Session 0 Establishing a Good Character and Backstory Includes?

The dim buzz of the overhead fluorescent light was as good as a soothing lullaby compared to the professor's grating, condescending lecture. “The Hero’s Journey,” he kept repeating. “Is the fundamental story structure upon which every great legend, fable, and folklore is built. You cannot pass this class without understanding it, because without understanding the structure, you cannot understand literature…” he droned on, and on, and on.

“Suppose I should be grateful,” the boy thought, stretching his arms over his notes. “Any other voice I’d be able to fall asleep to, but he’s never quiet enough for me to get the chance.” As the professor continued rambling, the boy contemplated why this class would be required for foreign students. Could the child of an American even be called a foreigner to the U.S.? Sure, his father had taken a copy of his birth certificate to the embassy in Tokyo the day he was born, so he’d been a citizen all his life. And his father had made sure to educate him on American history just as much as his school teachers had taught him about Japanese history, so he was just as knowledgeable on both countries as any college freshman could be. He’d even visited Guam with his father a half dozen times, so he’d been to the U.S. before, but his experience in the mainland had hardly been what he’d expected. The buzzing of the professor's phone alarm roused the entire class. In an instant, the gloomy, half-asleep classroom buzzed with more energy than seen throughout the whole 90-minute lecture.

“And don’t forget to do the reading, Huckleberry Finn may have many video adaptations, but none are a substitute- '' the professor instructed the crowd of fleeing students as they flooded out the door. The boy quickly made his way to the cafeteria for dinner in a desperate attempt to beat the crowds. Striding through the skywalks, his dark brown skin made his reflection look more like a shadow against the stark white landscape, covered in an early snowstorm. Upon reaching the cafeteria, he saw the lines already beginning to form and pondered where to eat. Months earlier, he’d been paralyzed by all the exciting options. So many food stands he’d never seen, and others that served familiar dishes, but none tasted like home. He eventually gave up and just hopped in the shortest line, Joe's Burgers. As he sat down with a group of boys he often ate with, he looked down at the burger and fries. The meal had once sparked joy and excitement at the new experience, and he’d eagerly contemplated which combination of toppings to get, forming a mental ranking of which was best. Now all he could think about was the homemade bentos his mother would send him off to high school with. The boy silently sat in the middle, slowly lathering his greasy fries in ketchup till he could stomach them; listening in on his friends talking about cartoons they’d grown up watching.“Sorry, I’ve never heard of them,” he said when they asked his opinion, much to their displeasure. Each conversation he had with them only reinforced the difference in their upbringings and widened the rift between them. After eating, the boy headed to the library to do homework and study till it closed.

Entering his dorm room, he flew from the door to his bed. The old springs bouncing him like a mother soothing her baby to sleep. The immense weight of his eyelids sealed his eyes shut, and he almost immediately fell asleep. His blissful peace was rudely interrupted by his cell phone. The distinct ring let him know who was calling. He shuffled a bit to pull out his cell phone and confirmed the caller. “Dad” stared at him in bright white light as he answered the phone.

“Hello,” he answered meekly, hoping this would be over soon.

“Well, somebody sounds a little too tired for 9 A.M. on a Saturday,” the jovial voice on the other end said, half chuckling.

“Might I remind you that it’s actually 9 P.M. on a Friday here, or did you forget how time zones work?” the boy asked unenthused.

“That’s even worse,” his father said, shocked. “I mean, shouldn’t you be out partying by now? Going to the local hangout spot to link up with the boys and talk about how you don't need to engage in recreational drug use or one-night stands to have fun? Or whatever it is college freshmen do these days?”

“Dad, I have no idea what you did during your time in college, and the more I learn, the less I wanna know.”

“What, you’re gonna tell me that you don't spend your weekends engaging in underage drinking and other tomfoolery?”

“Ya know sometimes I wish I were the monster you think I am.”

“Just as long as you maintain your grades, don't get a tattoo, and avoid getting a DUI, or getting some girl pregnant, I can't complain too much. Lord knows I barely maintained that standard during my time in college.”

“Again, Dad, I don't need to know what you did.”

“Sure you don’t,” he says, pausing. “But really, you aren’t doing anything like that? I mean, school’s important, but you can’t be learning completely foreign topics in your freshman year courses. Especially that ‘America 101’ class. What a waste of time that must be for you, as if I didn’t teach you better than most Americans about our history and culture, and such.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Dad, if I weren’t there, then the professor would probably tear her hair out because I’m the only student whose English she can understand.”

“See, I knew you’d do well there,” his father said. Thus went their weekly call, completely unremarkable. Just a father checking in on his son as he studies abroad. They discussed plans for Thanksgiving, new cultural shock experiences the boy had experienced, his father told him about an old army buddy he’d caught up with at the hospital, the boy vented about the mandatory classes he had to take, and what the advantages of labeling him a foreign student were. By the time 9:30 rolled around, the pair had exhausted the well of new topics, and the conversation wound down.

“Well, I guess I’ll let ya go, son, gotta prepare for tonight's session, just remember to give me a call if anything happens, okay?”

“Yeah, Dad, I will.”

“And give your mother and sister a call, they both miss you.”

“I will,” he assured.

“Alright, son, I love you.”

“Yeah, you too, Dad,” the boy says, hanging up the phone and setting it on his nightstand, and letting out a heavy sigh. It’s only been a few months since he left, but his time at home already seems like a distant memory. “Just how much stranger can this adventure get?” he thought as he slumped away to sleep.