I have made a promise not to discuss details of my family life in this blog. I am going to honor this promise. This is me, trying to make things work. Thank you all for stopping by, but I think this blog is finished. Sorry. I hope you can understand.
 

Today's schedule:

9:15 a.m. to 1pm -- Drive to Yonegawa and teach English; have lunch with students
1:30pm -- Go to bank and withdraw money
1:45 to 3 pm -- Go to car dealer with wife and test drive; pick up photos and photo album (Christmas gift)
3 to 4pm -- Teach English
4 to 5pm -- No idea!
5 to 7:30pm -- Teach English
7:45-8:30pm -- Meet new student and teach??
9pm -- eat dinner, go to bed

How am I doing? Can't get the energy together to focus on this major writing project (textbook sample writing) that's do by next week. Seriously, if I want to write as a profession, then I need to do this, but I can't get my head together. Domestic situation isn't helping. We've got so many decisions to make, not the least of which is whether or not to stay together, though the most minor might be where the hell we are going to live, and others include which kind of car to get, which job to pursue, which country to live in, how the hell to deal with son's growing rebelliousness, and how not to completely freak out.

 

The Divorce Dance.

If you've never done it, you don't want to do it,
But you probably will, wallflower though you be.
Once it's done and gone, though, it's a breeze,
Until the next time. And then you have to see

Your steps falter as they had before, and worse
Your partner take the same missteps as you.
They'll swear up and down that it must be this way,
And you'll watch, knowing there's nothing you can do.

And you might wake to them crying in the night, and know
That to reach out to them--your love still they be--
Will not make it right, will complicate things further: alone,
Clutching their knees to their chest, sheltering under a lee,

They are better off without you. That's just the way it is.
You can't fix it. You know because you've done more than glance:
You've gone to the ball; felt anger and insignificance
Spinning and spinning, as you shambled through the divorce dance.



Yes, a rather crappy poem, but written in about 20 minutes, so please forgive. Anyway, it's not entirely evocative of my life at the moment. It does reflect my emotional state after a really bitter fight last night. Sitting in my little room now on a rainy December day in Japan. Not a happy state of affairs. Not happy at all. Really depressed actually, and sinking deeper as things just get more and more complicated the closer the wife and I get to the end of her schooling. She's getting great job offers; I am not. She's getting connections in other cities; I am not. I am working; she is not. I am depressed and so is she. We don't know what to do. And the kid is well aware of all the stress. I hate that he does. I would like to protect him from that, though i know it's important for him to understand that life is not Fantasy Land.


 

A few weeks ago, son began a series of drills that completely baffled me and broke my confidence in both my mathematical and Japanese ability.

He is in the middle of the 2nd grade. They have started multiplication, division and fractions. (For the life of me, all I can remember of that time in my own school in America was doing addition and subtraction--near as I can tell my quickly glancing online is that multiplication and division are taught in the 3rd and 4th grade in the U.S. now. Correct me if I am wrong.) They are honing their skill memorizing the multiplication tables. In Japanese, they go through the table like a machine gun through tissue paper.

At first, I wasn't at all sure what he was saying. I could hear number in the slur of syllables of phonemes, but none of it made sense. After two weeks of listening to it, and of my own study, I can now understand what he is saying 90% of the time. It goes something like this: "itchi itchi ga itchi itchi ni ga ni itchi san ga san...go go ga zyuugo go roku ga sanzyu," and on and on, said in a blur, almost without drawing breath, gone fast, speed being the key to success.

I am still blown away when he says these drills.

Anyway. As you may have guessed, this blog has taken a lower priority in my life. There are a few reasons for this, though the primary reason is that the situation between son and I has improved dramatically in terms of communication. I have been studying Japanese more--there is simply no way for him to improve in English enough to make things more comprehensible between us. He is improving in English, and he is trying, but he has a long way to go before he can communicate comfortably. So, I am studying online and taking a night class at the local community center.

Another reason is that I am still in the middle of a job search. I have applied to six (or seven?) positions at universities and private high schools in Japan, and am gearing up to send applications to positions in the U.S. and other countries. I am getting out of this town and out of this job at the soonest chance--the wife is with me on this, though she may not understand, despite my clarity, that I am leaving no matter what. The bouts of depression are getting worse and longer-lasting; I fear the longer I continue to do this job, the less chance there will be of getting out. I would like to get a position in the State, to be closer to my family and to not have to deal with the frustrations of being an immigrant, but, honestly, the job situation is so bad, especially for teachers, that I doubt any opportunities exist. I may become a permanent ex-patriot. This was not something I had considered (or even imagined) when I left the States 10 years ago. I was planning to go to Japan for just a year or two. And then life happened.

