The Face

Osamu graduated from kindergarten today. He was so excited and more than ready. For two years, he has enviously watched Kenzo go off to elementary school, and now it is finally going to be his turn.

The kindergarten they went to is something special. It feels like a world of its own. It’s a little sanctuary with a barn, animals, massive slides built into a forest, and classrooms bursting with color and life. Every floor has a real fireplace, and when those log fires burn, the whole place fills with this warm, cozy aroma that makes you want to curl up and nap. This morning, it was even snowing, which made the fireplaces feel a thousand times more magical.

The graduation ceremony was beautiful. Osamu’s teachers, Kokoro-sensei and Miss Allie, got teary-eyed during the final class meeting. A bunch of parents, myself included, reached for those tissues too. All the Japanese teachers wore stunning kimonos, adding to the sense of occasion.

Osamu and all the kids adore the principal. He’s a fascinating guy. Fluent in multiple languages, including obviously Japanese and English, but also Chinese. Someone told me he used to be Steve Jobs’ translator in China. Osamu especially loves his monthly Bible story readings. The principal picks stories that resonate with little kids, and they hang on every word. One day, Osamu came home completely determined to teach me the Golden Rule. He was so excited that I pretended I had never heard of it before, just to let him have his moment as the wise teacher.

Of course, there was also the matter of “the face.” A disturbing little piece of art sculpted from paper clay. Osamu's face, made by Osamu. Apparently, schools love this project, buuuuut I am not a fan. It's unsettling. The other parents, caught up in the sentimentality of the day, were oooohing and ahhhhing over every bit of artwork, even these eerie little sculptures. I just smiled and nodded. Kenzo made one of these in kindergarten too. It’s in a box in the closet thank god. One day, someone will open it during spring cleaning and get an unexpected, very unwanted creep-out.

I cobbled together a video from the messy clips I managed to record. It’s far from perfect, but it captured the day.

Oh and not to bury the lead but I fit into my fat clothes again.

I have this one suit… black, pinstriped, cool as hell… but I knew better than to even try it. The waist would not budge. I also have two other suits, custom-made back when I traveled across Japan giving presentations to parents about the English curriculum my company provides. Those suits came out way too big at the time. I was fairly thin for a few years, even officially underweight according to my health checks, so those suits basically wore me.

But today, the universe balanced itself. I tried on the black suit pants just to confirm what I already knew. No dice. Then, I pulled on one of my fatso suits. It fit perfectly. I felt like Daddy Warbucks.

And so, congratulations to my beautiful, mischievous, clever son on your kindergarten graduation. Your papa has marked the occasion by reflecting on how well his suit fit thanks to his newfound obesity.

Not too long ago, though maybe long enough, I used to be afraid of so much. My life path, my choices, the way things kept falling apart. And as people mostly do I made it through. I remember very clearly the day I decided I would stop being afraid. I grabbed a little notebook, put pen to paper, and on the first page, in all capital letters, I wrote: DON’T LOOK BACK.