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The experiences of a father and son struggling to communicate without a shared tongue. |
| What is it, beyond language, that is tested in the open, strained, by the stresses, the pushes and pulls of love? |
| Received a few emails from friends and readers in America, asking about the wife of the current Prime Minister of Japan. Seems that many newspapers have been reporting that she has claimed to have been taken by aliens to Venus (in her sleep) and to have met Tom Cruise in a former life (or something like that). I have asked my students and my wife about this. Most of them have no idea what I am asking about; those that do smile and say something along the lines of "oh well." The people of Japan have other problems to worry about, more serious problems than what the wife of the Prime Minister might have said about her private life; with a stagnant economy, dwindling population, graying society and a huge deficit, people are too distracted by other concerns. And I agree with them. At least they didn't have a president such as Bush who declared himself a believer in the idea that a dead man will come back to life and kill all of those people who did "bad things," that the world really is divided into countries that are good and evil, and that, really, the president can do anything he wants to his people in order to "protect" them. When you've had or have leaders like that, who cares about the harmless eccentricities of their loved ones? Being a politician's wife or husband is stressful enough, I imagine. Instead of focusing on what his wife said, how about focusing exclusively on what Hatoyama is saying about getting Japan into a relationship of equality with the U.S. and of getting U.S. imperialism and troops out of Japan? These are some serious issues in the rising Asia now. With China coming back towards its former position as the, or one of the, greatest nations in world history, and with Japan seriously considering whether it wants to continue its orientation towards the West or shift it towards its neighbors in the East, with North Korea still acting like a teenage delinquent, and India set to stir things up in the Asian markets, with (I believe) no end in sight for the weakened U.S. economy and job market (I do remember the 70's, thank you very much) and two incredibly sticky wars dragging down its reputation and will, is it really necessary to spend any time distracting people with "items of interest" about the harmless beliefs of someone's wife? |
| Sorry that I haven't been keeping up with the entries recently. Couple reasons for that, both good: First is that son and I are doing much better recently in terms of communication and helping each other. Second is that at the beginning of the week, I set the family a goal of getting our house organized and cleaned up--something we haven't been able to do in years. So, we're doing better, for now. Last night, while wife was out, we ate dinner together, I washed dishes and he divided his books between those he wants to keep and those he's outgrown, we did homework together, took a bath, played Uno, read a joke book together (which, frankly, I couldn't understand) and then went to bed. I am continually amazed by his homework. For example, he has to recite, from memory, two twenty-line poems every day, plus go through two sets of flash cards for addition and subtraction, plus reading and writing practice. I cannot even imagine I would've been able to do that (let alone agree to do that) when I was his age. It's one of the reasons I hesitate to take him to America--he's really getting a good elementary education here. The organizing is going well as far as my projects are concerned. I really managed to get my work area cleaned up, renewed, refreshed and feeling...well, less like the dark, cramped, too-hot or too-cold pit it has for the last couple years. Hoping it'll help my productivity. On another good note, I have gotten some writing that pays actual money--little money, but it helps. So, I am sorry to anyone who was reading this blog regularly. I am trying to get back into the swing of things, trying to be productive. Just organizing a crazy, emotional life. |
| Today is the start of Silver Week in Japan--a five-day holiday made of three national holidays and the regular weekend. Today's holiday is Respect for the Aged Day. We had invited the in-laws out for dinner tonight on our dime. Mom, however, said that she didn't feel comfortable with it because wife is unemployed. I'm a bit annoyed by that: Yes, I'm working a group of part-time jobs now, but I'm making just as much money as before, and sometimes more; and also isn't a single-income household supposed to be ideal; AND, dang it, didn't she live through a time of extreme poverty just after WWII? It was like a kick in the nuts. We are adults, mom. We aren't going to invite you out to dinner if we can't handle it financially. Furthermore, one dinner, at this point in our lives, given our messed up finances and the uncertain job market, is NOT going to send us over the brink into financial ruin. No. Japanese companies stealing from customers and employees (read: my previous job) put us into this situation. Been extremely unproductive this past week. I have got to get back in gear and write these articles piling up in my inbox and, on a positive note (and there are never many) we are hoping to finally--finally--after more than seven years of marriage, going to organize the apartment. Japanese apartments are small, yes, but ours suffers from the inability of its occupants to agree on a system of where to put things, what things to throw away and what things to keep, and, in general, decide who's stuff goes in this space. I would love to take a picture and show you, my readers, what it looks like because you wouldn't believe people can live in such cramped quarters together for years. But if I did that, I would probably depress myself even further. Son said he wanted to watch the new Harry Potter last night. So we watched it; well, he watched about five minutes of it before deciding it was boring. After that, he just ate his snacks and talked too much. You're welcome, son. Have some respect, huh? |
