This actually happened to me for just one day. I was in Japan at 17 years old. I’m half Japanese on my mom’s side, but I was born and raised in the U.S. I was visiting family in Fukuoka, and one of my cousins took me to her high school. An all-girls school. It wasn’t quite like this:
But more like this:
Things were more proper back then, in the 70s. Anyway, I was a head taller than everyone else (though I wasn’t even 6′ tall) and, aside from a few teachers and administrators, I was the only guy in the whole school.
However good you think it was, it was better.
Not in a weird way, though. I was the center of attention all day, and it was the one chance I had in my life to feel like a rock star. Giggling girls practiced their cute, accented English on me, asking questions and talking through their hands as they often do. I knew how to use chopsticks, I knew some Japanese, and I could fold origami birds. Anything you could do or say that was Japanese was magical to them.
I don’t think I ever had such a fun day. I’m sure things would have settled down over time, but the distractions would make schoolwork nearly impossible, and you’d graduate high school as a fool.
But a happy fool.
