimes finds little in common with her "countrymen" and doesn't know where to go.  Yet she remains in America after graduation because this place just seems more "home" than Peru ever did, even though neither is ideal.

Now, let's take it to the Philippines.  Yes, let's do this about a red haired, green eyed MK in the Philippines.  He will never look like them, no matter how perfect his accent is, no matter how Filipino he acts--he will always stick out like a sore thumb.  Whether he chooses to settle in America or the Philippines or even a third country as an adult, he will always be a foreigner.

My passport says I am an American, and I am glad to be one.  But I am not an American.  But neither am I Japanese.  Where am I from?  What is the right answer?  Why can't this be simple?  I just want to say where I'm from without feeling like I'm lying or giving the longest answer in the history of mankind.

Perhaps this is the reason why the book "You Know You're an MK When..." starts out with, "You can't answer the question, 'Where are you from?'" and ends at number five hundred with, "Heaven is the only place you can call home."

MKs are a homeless, but not house-less, lot.  And maybe, just maybe, that's why we deem every place and no place as "home."

Six Things I Do Not Understand About Americans

I am finally moved into my new house in Indiana now and should be getting my classroom ready for school starting next week, blah, blah, blah; but I am blogging instead about something completely unrelated to that.  In short, the time has come to discuss the things I will never understand about Americans (speaking generally here).

1.  The need to be #1 at EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD!!!!!!  No, seriously, go pick up any magazine or newspaper, and sooner or later, you'll find something claiming that because America isn't #1 at something, we are failing ourselves and all future generations.  Really, so no other country is ever allowed to have a shining moment?  America must be the leader in education, GDP, conservation, science, safety, industry, etc.?  And the worst part is that despite all these articles, we never seem to start doing whatever the #1 country is doing to make it work.

2.  They have every resource in the world to learn about everything but don't.  Seriously, you don't know where Iraq is on a map?  America has been fighting Iraq for, like, over ten years, right?  You have Google, portal to the entire Internet.  What is your excuse?  I don't blame you for not knowing where specific towns within the country are, but with all your resources, can't you just, maybe...look at a map?  Learning something won't kill you.  The primary reason America isn't #1 at everything isn't the government's fault.  It's the average American's for refusing to learn anything beyond what the Kardashians are doing next.

 

3.  The dichotomy of "You don't know that?" vs. "But you're a missionary kid!"  This one is very MK specific.  If I don't know some aspect of pop culture, I'm criticized for being ignorant.  If I do know some aspect of pop culture, I'm greeted by the shock and horror of, "But you're a missionary kid!"  I've gotten, "You don't know that?" over The Matrix trilogy, yet "But you're a missionary kid!" over Madagascar.  Please, people, some consistency would be very nice. 

Apparently, a true missionary kid would not know the words to, "I like to move it, move it!"

 

4.  Slaughtering pronunciations of borrowed foreign words.  Now, as a kid, you learn to read and you pronounce words wrong, but get corrected by an adult who informs you "It is pronounce e-GREE-jous," and you learn to pronounce it correctly because that's the right thing to do.  But Uncle Sam forbid that we learn to pronounce karate, futon, or kamikaze properly.  Nope, sorry, someone important slaughtered the word, and we just claim we have Americanized the word and plunge on, refusing to fix it when someone who actually speaks the language corrects us.  (Reassurance:  No one complained when I stopped pronouncing emu e-moo and started saying e-myoo.).  Are there multiple pronunciations to some words?  Yes; toe-may-toe vs. toe-mah-toe, zee-bra vs. zeh-bra.  But when you start borrowing the word, could you at least send over businessmen who actually bother trying to pronounce words properly? 

This emu is shocked at American pronunciation.

5.  The English system (pounds, inches, etc.) and soccer.  Just switch, please.  Okay, I know there's the matter of American football (Three days until the Packer preseason game!), so I guess I'll allow soccer to slide.  But, really, while the rest of the world uses grams and meters, why are you still literally stuck in the Dark Ages using measurements based upon the distance between the king's nose and wrist?