A final reason for not keeping up with the blog is that the wife is in the final stages of university, and extremely busy--which means I am busy, too. We have not divorced. I have kept my New Year's resolution. We came very, very close, though. The reason we didn't has more to do, I think, with the fact that we both want to get out of the situation we are in financially and career-wise than with love. We obviously care about each other, but more than that, we know that if we divorce now, we are going to be stuck in this situation. Somehow, magically, that realization, and this final push to get out of here, has improved relations between us somewhat. I won't go into more detail, because the whole theory doesn't bear up under scrutiny, be suffice to say I am here, she is here, and son is here. We are still together, and we are going to try to keep it that way for as long as possible. The wife and I have agreed, though, that should things get as bad as they had before, we should go our separate ways; there's no reason to keep each other miserable.

Today is Monday. I have the following projects to complete: 30 pages editing of an accounting manual, blog entry, lesson planning, go to the bank, finish draft of story, finish draft of poem, write article and submit, start university application. Busy.

Goodbye.



 

It is weird, and I am not even sure it is true: this blog seems to be getting more readers now that I've stopped writing in it so often. Don't know what to make of it.

Anyway: why so long without a post?

I am sorry if I kept any of you waiting. As you may have gathered, I had, and still have, some serious emotional sh#t to take care of in the home, issues and feelings that needed and need almost constant attention. I became exhausted. Given that the situation between son and I continued strong, though, I felt the blog was one of my least priorities, and so let the updates go.

Now, I have a little more energy and am trying to get back to writing. Things are still quite unsettled, but a few hopeful signs and positive strides have made a world of difference between the wife and I.

I am either patient or pig-headed. Take your pick. Either way, I will live up to my New Year's resolution: don't give up. Listen, learn, love.

Fortunately, she finally seems to be attempting the same. So, I have some hope.

It is colder these days, which means I get to be stressed out about son freezing to death in school. The classrooms almost never use heating, even in the dead of winter, and the kids, for the most part, wear shorts and, thankfully, three layers of shirts and sweaters. Still, I don't know how they manage it. It amazes me and, yes, stresses me out. I want my son to be warm and comfortable.

Older Japanese people I've talked to have reasoned this system as a means of toughening up the little buggers, teaching them patience and strength. Can't really argue with them on that point: could never see me managing to do it back when I was a kid in America. Still...

Son and I are doing better. My Japanese is improving, so our communication has smoothed out a bit. I am also making the best efforts I can to be with him whenever possible, though time has become a rare commodity for me.

I work seven days a week. Some days I work eight or ten hours; others two or three. Nevertheless, I work seven days a week, because even though I may not be in an office or classroom, I will be at home, writing. I am tired of this schedule, but it looks like I won't be changing it until after next March.

The job search continues. I've applied to three universities in Japan, with one more still to go. After that, I will start sending application packages to universities in America and other countries. An old professor of mine recommended I stick to ESL in order to get a university position in the States. I think i will take her up on that advice. Anything to get out of this job.

Is this job so bad? Teaching English conversation for up to $100 per hour, requiring little preparation and no homework to grade? No. The work is not difficult. But it is mind-numbingly simple, there is no career advancement, no training, no potential for promotion, no sense of accomplishment, and no sense of being anything other than a replaceable smile. It is not a career. It is something you should do for a couple of years after you finish university, and then get out of as soon as you can. Circumstances may conspire to keep you in the job, as is my case, but never forget that it is a job, not a career, and it can lull you into a sleep of contentment that you will wake up from one day, thinking: where did my life go?


 

No. The bento box is still broken, and we're both tired of eating from it.

Bad fight with the wife yesterday over something stupid just sent us right back to the bad place we were just a couple weeks ago. Argh.

Well, at least son and I are doing well. It seems that the older he gets, the easier it is to communicate with him. I don't know how many fathers in the world have been in similar situations--raising a child without a common language--but it is not easy in any way.

I am emotionally drained and prepared for the end--whatever end that may be. Tired of fighting, tired of Japan's culture of negativity, stress and humility. Yes, humility is a good thing; but when it is taken to such extremes...I don't know what to say anymore. Tired. Headed out the door, in my mind. Want to be happy, but I don't remember what that's like.
 

Extreme schedule and scrabble today: finish and send application for university position, prepare to start teaching new course at new company for new employer tonight, teach kid's lesson at 3:30 p.m., begin writing test chapter for a series of English-learning textbooks to see if they want to pay me for writing the rest, this blog entry, and all kinds of housework....

