Moving abroad with kids means navigating a whole new world of parenting challenges, and one area this presents itself is at school events. Between deciphering permission slips and trying to figure out what supplies your child actually needs, there’s another hurdle that catches many expat parents off guard: showing up to school events when you can barely order coffee in the local language.
Over the years, we’ve stumbled through school events in Japan and Germany, armed with nothing but Google Translate, a handful of memorized phrases, and what I like to call “aggressive enthusiasm.” Here’s what I’ve learned about surviving (and enjoying) these experiences.
Sports Day in Japan: The art of strategic smiling
Our first real test came at our son’s sports day in Japan when he was about two years old. We were the only non-Japanese family there, surrounded by parents who seemed to know exactly when to cheer, where to sit, and what to expect from events like the parent-child three-legged race and the group dance that had all the toddlers wiggling enthusiastically out of sync.
My Japanese vocabulary at the time consisted of “arigato,” “sumimasen,” “sugoi,” and a handful of other words I could pronounce without embarrassing myself. But I quickly discovered that enthusiasm is a universal language. I smiled at every teacher, bowed at appropriate (and probably inappropriate) moments, and cheered loudly for every child, not just my own.
The teachers were incredibly patient with my butchered attempts at “ganbatte” (good luck), and other parents would nod encouragingly when I managed to string together a basic greeting. My son had no idea his parents were linguistic disasters, though. He was just thrilled we were there, cheering him on as he toddled around the field on the hot, fall day.
Laternefest: Awkwardness in multiple languages
Fast forward to Germany, where our four-year-old son was excited about Laternefest, the traditional lantern festival that happens in autumn. We attended several of these events over the years, and they were magical: dozens of families walking through the dark streets, children carrying handmade lanterns and singing traditional songs.
They were also a little anxiety-provoking for parents with limited German skills.
The post-COVID restrictions meant smaller groups and more structured activities, which somehow made the language barrier feel more pronounced. While parents chatted easily in clusters, we found ourselves gravitating toward other English speakers or standing slightly apart, offering awkward waves and “Guten Abend” greetings to teachers who probably wondered why we looked so nervous.
But watching our son march proudly with his lantern, singing German songs he’d learned at kindergarten, reminded me why we were there. These weren’t just school events, they were his memories being made, and our presence mattered more than our pronunciation.
Christmas bazaar: The great “Tüte” revelation
By the time we reached the Christmas Bazaar in 2024, my German had improved significantly. I could understand most conversations, even if responding was still a challenge. This event was different, though, because we were manning a craft stall, selling handmade items to students and parents, which forced interaction in a whole new way.
It was here that I finally learned what “Tüte” meant (bag, for anyone keeping track) when I kept asking customers if they wanted a “Beutel” or “Tasche” for their purchase, only to be met with confused looks—apparently my vocabulary hadn’t prepared me for this particular variety of bag. Small victories! I found myself actually chatting with other parents, stumbling through conversations about our kids, the weather, and our plans for the winter holidays.
The breakthrough wasn’t my improved vocabulary. It was realizing that most parents were just as focused on wrangling their kids and managing the chaos as I was. Language barriers seemed less important when you’re both trying to stop a six-year-old from eating all the cookies before paying for them.
What I’ve learned along the way
These experiences taught me more about community and connection than any language class could. Kids truly are natural ambassadors, and they don’t care if your German has the grammatical structure of a toddler’s or if you bow when you should shake hands. They just want their parents there, cheering them on.
I’ve discovered that showing up with a smile and genuine enthusiasm, even when you’re uncomfortable or nervous, opens doors that perfect pronunciation never could. People are remarkably patient when they see you’re making an effort, even if that effort involves pointing at things and speaking very slowly while making exaggerated facial expressions.
Most importantly, these events aren’t just about language. They’re about becoming part of your child’s world and, by extension, part of the community. Every awkward conversation, every mispronounced greeting, every moment of standing there smiling while having no idea what’s happening is an investment in belonging somewhere new.
Sure, it’s uncomfortable at first. But there’s something beautiful about a community that welcomes you despite the language barrier, that sees your effort to participate and meets you halfway. And honestly, some of my favorite memories from living abroad involve those moments of linguistic chaos, when laughter becomes the universal language and everyone’s just trying to figure it out together.
The next time you’re facing a school event in a language you’re still learning, remember: your presence matters more than your fluency, and every parent there has probably felt just as lost at some point. Show up, smile enthusiastically, and trust that your kids will handle the rest.
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