6.  Why, when traveling internationally, you apparently believe speaking louder and slower helps.  If the person doesn't speak English, no matter how loudly or slowly you say, "I.  WANT.  TO.  CHANGE.  MY.  FLIGHT," they still won't understand you.  Imagine if a Chinese person started speaking to you, and no matter how many times you said, "I don't speak Chinese," they kept repeating themselves louder and slower.  Would you understand them any better?  You would not.  Although a lot of people do understand English, when you find one who doesn't, maybe try someone else if at all possible.

Another hint:  Next time, try pointing at the items you want if you can.  It helps a lot.

So, there is my little rant of the day before I spend the rest of my evening "watching" Fantasia while cutting out letters for my bulletin board on Early American Explorers.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not upset about being American or living in America.  Y'all are just a bunch of weirdos sometimes.  I could also come up with more, but I won't because I'll probably offend you, and then I'll get sued.

'MERICA!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh No, I'm Having Missionary Kids Over!

Yeah, sorry this continuation took me a bit to get to.  I just really, really wanted to blog about Oreos.  Anyway, we can now move on to the promised post on what to do when you have missionary kids visit your house.  I kind of have a bit of experience in this one too.  I've been the missionary kid, and we've had missionary kids over.  Obviously, having missionary kids over is a bit different from just having the adults.  You'd think this would be obvious, but to some people, it really isn't.  Call it inexperience or ignorance, but we're not just living dolls who can sit for three hours while the adults gab on and on.  So, if you want to be "cool" in the eyes of the missionary kid, read this blog.

Before the Missionaries Come
1.  Consider whether having missionary kids in your home is a good idea.  My mom tells a story of when I was just learning to walk, we were put up with a lady who had all sorts of breakable stuff around the house.  She was very proud of her collection, but Mom was scared.  You see, I'm one of those kids who kind of skipped the crawling thing, which scientifically means you will spend the rest of your life clumsy and tripping over stuff.  Plus, there's the fact that little kids just run all around and bump into stuff and reach for stuff anyway, even if they've not been cursed with clumsiness.  So, if you have an awesome china collection, having small missionary kids in your house might not be a good idea.  I'd
say house missionary parents with the smallest of babies or missionary parents with teenagers who probably do not have bouncy balls as the toy they bring with them/win in Sunday school for being a visitor.
2.   Check the ages of the missionary kids.  I covered how to do this in a previous blog post, but let me review.  Check the prayer card and re-age kids based on either a) information found the prayer letter or b) the last time they were in the States.  Doing this is very important.  The average preteen/teenage missionary kid does not want to play with your three-year-old grandson's stuffed animals and toy train set.  Also, see if your kids or grandkids are around their age.  Invite the grandkids over for the evening/afternoon.  I may be shy, but I want friends--even one-day friends.  And, please, let me sleep in your daughter's room if she's within a year or two of my age.  I have to spend all my hotel weekends in the same room as my brothers and parents.  I have to live with them.  I know it's just sleeping, but talking goes on before the sleeping, so have your kids with a similar age/gender to the missionary kid clear a spot on the floor to sleep.  I don't mind the sleeping bag as long as I get to be with someone my age.
3.  Have age-appropriate "stuff" ready for the missionary kids.  You don't know what they like, that's true.  However, here's a brief list to give you an idea of what to have available:  a variety of board games (check to make sure there aren't any missing pieces), books, toys (up until about age 10 or 11), "art" supplies (even if it's just handing them crayons/a pen/a pencil/colored pencils/markers and paper), and DVDs/videos.  This way, the kids can keep themselves entertained while the grownups chat.  Maybe they did bring their own toys, but if you're just having the MKs for the afternoon, their toys might have been left at the hotel/house, or if you are having them overnight, kids just love to play with toys that aren't theirs.  I speak from experience.