Maybe my life will prove or disprove the saying that hard work is rewarded.

Either way, I hope I can get through to my mother someday. I have tried to call her for the last couple months, but I always seem to call at the wrong times, and she's never there. I am worried about my parents stateside because they are in their sixties, poor and unemployed. And there is nothing I can do to help them. I want to. But I can barely feed my own family as it is. Yes, I am a bit panicky about this, and there's been more than a few times where I've considered just packing it up and moving back to Idaho to live with the parents and help them get through this rough time. They, of course, assure me they are okay. I don't see how. No insurance. No savings. No jobs. Just a house, a garden, and friends. Yeah, they'Ve got more than me in some ways, but I still worry about them.
 

Back into the busy days: wife off to work or school, getting son ready for school, teaching at elementary schools in the mornings then privates in the afternoon. Today, Friday, I pick up son at 4:20 and take him to his exercise class (I hate that I am doing this typical uber-parent thing, but do see the benefit of it, especially as he gets to play with other kids). I think I am making dinner today, though I am not sure right now. Luckily, my private lesson at 5:30 p.m. canceled, so I can watch son at his class. Tonight is his TV night: Doraemon, Crayon Shinchan, music TV, and then a movie (hopefully a decent one for once).

I have sent applications to two universities in Japan. I will send another application this coming week, and then another a few weeks after that. Once I've finished this batch, I will start applying to universities in Portland, Oregon. I've decided, with the wife, to take whatever job I am offered at whichever university. I let her know yesterday that I have never been so miserable in my life, though it had nothing to do with her (a bit of a lie there) and son. I am just tired of my living situation, and so sick of my work. Also admitted that I am losing hope about getting a better job or of even getting published.

Anyway, here we go again: busy. Just busy.
 

Two days ago I was busy taking care of my own projects and doing housework because the wife was off to university for the evening. This meant, among other things, that son and I were on our own for the night. I am happy to say things went well; but, with me, there is always a catch.

I picked son up from school and took him to our English lesson (I teach a small group of kids for one hour, so cheaply as to be almost volunteer work, in an effort to increase my visibility). After the English lesson, we went home. He watched a TV show and I went to the supermarket to get ingredients for dinner. When I returned, I found that one of son's friends had shown up to play.

I made a deal with son: "Your friend can stay a while, but you will have to do homework before we eat dinner." He agreed. I slid the living room door shut on them, put on some Led Zepplin (I seem to be on a white-trash, stoner high school nostalgia binge right now), and went to work making curry.

Once dinner was ready, I told them time was up and to clean up the now-exploded living room. They did so with very little protest. Son then did his preparation for the next day's school.

Son did his homework and then we ate dinner. Bonus for doing homework without bothering me with lots of pointless questions (his favorite activity with his mother): continue watching TV during dinner.

After dinner we did the rest of his homework (god this kid has a lot of homework) and then took a bath. Following a fun bath together (yes, in Japan, parents bathe with their children until quite late in years. Son is almost seven. And, yes, this does make me a bit uncomfortable at times) we finished watching Resident Evil 3, did some jigsaw puzzles together, and then play a mini-golf game on the PS2.

At this point, son looks at me and says, "You know, I like it when it's just you at home. When mom and I are alone together, I just have to do homework and prepare for school. We never play together."

I looked at him, warning bells going off in my head. "Well, if it was just and I, you would probably get worse at school because it's momma who understands all the school stuff."

"Oh," he said, not really sounding all that concerned.

Trying to ensure I got my point across, I added: "And, please, whatever you do, don't say this to your mother. Okay?"

"Okay."

I think we both understood why.


 

Still picking up the pieces from the latest fight and reconciliation.

Things are quiet in the house, but busy.

This morning, I took the neighborhood kids to school (all 200 meters of the walk).

Today we have to meet our financial advisor/life planner. I am not looking forward to that.

After that meeting, wife goes off to university in Hiroshima, to return around dinner time. I need to go to a clinic and fake a respiratory ailment in order to get a chest x-ray covered by insurance; I need the x-ray for an application to a university teaching position. After that, I need to return home, work on my CV and such, and prepare some lessons for today. At 3:30 I teach a kids English class. Sometime in there, I also need to make dinner; clean the bath, sink and toilet, vacuum; exercise; and work on a 189 page accounting manual.

That's the fun one, the manual. Wife needs to pay for one more semester of university, but we just don't have the money. I have urged her to take out a bank loan to cover the costs, but she is hesitant. I haven't told her that a student of mine contracted me to help him with a translation of his company's accounting manual. I will get $1000 for editing the first 189 pages (no translation), and additional money later as he finishes translating. I have decided, despite all the fights, accusations and name-calling, to give wife the $1000 for university fees.