| Well, watched the video of son's performance in the school sport's festival yesterday, and I have to say I was happy. He was the fastest, winning the races easily. However, what the video caught him doing in between events didn't make me happy at all. You know, I can't for the life of me think of a good reason to ram your hand down the back of your pants to dig sand out of your butt, in public, and in so doing flash everyone--not once, but three times, and then dance around (for joy?) when finished. Nope. Can't think of a good reason. Still, I am sad I wasn't there. |
| Had a fairly nice night last night with son. Wife went to her English lesson after dinner, so he and I took a bath together (yes, in Japan, it is pretty normal for parents and children to bathe together until the kids are 10yrs old or so), got his school bag ready, and then played some educational games on the computer. We had a bit of a disagreement when it was time for him to stop looking at my Calvin and Hobbes book (I think he enjoys imaging what they are saying) and go to bed. We hadn't done the reading for school the next day, and he couldn't find the book; the books he did settle on was too difficult for me to read (nothing like feeling like a retard in front of your son), and so we went to bed feeling a little anxious but, still, happy we'd had some time together. |
| Watched the news commentary on Obama's address to congress yesterday. Pretty much as I expected. People in Japan shake their heads in confusion as to why any American would oppose a universal health care system--well, not so much confused as dismayed. One commentator opined that Americans are so obsessed with the idea of individuality and individual responsibility that they are unable to think in terms of duties and obligations to their fellow citizens/humans. It's as if Americans believe that their success or failure is due exclusively to their own efforts, separate from the lives and efforts of those around them. Yes, it's a generalization; however, as someone who grew up poor in America, I can't help but agree in principal. I wrote an essay on just this subject back in September of last year. Please read here:
In that essay I argue against the U.S.A. adopting a universal health care system like the one used in Japan, but also hold out a hope that a system whereby all Americans, regardless of income, get the health care they need and deserve is implemented. It's sad, to me, that the most vocal opponents against universal health care in America are those who can afford private insurance. Think of it this way: If on the one hand you profit from the labor of your fellow man but on the other deny them the basics of life, eventually your fellow man is going to view you as an enemy, not as a fellow. Any person in America (or anywhere) who believes they could have achieved their success in a vacuum is deluded in the extreme; the economy is a system of human relationships, not a separate entity from which we siphon more or less wealth depending on our industry. Ask any writer if they could succeed without the efforts of their loved ones, readers, editors, or employers. |
| Opened email this morning to find a message from a potential client that they are interested in hiring me for some freelance writing work! I've been applying heavily for the last week, and in that time I've gotten a few nibbles here and there, but this is the first solid offer. I am so happy, in so many ways. To understand why, you have to understand that for the past five or so years, I've been applying for various jobs, mostly teaching positions at universities in the U.S. but also a few magazines and such, all without so much as a nibble of interest. Major depression set in several times as I've been trying to support a family and pay off my student loans on about $30,000 a year, working in a job that drives me crazy, and wondering if I really had become unmarketable as either a teacher or a writer. My return to writing and active participation in WDC last September was my attempt not to slip into depression irrevocably. Now, after just a week of active job searching, I've gotten an offer that makes me feel, a little, like I have some value beyond just talking and smiling. Thank you. |