When the Missionaries Arrive
No matter if you have kids or not:
1.  Ask about bedtime/nap time.  You don't want cranky missionary kids in tomorrow's/tonight's service.  You know how you don't want the missionary to go fifteen minutes over when he preaches tomorrow?  The missionaries don't want their kids to go to bed an hour later simply because you were chatting and didn't give them a chance to put little Sarah and Caleb down on time.
2.  Let the missionary parents be the kids of the parents.  If the parents say no, don't you go trying to override it, no matter how much your child is questioning the missionaries' decision.  And if the MK needs to go be punished, let the parents punish the child in whatever way they see fit.  It is their child; let them raise it, even if you don't agree.
3.  Notice the MK!  We're people too!  Maybe I'm not an adult with all the answers and stuff, but you can talk to me.  And when I answer question about what I like to do, don't just shrug it off and leave it at that.  Ask me more about it.  People love to talk about themselves, and MKs are no different.  If you treat me like I'm invisible, my brain will selectively forget you ever existed, and I will not remember you next time I come around unless something exciting starts happening.

If you have kids (especially those around the age of one or more of the MKs):
1.  Introduce your kids to the missionary kids as soon as possible, and let things take their course.  Don't force a friendship!  I cannot emphasize this enough.  Sometimes, certain people just aren't cut out to be best friends right away.  If I don't "take" to your kids, just remember that not everyone is friends with everyone.  It may take a while to find some common ground, and if you've told your kids they can't mention any movies/books/bands/video games around me because I'm the missionary kid (with sparkles and emphasis abounding), we're going to take a while to find some common ground.  Hey, maybe we'll hit it off in thirty seconds--awesome!  But then there's the times where we finally hit it off an hour before leaving for church the next morning.  Our parents are trying to get us into ties and dresses and church shoes, and we've finally found a friend, and all we want to do is run around playing Hide and Seek.  Oh, you're going to be wondering, "Why this is happening; why couldn't they be getting on like this on Saturday at two o'clock?"  Well, ma'am, we were still trying to figure each other out on Saturday at two o'clock.

2.  Let the kids go off on their own and do their thing together.  If you need me,  I'll be out in the woods in a tree house with Nate or upstairs playing kitchen with Lily or in the basement playing video games with Trevor or getting my hair done in the Emma's bedroom.  Don't keep the MKs captive in the living room simply because they're "important guests."  They are still kids/teenagers, and they want to go do stuff.  So, just like when your kids have their friends over, go let them do stuff with your kids.  Entering your child's bedroom often gives me enough information to form a friendship.  American Girl doll?  Oh yeah, we are now officially friends for life even if I never see you again.  Hot Wheels and a track?  Oh, you have just probably engaged some MK boys and your son for a long time.  You said you had a tree house?  Well, blast this stupid skirt I have to wear to not "offend" anyone, I'm climbing in it.
3.  If your child seems to be getting along particularly well with a certain MK, sit them together at meals/room them together (if same gender), etc.  Encourage your kids to spend time with the MKs.  They are having their world opened.  Even if I don't say a word about Japan, your son or daughter is learning that MKs are more than distant holy people who've lived in another country (Oh, I should just make a whole post about MK/missionary stereotypes!).  Don't make your kid go do a chore and leave the MK just sitting.  I mean, obviously if the trash needs to be taken out, that's a two minute task, I can wait.  But, if they've got to go do the dishes, in the words of Pavel Chekov, "I can do zat!"  I would rather do dishes than sit around in the living room because I'm a special guest.

4.  If the MK never ends up clicking with your kids, don't feel like you were the worst host ever.  I say this because I can be very antisocial at times.  Maybe I'm not feeling well.  Maybe I just want to read and not talk to people.  Maybe your kid (and you're going to hate hearing this) is boring.  All they talk about is piano lessons and home school and their talents.  Or all they want to do is for me to talk about Japan.  I don't always feel like talking about Japan.  Here, let me broaden your world by talking about Baby-Sitters Club instead.  I'm sorry your child and I were incompatible in the twenty-four hours we knew each other.  It just doesn't work with everyone.