I am no angel, though: the other money I will earn later, I am keeping for myself, as a secret savings in case this reconciliation doesn't work out and I need to get a place of my own soon. Also, son's birthday and Christmas are coming up. I am no angel. I am just trying to be a good person who, at the same time, is tired of postponing his own happiness for the benefit of others.


 

Seems the bento box is still usable. For now. Though we both agree it would be nice to get a new bento box.
 

The form sits on my desk; her signature glaring at me; her words--reasonable, delivered in voice which says we've been through this so many times before--bouncing around my cobwebbed head: "we need to divorce."

"I need to think," I said.

She is silent.

She holds up the empty bento, the lunch box, the one son used at daycare when he was younger, and asks: "Should I throw it away?"

"Why?"

"It's broken," she says, point to the chipped plastic on the clasp.

"It still works, doesn't it?"

"Mm."
 

Son's sports festival went very well. I would love to say it went fantastic, but nothing exciting happened and, unfortunately, son didn' win the races he was expected to win. Still, we all had a good time, the weather was great, and the food, despite a lingering smell wife and I were still chuckling over, tasted wonderful.

The day started at 6 a.m. I woke up and did my usual: coffee in one hand, checking emails, checking facebook, reading the news. However, this time I got an email that freaked me out: I was fired from my article writing position. "We sent you an email five days ago, saying you had five days in which to respond about these duplicate articles. Five days has passed, so we fire your *ss." Okay, no, it wasn't so lyrical, but the sentiment was there. I had to get out the door in ten minutes to stand in line for our seats at the festival, so I fired off a complaint (a true one) that I hadn't received such an email and the issue about the mistake duplicate had already been resolved by an editor. I sent them the relevant emails, grabbed a thermos of coffee, some big vinyl sheets to sit on, and headed out the door.

The line of parents waiting to get into the elementary school grounds stretched around the block. I got in line and proceeded to obsess over the firing. Had I missed something? What was I going to do? I needed that money to pay some bills in the States and rebuild my credit.

At 7 a.m., they let us in: two hundreds parents with vinyl sheets, camp chairs and pop-up tents rushing onto the playground, checking maps to find where they are supposed to sit.

This year, we got to sit in a perfect spot under one of the school's tents: I am on the PTA, and I did help set up all of this, so maybe that had something to do with it. No idea. Just lucky, probably. Anyway, the sun didn't shine on us all day, and that was good because it turned hot at the start of the festival.

The festival began at 9 a.m. and finished at around 4 p.m. Like most parents there, wife and I were really just there to see our son perform and race, so that counted for about 20 minutes of the festival. The rest of the time we sat talking to wife's parents or other parents, eating snacks and drinking, or just walking around. I had the video camera, so it was my job to get the pics.

Son did great in the performances. In the races, he was expected by everyone to win. I would be walking around and people would ask me if son was running. "Yes he is," I would say, and tell them the races he was in. "Well, don't worry," they would say, "he's the fastest in the school." I wasn't worried.

But he didn't win. I mean, he did great in the relays, but in the individual sprint, he placed third. One of the kids ran out of his own lane into son's and elbowed son in the ribs doing so. Got it all on video tape, especially the part after the finish line where son goes off on the kid. That was funny. Well, wife and I later made sure he knew that we saw what happened and understood.

One little thing I have to note: the air was full of dragonflies. A hundred purple, green, and gold bodies glinting in the sunlight, flicking here and there around the field and between the children.

We ate lunch together, parents, wife and I and son, and wife told everyone about the strange-smelling rice dish. No one complained, though.

By the time the festival was over, we were all hot and tired. Still, as a member of the PTA, I had to stay and clean up: taking down tents, moving decorations, etc. It didn't take long, though, because, as it turned out, practically every parent stayed to help. Very tired at this point, wife and I got home and immediately crashed on the living room floor to take naps. Meanwhile, son played with the neighborhood kids for two more hours. When did I last have such energy? Oh, yes: when I was a kid.

Checked my email: they made a mistake. I wasn't fired after all.

We had a special dinner: just the foods son likes. Later we watched a movie, "Ge Ge Ge no Kitaro and the Millennium Curse". I fell asleep during the movie. Son was happy, though, and I was happy about that.
 

The other night, I was working late at the computer. The wife was also up, working in the kitchen, preparing lunch for the following day's sports festival at son's school. I was working on a cover letter and essay for a job application in Japan but, as is my usual lately, spending a lot of time on YouTube listening to and watching music videos, indulging in a bit of nostalgia for bands I used to love at university (Jane's Addiction and Red Hot Chili Peppers, for example).