| Bad morning. Wife asked if it would be okay if son goes to the community center after school so that he can learn/do some activities. I thought it sounded like no problem. He finishes school at 3:30pm, and my afternoon lessons finished at 3:00pm, so no problem. I would wait for him at home and then take him to the community center. Everything I've read about Asbergers warns against changing schedules. I should've realized. First problem came up when wife realized that today son's school ends at 2:30, not 3. As we'd already told him he'd be going to the community center, and he was excited and happy to go, we couldn't change that plan. So, I had to send an email to students and let them know the afternoon lessons would end half-an-hour early today. Wife explained to son about the schedule and that he would be coming home first, and then he and I would be going to the community center together, but that he would wait at the community center until she picked him up at about 5pm. Second, worst, problem came up as he and I were rushing to the door so that he could meet everyone to walk to school. "Doko in nareraba?" Where....? I couldn't understand the question. I assumed he was asking where he would go after school, and told him so. I was partly right. He got frustrated right away and accused me of not listening to him. I told him I was listening, but I couldn't understand the question. He repeated the question again and again, frustration rising in his voice, rudeness in his every syllable and movement. I lost my temper. "I don't know!" I shouted. "Why don't you listen?!" "I am listening, but I don't understand!" Crying. Tears. More shouts. "Call momma!" "No. Just trust me. You'll be okay. Just come home after school." "ARGH!!!! Poppa, listen to me! diaidifiaeifdik!" I just couldn't understand what he said. At a loss for what to do, and desperate to get him to the meeting place on time (we were late yesterday, too, and I had to walk him to school), I called wife and gave him the phone. When he finished asking and getting his answer, he looked sheepish. I thought I'd won the battle, that I'd been right, but I was only partly so. (English) "What did she say?" (Japanese) "She said I have meet Yumi-chan (our neighbor) at the place where she stands after school." (English) "See? You should have listened to me." (Japanese) "You didn't say that!" (English) "Whatever. We have to go. You're late." We rushed out of the house. Well, I say rushed, but in reality he was still angry and sulky, so he dawdled. I could see everyone waiting for us, and told him to hurry, but he wouldn't. At the top of the stairs (I was already two landings down) he complained that he was itchy and started to scratch himself. He wouldn't move. I shouted at him to hurry up and get down here, but he wouldn't budge. Everyone at the meeting place watched. Still he wouldn't move. They were late. I waved for them to go on without us, because it was obvious son wasn't going to move. I waited. And waited. Eventually he made his way down the stairs and then stood there looking at me. "Don't talk to me from here until we get to school," I growled and then walked away so he would have to follow. Bad morning. Funny thing is that wife was reprimanding me this morning (in front of son, no less) that I was too nice to son, and that's why he doesn't respect me. I asked her not to talk about these things in front of him, but she wouldn't stop. Why do I fight to stay in this family? |
| Son proudly announced that he weighed twenty kilos. His weight has always been a big issue for his mother because she's always thought he was small for his age. In truth, he's just got lankier arms and legs than most of the other Japanese kids--and, of course, he's so hyper fat cells are burned away constantly in his mad dashes here and there. We had a good morning. He is getting older, more mature, and meal times take a lot less effort to keep him focused on the food. The teachers told him that kids shouldn't watch more than an hour of tv a day, and he's keeping to that, so we only watched about 10 mins of kids tv this morning, and then we played. I had to walk him to school because of some bad timing on the part of the toilet, but, hey, I didn't really mind. There's a picture of him on my desk: an infant, chubby legs and arms, just holding himself up by the bars of his crib, smiling hugely at the camera. Will every day of our life together be tinged by the regret of that time lost? |
| Woke up with a hangover and a vague memory of stumbling around in the corridor outside our hotel room, fidgeting with the key, trying to get the bathroom door unlocked before I peed my pants. We had breakfast in the hotel, in the basement. English-style breakfast should not be a selling point for hotels; it really shouldn't. Toast, sausage, bacon, baked beans and a baked tomato that looked like the withered heart plucked from an exhausted cynic. All the other families spoke French. We went for a short walk along the South Bank of the Thames. Beautiful place full of people. Lots of people posing as statues, too. One of them really shocked wife and son: he looked like a statue of a zombie, until he jumped out at them. Turns out he was advertising a scare-house ride. Son wanted to go in, but he was too young; also, he wanted to go to the aquarium, the London Eye, the carousel, the Thames and everywhere within Waterloo station (this wish he almost got as wife's anger and resentment against me flared up again and, son in hand, she ran away from me, losing me in the small maze of underground passageways--oh, what a feeling that was!). Strangely, in the big park along the Thames, we saw the same street performer we'd watched in Antwerp a few days before, a guy who could do 10 (or more) push-ups on his thumps. Beautiful guy with long blond hair and and incredible build, but just didn't have the patter to keep the audience captivated (yet, doing it in English, I have to give him all the credit I can). I said hello and told him we'd seen him in Belgium. He smiled politely, emptily, and thanked me. Time to move on. Son had a thing about wanting to eat smoked salmon, so we ate smoked salmon bagel sandwiches at