If you don't have kids at home (or your kids aren't close in age to the MKs):
1.  Leave us to our own devices.  I will sit and "fellowship" for a while, but I can only do this for so long.  So, if you see the MK over in a corner reading a book or playing on their handheld gaming device or texting, just let it go.  You're not their parent, and you're having an adult conversation, and the MK just wants to go and be a teen/kid for a while.  If you offer me an activity and I decline, just roll with it.  Believe it or not, the reason I'm reading my book here is because I read all five of your three-year-old grandson's books last night while I was staying in "his room."  Yep, even that one with the one word on each page with a picture.  Yeah, so thanks for that.  I'm just going to go read now.  Or play games.  If you say anything interesting, I'll start socializing again.

2.  Offer us actual fun stuff to do.  Old people with no kids left at home and young couples with infants/toddlers are possibly the worst offenders.  Old people like to give MKs games with missing pieces to play and offer MKs toys that they're way too old for.  Yes, it's the thought that counts, but try playing Battleship with the Destroyer missing, and get back to me on that cliche.  Young couples expect preteen and teenage missionary kids to spend time with their toddler/infant playing little kid stuff like they're still that age.  I mean, yes, I love little kids (Elementary Education major), but the fact you seem to assume that a ten-year-old likes playing the same toys as a two-year-old and on the same level, is kind of a wrong assumption.
3.  Old couples,  kids nowadays aren't like kids yesterday.  Please get used to it.  I mean, yes, at the core things are still the same, but I can indeed still listen to your conversation while occasionally shooting off a text to someone not there.  The world is changing.  Please don't think I'm being terribly rude or anything.  The laws of social interaction are changing.  Believe it or not, that text could be flying to Europe.  Yeah, you're shocked, I know.  But please stop saying it every twenty minutes how amazed you are that I just texted someone in another country!  We all know your minds are blown.  You don't need to remind us.

So there you have it, a good idea of what you should need to know before ever letting missionary kids in your house.  I can't promise everything will be sunshine and roses from here on out whenever they come over (It won't be.), but maybe you can rest assured that you have done everything you can do to make sure you are awesome, cool, and remembered.  Because few things are more awkward for the both of us than when you come to me in four years and say, "Hey, remember when you came to my house, and you were this high, and you slept in my grandson's bedroom?" and I don't remember.  (Also, can you start saying "this tall," instead of "this high"?  "This high" kind of could be taken two ways.)


FINAL BONUS THAT APPLIES TO ALL VISITING MISSIONARIES WHETHER THEY HAVE KIDS OR NOT!

Offer us your WiFi if you have it.  Or let us borrow your computer.  We have emails to send and receive; foreign news to catch up on; Facebook to check!  We want to stay in touch with the world, and your house is a far more convenient place to do it than in the parking lot of Starbucks.

Oh No, I'm Having a Missionary Over!

What am I going to do?!?!?!?!  I'll make the house absolutely perfect!  Yes, that's it.  Honey, hide the Disney DVDs.  We don't want to offend anybody.  Kids, put all the toys on the shelves in neat little rows.  We're having SPECIAL GUESTS!  Let's see, dinner.  Pot roast!  Yes, pot roast!  Everyone loves pot roast!

If this was ever you before I visited your house, I'm not going to say I hate you, because that would be wrong, but...honestly, when I go to someone's home, I just want to feel comfortable, not like I'm some special person who's on some pedestal above every other Christian on this planet.

Oh, great missionary, who hast graced us with thy presence, allow me to exalt you above all others in the church simply because God has chosen you to work in a foreign country, which certainly must mean you are better and more worthy than poor lowly me who is only a layman who works in AWANA on Wednesday nights.

(Yes, that caption is sarcastic!)