When I type, I sometimes chew on my fingernails to think. It's a bad habit. That's when I noticed the smell. I couldn't place it, but it was something between old compost and dog crap. I sniffed closer. Yes, it was there, but I couldn't be sure it was on my fingers. I couldn't remember having handled anything remotely strange during the day, and I hadn't sat on the pot either, so there was no chance I had slipped with the toilet paper. I ignored it, and went back to writing about harmony-preserving strategies of Japanese conversationalists while "Three Days" played.

The smell returned. I knew it couldn't be my fingers. Maybe it was something the wife was cooking? I went to the kitchen. It was about midnight at this point, and she was standing at the counter, cutting vegetables. A couple of pots simmered on the stove. I checked how she was doing, surreptiously peering into the pots to see if they were the source of the odd odor. Nothing there except some quails eggs and daikon; nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was time to take out the food garbage. Maybe something was rotting in the sink trap. I decided to ignore it and get back to work.

The smell was pervasive, though. There used to be a small take-away shop in the building below us, and in the summer, the smell of oil grease would sometimes rise to the apartment. But this smell wasn't that, and it only seemed to be noticeable when my hand came near my face. It worried me. Maybe some sick, stray dog had let one go outside below the window?

Completely distracted by this point, and worried that I had, without my knowledge, somehow gotten garbage or human waste on my fingers, I was my hands twice.

Sitting down at the computer afterward, the wife comes into the room, a bowl and spoon in one hand, a worried look on her face, asking me to try the new dish she's been working on all day, a dish involving bamboo shoots, walnuts, rice, potatoes, and pork.

"Sure, no problem," I said, reaching for the spoon. As soon as the food neared my nose, I knew the source of that stink.

Now, I don't know where you were born or how you were raised, but I grew up poor in America, and I was raised to never, ever criticize someone's cooking, no matter how bad it is. I pushed my wife's dish past my uncooperative lips and began to chew.

Initially, there was no taste. Then it rose, from the back of my taste buds, subtle but oh-so-there: a taste to match the smell, not rancid, not disgusting, but unpleasant all the same. I chewed thoughtfully, my wife's anxious face watching me.

I thought I could get the lie out, and said, "It tastes good," but as I did so, my own face betrayed me and I started chuckle out of nervousness.

The wife's face broke into a smile. "I thought so," she said.

"No, it's not that bad."

"It smells terrible."

I paused before admitting: "I was wondering where that smell came from. It's...interesting."

At that, we both broke out in laughter. It was like we both had been smoking pot--something she has never done--and had launched into a giggle-fit: we couldn't stop, we couldn't breathe at times, we sat there, tears in our eyes, that smell pervading our nostrils. It took us about five minutes to calm down enough to talk again. She was, of course, distraught.

"I worked so hard on this. I have to throw it away."

"No," I said, "don't. Just put some lemon juice or seasoning in it. The taste really isn't so bad. It's just the smell." Just uttering the word "smell," though, sent us both back into the grips of giggle-fits. For the rest of the night and the next morning, anytime we would mention that "smell," we would start laughing again. It was, we knew, our private joke, and I urged her not to warn her parents or son about the smell; just let them eat it and decide for themselves.

It was a time, we knew, that we would remember, a private memory between the two of us, a reason to be happy about being married, sharing a life, sharing memories, a time of silliness and release amidst all the stress and bad times we've been having. It was a smell to remember.












 

"When I am working and you have a steady job, there'll be no one to do the housework."

My response, unsaid to wife and just come to me now: "I would rather live in a messy house with you using your talents and mind than live in a neat and tidy house with someone extremely boring."

The busy days are on us again. Wife is off to work. Son is off to school. I have ten more minutes to get out the door and drive half an hour to teach at an elementary school. Couple hours off after that, and then my own private student. Pick up son from daycare after that. And then dinner. And then Japanese lessons. Finish at 9 p.m. It is 7:44 a.m. now.

I am so unproductive. I need to send off an application package to a couple of universities here in Japan, but every time I sit down to write out the letters, I get distracted. This is annoying. I also haven't written any stories recently, though I have all the elements for several in my head, sharing space with what I am currently reading: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The City of God, and the Letters of Cicero. Quite a juggling feat, if I say so myself.

Works sucks, as usual. However, a bit of bright news: I got another part-time teaching position on Monday nights. That'll bring in another much-needed $400 a month.

Not much time with son now, so the tense situations have abated. We will see. This weekend is the sports festival at his school: big event, much preparation. He is really looking forward to it. So am I.
 