Waterloo Station and then made our way towards a shopping district called Carnaby Street. Cool little shops everywhere, and I really, really, really hoped it would make wife happier. Not sure if it did, but at least she was smiling by the time we got back to the hotel room to pack up and head to Heathrow airport. Despite at dire warnings, Heathrow seemed clean and trouble free. We ate dinner at an Italian restaurant in the airport (my last lasagna before returning to Japan), downing a warm, bitter but passable Guinness from out bag, and then went shopping for a few more souvenirs. By the way, for those who don't know, in Japan, you buy souvenirs not for yourself but for everyone you know back in Japan, and distribute them as gifts on your return. In our suitcases, we were already lugging something like 10 or 20 kilos of chocolate from Belgium and Switzerland--none of it for us. If I'd known how difficult son would be on the return flight, and how many more mood swings the wife would go through once back in Japan, I think I would've applied for a job at the restaurant and tried to stay in London. |
| Just saw son off to school. Better morning today. Wife not shouting at him to hurry up. Wife not shouting at me for divorce. A cool standoff between us has ensued. I am no saint, and would never pose as one. I do not want the divorce; I care deeply for wife. I also care very deeply for son, and so am constantly trying to think unselfishly about what is best for his future. I am afraid that if wife and I stay together, we will fight more in front of son, and I do not want that either. I am trying to think about wife's complaints and do what I can to ease her fears and anxieties: looking for freelance work and better paying positions, trying to understand her reasons for treating son in such a forceful manner, etc. It is difficult but I want to do it. I don't want to give up. |
| Well, I had imagined that everything was going better than ever between wife and I. And then this morning, as she's shouting at son to hurry up to school, and I am arguing with her to calm down, everything blows up. We get him to school in relative peace, but then the recriminations, reprimands and accusations begin. She can't trust me. I took her friends. I've lied to her. I put her down in front of her friends. I deny everything except the lies--I have lied to her in the past, but small things, and the thing she is most angry about now I did not lie about. It doesn't matter. Moral: don't lie, no matter how small it may seem. Or, if you do, be prepared for the consequences. The long and short of it is that she has just handed me the divorce dissolution papers. "Sign this." If we both sign them, the marriage is over. I told her I will not sign them until we talk and/or seek some counseling. She said they don't do that in Japan. She said she will wait. The brown envelope is on my desk next to the keyboard. I have to go to work and smile. I hope I can see son again tonight. I hope she will talk to me. I do not want this. Please, I do not want this. |
| Son goes back to school tomorrow (still the first year). We took him to the water park today, and he really enjoyed it. I didn't enjoy having people stare at me again (mostly at the big tattoo on my arm, which is taboo here. Taboo tattoos. Yeah). He seems happy to be back (except for the allergies). He is speaking more English to me, and that means a lot. You have no idea how much that means--or maybe you do. I don't know. Wife starts working some temporary job in a few days--there went my hope for her to stay home for a while and relax. She just won't do it. Now I'm afraid we're going right back to the same old bad life we had of stress, stress and stress, chasing a future dream (of hers) of safety and security. Back at work, I just want to scratch my own eyes out as some of these people (so socially backwards that they actually have to pay money to have someone to talk to, in another language even) ignore the most basic elements of conversation (e.g., asking the other person questions or appearing to take an interest in what they say). I've got to get this resume done for the freelance work, and I've got to get some freelance work. Basically, I've got to get a better job, or a bigger income stream, because I just don't think my business is going to take off like I'd hoped or, probably, we're going to get out of here before the business gets that established, so say goodbye to all that work. I would just love to write for a living, but I have no faith in myself for that, and no faith in the market, and I've just seen and read about too many author's lives to have a romantic view of that endeavor. Why can't I just turn my back on writing? I've tried so many times in the last ten years. Can't I just take this wonderfully active brain and strap it down to some gravestone of a desk and work until I die, earning a pittance that enables my family to pursue some illusion happiness?? Oh, no, of course not. I have to be the heroic artist-type (or just arrogant b*st*rd). Or is it just that I am afraid that my son sees when he looks at me now will be the same unhappy, frustrated person he will see in ten years, twenty years time? Yeah, that's probably it. Probably. So, back to getting up at 6am. Taking son to school in the morning, with wife, thankfully. |