What I am about to present here are my personal feelings about the whole "Having Missionaries Over" deal, and it's from the MK perspective.  Having both stayed in people's houses as the missionary and having had missionaries stay at my house, I've seen both sides of the picture here.  And, I mean, yes, on the having-them-over end, things did get stressful at times, especially last minute, but even at the end of that, our house wasn't a museum of perfection.  And, honestly, you want the missionaries to enjoy themselves.  So, just sit back, relax, pour yourself a cuppa, and read Katrina's Tips On Having Missionaries Over.

Before They Come
1.  Don't stress it.  Believe it or not, missionaries are regular people.  We are not the Queen of England, President of the United States, Emperor of Japan, or anything like that.  Imagine you're just having a friend over for the afternoon or the night.  Not necessarily one of those good friends who can just come over when the kids are chasing each other with lightsabers and the house looks like a Lego store exploded, but, you know--like say it's the parents of one of the kids in your son's or daughter's class.  Make sure the house is nice enough to make a good first impression, that there's not piles of dust/cobwebs, and that the bathroom(s) is/are clean.
2.  Thoroughly read the allergens and food preferences list.  My mom is allergic to furry/feathered animals, peas, and egg whites.  HOWEVER, the egg whites allergy doesn't apply when the eggs have been cooked into another dish such as cake or cookies.  My parents always specify these things.  When you have an animal allergy, pastors are normally pretty good about putting you with someone without a pet.  However, it was amazing how sometimes, despite the egg white disclaimer, a host would proudly proclaim, "I made this cake without eggs just for you!"  Uh...thanks, but Mom can eat cake with eggs in it.  We said that.
3.  Don't worry about hiding your DVDs, CDs, and books.  Okay, yes, some missionaries are uber-conservative and hyper-scared about everything.  I know this type  (I know every type.).  You know what my family does when they come over?  We simply put on our skirts and live with it.  Seriously, we don't turn our movie and CD collections backwards or go hide it all the attic because someone might get "offended."  Seriously, if just looking at the name of a PG-13 film causes them to judge you and get so offended they can't stay in your house...yeah, I'll just stop right there in case one of "those people" is reading this.
4.  Know the approximate ages of the missionaries kids (if they have any with them).  Okay, yes, I acknowledge the fact that I'm always going to be "THIS HIGH LAST TIME I SAW YOU!" even if the last time someone saw me was when I was fifteen (I've only grown an inch since then, not a foot, thank you.).  However, if you haven't seen this missionary in...five years...age the picture on the prayer card by about five years or quickly read the prayer letter and see if it gives any clues as to how old the kids might be.  Maybe they mention, "Rachel graduated from junior high this month," or "We are so blessed by the arrival of our son, Nathan Edward."  Not every prayer letter mentions the kids, but if it does even mention one detail about one kid, you can then look at how old they are in the prayer card and age the other kids based on that.  When you know this, you can have age appropriate stuff for the missionary kids to do when they get to your house.  No, the kids aren't the center of the world, but bored kids are not something you really want to have around.
5.  Keep the meals simple.  Want to know something?  You might feed me the same meal I had last week and the week before that.  Especially if you're giving me pot roast.  Want to save yourself a bit of pressure?  Cook up a simple meal that you like that fits the missionaries' dietary requirements.  Throw something in the Crock Pot.  Cook out.  Make spaghetti!  Or tacos!  Or have everyone make their own sandwiches.  You don't need to put hours of work into the food.  For crying out loud, probably half of all missionaries eat rice on a regular basis.  But, really, don't just make us rice, because Americans have a way of ruining rice.

Half the world lives off this stuff, and all you think of it as is some One Minute deal-i-o side dish.