After the horrible morning of which I wrote yesterday, the evening turned out rather nicely. I wasn't sure it would.

At 3:00 p.m., I walked up the street to son's school, to wait for him in front of the school so we could go to our English lesson together. I teach a 40 minute English lesson to any kids in the first, second, or third grade super cheap. So far, only four kids have taken joined, including son, who is the only boy in the class. Well, as I am standing there waiting for the kids to be let out, son appears in one of the upper story walkway windows. We have a bit of fun pulling faces at one another for a minute, passerby's be damned, and then he rushes off to pack up his school things. The first kid to come out of the school mistakes me for the elementary school's regular visiting English teacher, David.

"David sensee!" You know, all us white guys look alike.

"No. That's not me."

"What? Why?" The teacher accompanying him out of the building apologized to me. I said, "Don't worry," though I am a little annoyed. I've lived here for ten years and I stand in front of the school every Monday. Son's been attending school here for two years. And, still, I get confused with another white guy.

Only then did I notice his eyes and face. A bit of a mental handicap there. I instantly feel shitty for giving the kid the cold shoulder. When the teacher returns from passing the boy off to his waiting grandmother, I apologize to her. She smiles, shakes her head, and says, "Don't worry about it."

After half an hour of standing there (there is no set time for students to get out the doors; it depends on how organized the teachers and kids are cleaning up their room) the kids start pouring out. Son comes bouncing up to me.

"Big news," he says in English, and then, switching to Japanese, adds, "another student is joining the class."

This is good news. We need more kids. We need more money.

We walk up to the lesson room and are joined by the other students, including the new girl. She looks sweet.

Never trust little girls who look sweet.

There are four girls in this class now, and the worst behaving are the cutest. Three girls, now, who talk in Japanese all the time, wrestle each other, run around the room ignoring my calls for them to stop and sit down. Finally, I just got tired of it and told everyone class is over. That surprised them. And class really was over for me. Never seen a group of such misbehaving kids. Oh, well. It's only for $5.00 a pop, and very casual. But I do need them to calm down. Son gave me some advice after everyone left the room, because he could see I was depressed.

"Why don't you leave the room when they do that? Just for a minute?"

"Good advice," I said, meaning it.

After class, as usual, we rushed home so he could change out of his uniform and then go to the park to play with his friends. When we got to the park, however, there was no one there waiting for him. This made him sad, and he asked me to stay and play with him. I told him I couldn't. I had work to do. I had a cover letter and an essay on teaching English in Japan I needed to finish. I said I was sorry, but I returned home. He chose to stay in the park by himself.

In the middle of the essay, son comes storming back into the house.

"What? What's wrong?"

"You left me there by myself! No one came." He was crying.

And thus begins a huge fight, with me accusing him of being spoiled and him saying he wants to run away.

"Go ahead," I told him. "There's the door."

At this time, mom returns from work.

"What's going on?"

I explain. She talks to son. She, too, gets angry at him. Then, a knock at the door. It is son's friends come looking for him. Everyone--son, wife, and me--smile. Son rushes out the door to play.

Wife and I talk about the potential university positions and my essay. We have a good talk; it's a subject we are both interested in.

Dinner goes well: hamburger patties, chicken, pasta salad and rice, followed by ice cream.

I washed dishes, as usual, and got the bath ready. Son did his homework. Wife worked on her essay.

After bath, son and I played three games of chess. He is only seven, but he has taken an interest in chess. I used to be a decent player, now terrible, but just good enough to teach the kid the basics. He is good about losing, now. I will not let him win, though I will play carelessly from time to time. When we finish, he gives me a big hug and thanks me for playing.

We go to bed, a good evening ended.








 

I don't know what to do anymore. I am ready to run. I am ready to cry. My insides churn with tension, making my head slow and me worried about my health.

Friends and readers give advice. They make it sound so easy. How much more complicated is the world than the flimsy words we must use to express it.

Son is rebellious towards me. When I speak, he doesn't acknowledge. When he does hear an order, he ignores or argues. Tempers run high. This morning was a good example.

Before breakfast, before going to school, just after he wakes up, he asks if there will be time to play this morning. I ask him what kind of play. He says with the computer. I tell him he can't play games; there's no time. He says he doesn't want to play, he wants to watch his favorite tv show on YouTube. I say no, there's no time. He gets angry.

He is slow to eat breakfast because he is angry. His mother sees this and gets frustrated with him. Tempers rise.

But he does, eventually, eat his breakfast. I wash the dishes while wife prepares her face for work. Son slowly finishes his breakfast.

