I was reflecting on my walking habits and discovered something curious – I covered a distance of over 1800 miles in the last year. That's equivalent to walking from New York City to Mexico City, from London to Moscow, from Tokyo to Bangkok, or from Cape Town to Cairo. My walking average for the year before was also similar, meaning that over the past two years I have walked the entire length of Africa twice. While I was kinda taken aback, my true aspiration is to embark on such a journey in reality, rather than confining myself to the outskirts of Sendai, pecking away at 8 kilometers a day with stops at Seven Eleven for egg salad sandwiches.
Actually, the real goal is a motorcycle trip through Africa, but I have to digress or else I get carried away with my plans.
I found myself lost in the calculations, estimating the distance I had walked throughout the year. I meticulously worked with my weekly and monthly averages recorded on my iPhone pedometer, converting kilometers to miles and stopping to let my brain catch up. Yet, in my desire to be cautious, I rounded down the numbers, opting for a conservative estimation. Why I felt the need to play it safe, I can’t exactly say, but it seems prudent. Even in the hypothetical universe I have a penchant for playing it conservatively. Cape Town to Cairo seems good enough for me. If I were to be super meticulous and not round down I'd be using Cape Town to Algiers or Tel Aviv, which doesn't have the oomph of Cairo.
Lately, Kenzo has been “challenging to manage,” though it's probably me who's being difficult. He is merely a six-year-old, teetering on the edge of seven, while I, on the other hand, am turning 48 two days before his birthday. I should know better, yet somehow I struggle.
This morning, like so many mornings recently, Kenzo neglected his preparations for school. As the clock approached 7:30, I gathered the necessary items – toothbrush, face washing towel, comb – urging him to get ready. Unfortunately, he found amusement in teasing Osamu and playing with his living room basketball hoop. Although I don't often lose my temper, I sternly reminded him of the time. Instantly, he became upset and asked why I was angry. I reassured him that I wasn't angry; I simply wished for him to be ready on time, so as not to inconvenience the other children who will have to wait for him. Again.
The same scenario repeated itself in the evening when I instructed the boys to brush their teeth after bath time. After I prepared their toothbrushes, Kenzo, in a particularly mischievous act, began brushing his toothbrush on a balloon. Disappointed, I retreated upstairs momentarily to calm myself. When I returned, I took a moment to explain why his actions had displeased me, and then we delved into the pages of "The Foodie Flamingo" before heading to bed.
Also it turns out he didn’t actually brush the balloon with toothpaste. He was pretending and seriously thinking about doing it, but he didn’t. My bad.
After a hectic day, where rain and work responsibilities kept me indoors, the afternoon skies cleared, allowing me a brief moment for my beloved late afternoon walk.
Then, together with my loyal companion Osamu, I drove to the bus stop to pick up Kenzo at 6:20 PM, his usual arrival time from Friends Club. Every time he steps off that bus, my heart swells with joy. As expected, he handed me his bag and bug box, kindly requesting that I hold them and using the “magic word,” before joining the other crazy kids in their post-school antics. Parked beside the bus stop, in the driveway leading to the junior high school (though I suspect I'm not permitted to park there), our car stood waiting. We set off on the short journey home with the windows rolled down, filling the car with the warm almost-summer breeze. I cranked up the volume on the radio, blasting "Interstate Love Song" by Stone Temple Pilots. The boys reveled in the moment, their laughter harmonizing with the rock music that resonated in the air. I hadn't heard that song in forever, and it made me unusually nostalgic for... dear lord... the 90s.
Intertwined with the daily trials and challenges, there are moments of tremendous beauty and connection. Eri showed me Kenzo’s first grade language arts class writing book. It’s the start of his journey in learning hiragana. Witnessing his progress as he learns to read and write in Japanese brings immeasurable joy to my heart.
In the picture above, Kenzo crafted phrases that reveal his budding language skills and his delightful sense of taste. "A duck's yawn," he wrote, which I overthink as him recognizing the simplicity and charm in such a moment but in reality is something he heard somewhere out of context that made him laugh or a random thought from a 6-year-old. He also wrote that "ice cream is sweet" and playfully added, "fried chicken is sweet" – a declaration that warrants further exploration and discussion.
In this picture, a display of Kenzo's playful creativity emerges. He titled it "Word Play" and did this game he likes where he links a series of words like dominoes. Each word begins with the last character of the previous one, a popular game that Kenzo loves to play with mama and sometimes me, verbally. I very often lose. There's one hiragana character that only ever comes at the end of words and never at the beginning, so if you use it in the game it's over and you lose.
Life is a tapestry. Footsteps lead us to unexpected destinations and children grow before our eyes.
My measuring of the distances I have walked pale in comparison to the vibrant moments shared with Kenzo, his innocent wisdom, and his unwavering enthusiasm for the world.
It is through his journey and the connection we share that I am reminded of the profound beauty that permeates our existence.
I am absorbed with embracing the ordinary and the extraordinary. I think within the folds of everyday life there lies a wondrous reveal that, if you let it shine on you, leaves you feeling grateful to be alive.
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