Remembering My Childhood
My mom ran a family daycare business at our home in the suburbs, which she started 9 years before I was born. I was raised with the kids in what I would say “my cohort, who were mostly from White-American parents that worked at the university. My mom would sometimes make Indonesian meals like soto ayam and tempe as a way of introducing our culture. I still remember our times playing in the backyard sandbox, going to the farmers market, and celebrating 5th birthdays. They were all like family and most of us are still in touch today.
After daycare, I went to an elementary school called Shorewood Hills that took pride in its global diversity. A local public school sharing a district with the university housing complexes, it had a logo of a globe surrounded by children of all colors holding hands. Indeed, most students in my grade came from all over the world. It celebrated international month, where we learned about a different country. I remember my 2nd-grade class got Australia and I chose koalas for my research project. Mrs. Larsson, my teacher, invited Australian locals to share their culture. We also had the choice to perform on an international day, the main event. My entire grade was going to do a dance called Bridges, to symbolize the unity among diversity. Since I wasn’t paying to Mrs. Larsson’s announcement and just heard practice or recess, I ended up being one of the six kids that didn’t sign up. Nevertheless, I got to see my friends pull an amazing performance. Older students participated in international dances from countries like Japan and Thailand. My brother told me he performed angklung when he was my age, since there were more Indonesian students back then. The next day was the international food fair. Parents from different countries volunteered to serve their national dishes and showcase cultural handicrafts. We were given “passports” to be stamped at each stand with the word “peace” in the country’s language. It is a really beautiful idea once you think about it.
After a memorable visit to Padang, my family moved to settle in Bandung where my dad would work at the Institute of Technology. We stayed in my aunt’s second home with my cousins that just got admitted to the same institute. I went to a nearby elementary school called Ibnu Sina, which was a full day like in the US. Since I was a new kid that couldn’t speak Indonesian, it felt fun having a good excuse to goof around. I would run around class when the teacher wasn’t around, draw cartoons in my notebooks, and take two pieces of fried chicken instead of one during school lunch. I used to joke with the older kids and make them buy me es mambo (a local treat I became fond of, basically fruity syrup in a small plastic pouch). Despite the way I acted, everyone was really nice and seemed to enjoy helping me adapt to the country. The school had a really beautiful setting, it was surrounded by trees and rice paddies that we explored by foot during Physical Education class. One of my first culture shocks was when everyone kissed the teacher’s hand after school. It felt really weird since my parents never even asked me to do this. I learned that it is a cultural thing in Java and, unlike the US, a teacher is considered as your parent during school time. Although I only spent three months at that school, it was really memorable for me and most likely my schoolmates. I say this after bumping into many of them in random places years later.
Originally published at http://freddyfashridjal.blogspot.com on June 22, 2020.
