As a foreigner living in Japan, I had to learn to do many things all over again. Very basic things. Like using a toilet. Taking a bath. I’m not joking.

One challenge I faced every day may surprise you.

In Japan, I can’t read. During my years of study, I learned two phonetic alphabets and hundreds of kanji (the Chinese characters used in written Japanese), but unless I master the estimated 2,000 kanji needed for daily life (in all of their various combinations), real reading is not going to happen. It is my opinion that this aspect of learning Japanese rivals the worldwide complaints about the difficulties of English. Give me rough, cough, through, bough and dough any day!

As you might imagine, my reading problem caused a few bumps along the way. Such as the sunny, Saturday morning when I bought my 2nd grade son a jumbo-sized can of guava *BEER* at our neighborhood convenience shop. (In my defense, who knew beer could even come in fruit flavors!?)

Having lived in Hawaii for several years, my son and I were so happy to see those tall, shiny cans adorned with tropical fruit in the refrigerated case. “Look, honey!” I called, knowing it was my son’s favorite, “look what they have—guava juice!”

I bought each of us an extra large can.

What happened next was another aspect of Japanese culture I had yet to learn about. The young woman behind the counter wasn’t about to point out my error. No way. We obviously didn’t speak her language and the very idea of trying to explain that I was buying an alcoholic beverage for my seven-year-old was probably akin to ritual disembowelment. I mean, as far as she knew, mothers in America might be serving up guava beer to their children with every meal.

Her face registered the subtlest expression of surprise—which I noted but didn’t really question—until a few minutes later when I popped the top of my ice cold guava beer and took a GREAT BIG SIP. Ahhhh. It was just as awful as you might imagine. All because, yep, I can’t read.

Please closely examine the two photos below.

Say this with me:   JUICE.   NOT JUICE.  See the difference?

The second photo is an assortment of fruity alcoholic beverages. To the LITERATE consumer (or at the least, to those with a more discerning eye than mine at the time) their labels practically scream with this information:

NOT JUICE.   A-L-C-O-H-O-L.  

As in, do not give to children.

Sigh. Yes, that was a long time ago. But despite the occasional (er, frequent) opportunities I still have for embarrassing myself, I wouldn’t trade my little mishaps for the greater adventure of living in this amazing country. But the next time you’re reaching for that unfamiliar beverage at a 7-11, absently scanning through the information on the label with ease, please think of me. Smile quietly as you do, and say to yourself, “I’m not going to accidentally buy my child a can of beer today because—*wistful sigh*—I can READ.”