He goes to brush his teeth, but I stop him on the way to the bathroom.

"What are you going to do next?"

"Brush my teeth."

"That's good," I say with a smile. "And then?"

"Huh?"

"What are you going to do after that?"

Wife pipes up from the other room: "That's too many orders. He can't follow. That's not what I asked you to do," she says, in a sentence which conveys so much to us but little to an outsider. Let me explain.

Two days ago she asked me to make a visual checklist for our son, so that he could see what he has to do every morning. She wants me to do this because "Asberger's patients can't remember what to do next. We need to find a way for him to do this on his own. I am tired of telling him what to do every day." I was, and am, tired of fighting about this issue. I do not think son has Asberger's. The doctors only diagnosed him as being borderline; furthermore, he was six at the time of the diagnosis, and from everything I have read, it is extremely difficult to diagnose someone accurately with Asberger's at such a young age. I have pointed this out to her, but she is convinced he has Asberger's. We argue about this quite often. I am tired of arguing, so I agreed to make the checklist, but haven't done it yet. Not sure if I will.

"Please don't interfere," I said to her as son looks up at me, nervous recognition of an impending fight in his eyes.

"He can't follow too many orders."

"Just let me do this."

Fight ensues, briefly, between wife and I. Son goes off and brushes his teeth.

Angry silence fills the apartment. Only ten minutes to go before son leaves for school.

When he returns to the room, I tell him to get into his school uniform. He asks if there is time to play; I suppose it is his way of diffusing a tense situation.

I make him look at the clock.

"What time is it now?"

"7:25."

"What time do you go to school?"

"7:30."

"Well, 7:34, actually. So, do we have time?"

"No," he says.

"We have a little time. Let me wash my face and then we can play."

When I return, he's ready for our pretend sword fight.

"Okay," I say, taking my sword, "We have two minutes."

"WHAT?" he shouts. "I don't understand! You said 7:34."

"Listen--"

"You said 7:34, not two minutes!"

"You need to listen to me--"

"Don't go to school!" his mother shouts from the other room.

"Stay out of this," I say, trying to keep calm, but feeling my nerves sing with stress and my stomach harden like a stone.

"No! He doesn't have to go to school. Spoiled!"

I rush to the bathroom where she is brushing her hair.

"You are not helping," I said. She ignores me.

Son is crying in the living room.

I seriously feel as if my lower intestine is going to push it's way out into my shorts.

"Now there's no time to play," son said.

"Yep. You should've listened to me."

My wife, angry and silent, storms through the room, to get dressed.

I get son out the door. He was nervous about his mother's anger. I smiled at him and waved goodbye.

I start hanging laundry, trying to calm myself. Wife storms out without a word.

So, this is my life, and I am so very tired of it. Wife and I almost signed the divorce paperwork just four days ago. I want to walk away some days, but I love my son. I want to be with him. Is that selfish? But I also fear what will happen if I leave him alone with her and her obsession with his supposed mental disorder. I do not see Asberger's: I see a normal eight-year-old, a spoiled only-child, coping with a stressful family life and one parent who can't communicate clearly (me: I can't speak Japanese so well). Am I being foolish, staying? Am I being selfish? Would it be better for everyone if I left?

We have no money. That doesn't help at all.

I am going to apply for university positions in Japan. I have to send the applications in the next couple of weeks. There are some good positions, and I have all the qualifications necessary. I also will apply for some positions back in the States, my home. My friends there are very happy to hear that I might be coming back. An old professor and friend is reviewing my resume now to give me some feedback on my chances. I honestly want to move back there, to move to Portland, but I can't tell if it is the right thing to do. Wife said I should move back and then, when I found these good positions available in Japan, she is eager for me to get the positions here. Argh!

What do I want? I wish I knew. I am too aware of the positives and negatives of either option, and I can't decide.

All I know is that I have to get out of this situation.

I will apply to the positions in Japan. And if I get one, what will I do? Take it? That would mean staying in Japan, and I am not happy here; but the money would be good, and I could be with my son. Move to the States and try to rebuild my life there? Sounds fun...and selfish.

I know that you, reading this, can't tell me what to do. I know that millions, probably billions, of others face similar or tougher decisions, sometimes on a daily basis. But I am a writer, and I write in order to think and to share my thinking with others, so there you are.

This is my life today, Monday the 13th of September. I have to work on my application packages now.










 

This week, most nights I've been able to pick up son from his after-school daycare. I love doing that. We walk home and talk about the day. Invariably he asks me if we can play when we get home, and I have to tell him that 1) we have to check with mama, and 2) he has to do his homework first.