When They Arrive
1.  Ding-Dong!  Oh no, the missionaries are here!  Okay, simply let us in, and let us put our stuff in our room(s) right away and show us the bathroom.  (Psst...I'd rather stay in your daughter's room if she's close to my age than in a room with my parents.)  Oh by the way, chances are, some of us need the bathroom.  Like, now.  More than likely this is also when you will give the Grand House Tour.  I actually love these tours because I'm fascinated by houses.  Maybe not everyone likes it, but I do.  So, take that little bit for what it's worth.
2.  If there are kids, give them something to do right away.  I could do a whole blog post specifically on what to do with missionary kids.  In fact, I will sometime.  However, in case you never read that post, I'll give a brief summary here.  The houses where things ran the most smoothly for us kids were ones where we were immediately, or nearly immediately, engaged in some sort of activity/conversation with the hosts' children/grandchildren.  Obviously, though, not everyone has kids or can invite over their grandkids.  That's fine; I get it.  But, still, I'd rather be given a book to read or a game to play with my brothers over sitting on couches and listening to the grownups talk.  Also, maybe you'll be eating a meal first but please don't leave the kids sitting around forever doing nothing.  I hate feeling invisible, and the longer we sit the more invisible I feel.  Let me go.  If you have kids, even though I'm shy, I'm actually dying to get to know your kids, and I personally bond easier with kids without my parents around listening to everything I'm saying.
3.  Talk about something besides "the other country."  Believe me, I love it when the conversation is not just focused on Japan, Japan, JAPAN!  Maybe my parents would disagree with me on this point, but I like it when we're at someone's house/at a restaurant, and we get to talk about other things than Japan.  I don't always feel like talking about Japan.  Imagine if all someone wanted to talk to you about was your parents' job.  I'm my own person.  And when you do turn to me and ask me, "What do you like to do?" and I answer, "Read," please don't just leave it at that.  Ask me what I like to read.  This applies to anything a missionary kid might answer with.  Even if you know nothing about soccer, ask the kid if he plays on a team or who his favorite team is.  If a girl says she likes to play piano, and you have a piano in your house, offer her a chance to play.
4.  We don't mind helping out a bit.  I dislike doing dishes, but I would rather be doing dishes with your daughters than sitting around listening to the adults talk for an extra hour as the food gradually gets more and more caked onto the plates.  It gives me a chance to get to know your kids.  Maybe I don't know where everything in your kitchen is, but I won't mind helping you set the table either.  It can get awkward for me to just stand there while everyone else is standing around working.  This is something that I ended up developing more in college, but if in high school, the host's wife had set a stack of twelve cups down in front of me and asked, "Could you please put one of these at each place?" I would have done it and not felt like they'd stopped treating me like a guest.
5.  If something goes awry, don't sweat.  If you take life in stride with a good sense of humor, you will laugh about this the next time the missionary comes around.  Furthermore, you might have made yourself memorable, which is significant.  My family is supported by approximately forty churches, and we can't remember every person we've met or every house we've stayed at.  BUT, if something does go crazy while we're at your house, you'll be remembered.
6.  Be yourself.  It's cliche but so true.  Stop putting on the "the missionaries are here" face.  Relax, laugh a bit, tell a few embarrassing stories about your kids.  If you say something that you think might have offended them or been taken the wrong way, apologize and change the subject.  It's all part of getting to know someone.  Believe it or not, sometimes I've stayed at houses where absolutely nothing unusual or weird happened, but I remember those places because the people were just "normal," real people who didn't bother with putting on a front because of their perceptions and stereotypes of missionaries.  I, sadly, got very good at putting on a "furlough face," a mask that I had to wear that presented everything in my life as just fine and that made it seem like I knew nothing about pop culture.  The families that allowed me to tear aside that mask and just be who I am are precious jewels in my life.  I hate that mask, and I wish every single "furlough face" could be burnt, because it does nothing more than enforce a stereotype.  If you treat someone like the stereotype you believe they are, that is all you will ever see of them.  So don't do it.  Put aside your own mask, so I can set down mine, and by being who we really are, you can make yourself so incredibly memorable, and I will forever think of you as one of my friends, even if I only had you for less than twenty-four hours.

The Avengers-MKs Analogy

Do you really want to know what it's like for MKs when we haven't been in the States for a long time and then come back?

It's like, okay, we feel like we haven't changed, and we get off that plane, and--BOOM!--America hits us faster than Buster hitting the pavement as Adam and Jamie once again to prove to us that you can't believe everything you were told as a kid.

