Children divide the world into the "familiar" and
the "different." Familiar is
right; different is wrong. Not much room for
grey. My first sleepover, in first grade, was
spent at the house of a friend who was an only
child. His house smelled wrong; it was way
too fussily clean; we ate the wrong thing for
supper and listened to the wrong radio show;
went to bed at the wrong time and got up on
the wrong side of the bed and had the wrong
thing for breakfast. My first overnight was
also my introduction to xenophobia.
Later in
life, probably in an (entirely successful)
effort to annoy my parents, I came to positively
embrace the different and strange. I am not
entirely sure how this came about, but I suspect
that it was, in part, the result of repeated
overnights at different schoolmate's
homes, and the accompanying realization that
there was more than one right way of doing
things. Different wasn't
necessarily wrong, it was just different. If
you gave it half a chance you might even come
to like poached eggs on pancakes or the Howdy
Doody Show.
The International House offers something
like a big, long sleepover at the Rest-Of-The-World's-House,
where students from cultures that actively
hate one another are provided with the opportunity
to live cheek-by-jowl with the Different, and
eat with them and talk with them and come to
the realization that different is just different,
not bad, and maybe even good.
Come on, world,
it's time to grow up.