Two nights ago, it worked out that after dinner, we could go to the park. It was dark by the time we go there, but we were able to kick the soccer ball around by the lamp light. His school's sports festival is coming up and, though the fastest kid in his year, son is a little nervous about running on the relay team, because one kid is faster than him running around the corners. On the straightaway, no one can beat son. So, he asked if we could practice running. Luckily, I lettered in track and field in high school, so I know the fundamentals of running, but there is no trick I know of for running faster on the curve. Instead, we sprinted a couple of times around the park.

I am getting older, definitely. After one sprint of 45 seconds, I was winded and needed to sit down. Son was ready to go again! He ran the circuit twice more before calling it quits and heading home.

It's a bit trippy (if I can still use that word) getting older while watching my own kid getting bigger and stronger. Every morning he wakes up, he looks taller, and our play fights are getting just a bit rougher each time. And it's not that I am slovenly and unfit; and he's only seven, going on eight. It's just that I remember as if it was yesterday this little ankle-biter who only stood as high as my hip, now with the top of his head reaching my chest.

I want him to stop growing. Pointless hope, but he's getting older too fast. That's why I play with him any chance I can get, because there will be no more chances in the future, or those chances will become fewer and farther between as he gets older, gets his own friends, and moves away from his parents. Sometimes I wish he had brothers and sisters to play with, and I know that would have been better (shoganai), but in a way I am glad I can monopolize his play time. I just wish I was more energetic and had more free time to do so.

Luckily, my scattered work schedule over the years has provided a lot of opportunities to take him to the park and to play. Other parents in the community have noted that, and they have said they think it was a great decision. For instance, I used to take son to the park every morning before going to daycare. I must've been the only parent to do so, and now those parents who saw us there express regret that they just did what was "normal" and took there kids straight to daycare instead of to the park.

We are poor, and have little security. Hopefully that will change soon, but I don't know. I could have worked a lot more, could have sought out a steadier job, studied Japanese more and (possibly) gotten a 9-to-5 job at some company, providing my family a steady income stream and some security. Instead, I traded that for spending time with the only child I will likely ever have. Should I regret these choices? No, probably not.

But I do regret that time moves so fast and that I am not as young as I once was. Guess it's time to start exercising more, so I will have more energy to play. Well, I have started studying Japanese more. Creative writing has slowed way down, unfortunately. Priorities is the problem, and a finite amount of time. I am sorry.
 

This morning was a bit tense, recalling the bad ol' days when wife was working and it was just son and I getting ready for school in the morning. Well, this morning was just like that: wife going off to work, and son dragging his heels, not listening to me, taking his time to do everything, reading comic books, playing in the water...you name it, he did it, and ignored my orders to. Getting older, that kid. It really bothered me, and I lost my temper and shouted at him, which caused him to lose his temper and shout at me. Fun morning.

Now I am sitting here being unproductive. Must get a lot done.

My part-time job was canceled tonight on account of not enough students signing up for lessons--not a good sign, I think.

I need to write two or three articles today just to be close to being behind schedule.

An old professor of mine agreed to review my resume and ask around about possible teaching positions for me in the U.S. Keeping my fingers crossed, actually. A lot of my old friends have said they want to see me back in the states, and Portland is looking awfully appealing.
 

Finished watching "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" last night with the family. Great fun. I was amazed by the imagination. Now I want to read the book. Son loved it, even though we forced him to watch in English. We'll we time, in Japanese, so that he can understand it better and I can get some extra listening practice. My Japanese studies have been going well, and they have been helping make my life a little less stressful.

Today, the wife starts her part-time job. Three days this week, four days next week. She's nervous. I don't know why. It's not like we haven't done this before. Oh, and she got her end-of-semester grades yesterday: all A's, plus one "double A," which I've never before heard of. Congratulations. That's the second semester in a row she's pulled off that feat.

I received a comment on this blog yesterday, and it blew me away: this blog is a well-written "story" about an American who just can't understand another culture. Was I angry? Yes, a little. This is certainly not a story, not in the sense that I am imagining these events. No, this is all real. Am I an American who just can't understand another culture? I hope not! After ten years living in Japan and raising a family here, I hope that, at some level, I understand this culture, because, quite frankly, I have imbibed some of this culture and mixed it with my American upbringing so that now I don't really feel at home anywhere. If I am coming off as "incapable" of understanding another culture, that worries me.

Today we are expecting a small typhoon to hit. Bad timing: have to get the kid to school, have to get wife to work, have to commute to another city for my job, plus come back to this town and teach a group of kids tonight way out in the countryside. Need good weather to make sure all of this transpires without serious problems.