Mythbusters:  Making science cool via gigantic explosions since 2003

I mean, yeah, there's the initial fact that America has just gotten stranger over the last few years or so.  I mean, could they get any stranger than they were last time?

Then comes the first day you have to interact with other Americans.  Yes!  People who speak English!  Except for the fact that everything they talk about means absolutely nothing to you.  Michael Buble?  The Walking Dead?  Twilight?  And everyone's like, "Have you been living under a rock?"

And you're like, "No.  So...how about the nuclear crisis in North Korea?"  And everyone's like, "Who cares?"  And all you can think is how nuclear missiles in North Korea are a dozen times more important than the latest thing that came out of Jennifer Lawrence's mouth (Although, honestly, of all the things I've seen about celebrities on the Internet, that woman is the one who probably acts the most like me.)

Ah, the "I'm a five-year-old adult moment."  Classic.

Anyway, after a few months of furlough though, you begin to catch on to this whole America thing.  Maybe you still haven't seen a single episode of Grey's Anatomy, but you know when people are talking about it.  You can't participate, but at least you're not completely lost.

Then comes the day when you finally feel like you've completely got all of America figured out!  This, my friends, is where the Avengers analogy comes in.  Anyone who's seen the movie remember this scene?

Okay, so imagine it's a missions conference.  Your parents have released you to go sit at the teen table away from all the old people and pastors who love to flock to missionaries.  You're greatly relieved.  Or, you know, maybe you're at college for the first time.  There's a few other missionary kids there, and you're mostly talking with them because, let's face it, Americans are just so weird.  However, eventually, an American engages you in conversation.  You start to chat, and all of a sudden, they make a pop culture reference.
The MK you were talking with goes, "Huh?"
And you proclaim, "I got it!  I knew what they were talking about!"
And every American in hearing distance looks at you again with that, "Yes...everyone understood that reference" look.  And you are the one who gets to explain to the other MK exactly what the person fully meant when he said, "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya.  Prepare to die!"  Because your moment of triumph only made you look like a dork.

And then, inevitably, three days later, you once again find yourself completely lost in a conversation because you have seriously never, ever, ever watched Indiana Jones before.

And all the Americans are looking at you like:

Which, I hadn't, until I was a freshman in college

"Normal People"

Let's face it.  When you're a missionary kid, you have no chance of being normal.  Most people treat you as part of the display table--a human country-specific Google.  "What's the population of Japan?"  "Oh, that's a lot of snow you get there, eh?"  "What's it like in Japan?"  "Where do you live?"  (Even worse, most of these questions were answered in the presentation.)  However, there are a few people--a wonderful few--who go the extra mile.  During our second furlough, we kids dubbed them "normal people."  The thing is, they weren't normal.  They were different.  What made them special, though, was the fact that they treated us like normal people.

See, here's the problem.  I'm going to post this right here:  I hate wearing skirts outside of a church/work environment and pretending I don't know a thing about American pop culture.  Granted, I knew precious little growing up, but some people hate Disney.

The most magical place on earth...or the most evil?  You decide.

In other words, I grew up every furlough, pretending I didn't know anything.  Movies and music, of any sort, aside from maybe anything from Majesty Music, were off the table until we were sure.

I think the term "normal" was to distinguish from the term "boring."  Boring people seemed to forget you existed until you did one of the Three Taboos:  Sigh, Fidget, or Interrupt.  All of a sudden, the couple hosting would notice you.  "Oh, if they're bored, they can play with our grandchildren's toys!"  I loved that...when I was five or ten.  By the time I was fifteen though (actually, even when I was ten), I would've preferred if they let me read from their private library or read my own book that I'd brought (which was usually hidden in my bag so as not to offend anybody).  Eventually, we figured out that you could ask if they had any games when they offered toys, and they usually would end up having one with no essential pieces missing.

Don't get me wrong, though.  Some older people are normal.  One couple even had their  grandkids over the same evening my family arrived, and the three of us had a BLAST with the three of them.  That was also the only time I've ever played Pit.  The next time I had a chance to play, I somehow slept through it--which is odd, because it's a pretty loud game.  Honestly, though, if you're an older person who's reading my blog and you happen to have grandkids in the area, let your grandkids come play with the missionary kids!  Oh yes, once when I was ten, this resulted in us getting sick, but my youngest brother still had fun (Their  granddaughter was around his age.).

Another time I met a bunch of normal people was at our board's Missions Conference thingy-ma-jig, I don't remember what it's called.  I was fifteen, and on the second day, we missionary kids all started talking and stuff and got along awesomely.  Some of us even emailed each other for a while after that, and I think I'm still Facebook friends with nearly all the girls from that momentous occasion.

Trust me, none of these people were normal in the slightest.  That's what made them awesome.

"Of course other MKs seem normal to you.  You're an MK!"

Trust me, some MKs are VERY un-normal and boring.  Some kids who've lived their whole lives in America are too.

However, sometimes, some blessed, wonderful times, we would come across a family that made our weekend:

• The family who took us out for Chinese when I was ten, and we kids colored all over the place mats--which weren't kids placemats.
• The family with whom I spent the entire evening with their daughters, discussing "Barbie Outfits That Will Never Exist," learning about how to properly check an electric fence, jumping on the trampoline, swinging in the hammock, looking at one girl's artwork, and in general having a blast.  We had elk for Sunday dinner the next day.
• The family whose mom made the first taco salad I ever actually liked, who taught us how to play Apples to Apples, and whose home we nearly had to be dragged away from because we were staying at someone else's house, and we didn't want to leave this place! (aka, the Ensmingers)  (This was the incident that coined the term "normal.")
• The missionary family we ran into, like, three times on our 2000-2001 furlough who had three boys that we got along splendidly with.  I was sad when we no longer kept running into each other.
• The pastor's son who told hilarious jokes the entire meal
• The family whose daughter I spent the afternoon with talking Veggie Tales, American Girl, and a variety of other stuff (I was ten at the time)
• The few Sunday school classes that either didn't know I was an MK so treated me like a normal visitor or who knew but still treated me like a regular visitor (instead of letting a bunch of kids ask me questions)
• The family who had us over and fed us sandwiches for supper (such a relief sometimes!) before the boys went to the basement to play video games and we girls went down there to talk (Also the first time my Herbst appliance correcting my overbite broke)
• The one kid named Seth (none of the ones from Northland) whose house we stayed at on deputation and then we met up again with on first furlough, who was just a bunch of fun (I was sad I didn't get to meet him again on second furlough.)
• Every single person who ever let us watch their movies/recorded TV shows while the parents talked
• The teens of Community Baptist in Silver Lake who invited us to play Ping Pong because in the words of the guy who invited us, "I hate when I go to other churches and don't know anyone and no one talks to me."
• The teens of one church where one guy said, "I like how you're normal and use like and stuff."

I consider the last one to be one of the greatest compliments I ever received because I felt I had accomplished a mission:  to prove to at least one person that a missionary kid is just a regular kid who was been placed in a foreign country.  At the core, I'm no different than you.  I still long to be loved and accepted and to have friends.  If I'd had my way, I wouldn't have gone to any of these churches.  I was shy growing up.  I didn't WANT to go meet new people.  However, when someone around my age chose to reach out and be my friend for just one day, I was so happy.  They'd pull me straight from my comfort zone of not leaving the display table after services or my parents' side at houses except to use the bathroom.  They treated me like a HUMAN BEING!  Honestly, what more does a five-year-old or a ten-year-old or a fifteen-year-old want than to just be seen for what they are.  I didn't want to have to hide who I was.  I hated it.  Once I could tell you were normal, I would strip away that exterior of what a missionary kid should be like, and you were my friend for a day or two.  You went from ordinary and forgettable to extraordinary and special.