| Arrived in London in the afternoon, and was met at St. Pancras Station by an old workmate and friend who works and lives in London with his Japanese wife. Of course, wife was all smiles--and she spoke the first words I'd heard from her in several hours. As my friend, Chris, guided us to the hotel, he'd walk ahead a little ways to talk on his cellphone. Turns out he was having an argument with his wife, whom he forgot to inform of the day and time of our arrival, with the result that she couldn't meet us (we all come from the same small town in Japan), inciting her dire wrath. Eventually, he just hung up on her because "we aren't getting anywhere." The Avanmore Hotel (which I recommend if you are staying in downtown London) was small, cozy, and centrally located, with an excellent staff who were more than willing to help. Our room was on the "third floor", which I forgot meant the fourth floor. Carrying three heavy suitcases up four narrow flights of stairs was not exactly fun, but it was humorous. After watching son's rambunctious behavior and total lack of respect for me, Chris admitted that his wife and he were in conversation about having children and he was not exactly inspired to reproduce if this was the result. Haha. We went back to King's Cross Station so son could see platform 9 and 3/4 (from the Harry Potter movies), and he was so disappointed that he couldn't get into the platform because he'd forgotten the magic word, and was even a little angry that he hadn't yet me Harry Potter or any of the Dementors. Afterward, Chris took us to a small pub he'd been told about (he works as a freelance programmer for OpenMap, I believe they call it). Great beer, excellent fish and chips (my first). Wife and son then went back to the hotel room so that Chris and I could go out to this reading and for drinks. The reading was in "an old horse stable," and the stone floors really were the kind of cobbled flooring you get to keep horses from slipping on their own piss. The reading was full of boring artist-types, the type of people I had my fill of during university, and most of what they read was boring, like they had no idea the audience might not be hanging on their every word. I could've done better, and that's what I kept telling my friend. I am such an arrogant b*st*rd sometimes, though it's only for show. Oh well. The beer was nice. We went for drinks around the corner from the hotel and talked a lot about the difficulties of being married to Japanese women (he has many of the same problems), about work, about politics and such. It was great to see him again. I was pretty drunk by the time I stumbled back to the room. At first wife couldn't hear me knocking to be let in, and I asked the front desk guy to call the room so she could, but he told me the hotel didn't have such a system. I climbed the stairs, again, and this time wife did hear me. I went across the hall to the bathroom and got ready for bed--well, I say bed, but because the room was so small, with only one double bed, what I mean is floor. Yep. I slept on the floor, and was happy to do so. I was happy. Drinks, friends, art, lively city--I'd fallen in love, a little, with London. |
| 2:55pm (from journal) On the Eurostar (bullet train) waiting to depart Brussels, bound for St. Pancras station in London. Wife's emotional wound opened up again on the local train after we said goodbye to Nicole. Wife feels she's lost her friends because I made them have a bad impression of her, and that is so unfair because, by bringing me on this vacation, she has given me so many good memories. I don't know how to handle this, so I'm trying to ignore it--but it's hard. I feel her friends would've had the same impression of our life had I kept my mouth shut--there are not stupid at all. It's not difficult to reason out that a woman who spends four hours a day commuting, six hours studying, and the remaining hours hurrying through the usual daily chores so she can cram in a couple hours study time a day, who, when on vacation, constantly walks away from her child to leave her husband to watch after him, is not spending enough time with her child. I think they could easily see that. All I did--and, yes, I could've chosen not to have done so--is talk about how busy the average Japanese life is and how little priority family time plays in that mix. Yes, I added that I disapproved of the Japanese priorities, and, yes, I could have not said that, but it is true. Perhaps, subconsciously, whatever that might be, I longed for wife to understand that her priorities are not good, not healthy for our family, and to hammer home, again, that I am not happy with the choice she has made regarding school full-time. So, I have ruined her vacation. No matter what comes of this, that will be her only memory. No matter how true or untrue, that will be her only memory. After Brugge, we went to Tom and Vanessa's for dinner. This was wife and I's first view of their new home. Very modern interior, long, narrow backyard (this seems standard in Belgium), each yard separated by a chain link fence so that one gets the impression of, strangely, kennels, though the whole neighborhood was really, really nice, for a suburb. We had a barbecue and son played in the swimming pool (same as the one as our friends' in Switzerland). Belgian beers; red peppers stuffed with herbed cheese; wieners wrapped in bacon; two kinds of salad. After eating, we looked at pictures of their wedding and their child, Ella, who was at a a relatives for a couple days. Vanessa is an imposing woman. She gives the quiet impression that she, not Tom, rules the roost. Tom is welcoming and friendly. Son played on their exercise walker while the rest of us enjoyed vanilla and chocolate pudding from a carton and a flat, dry chocolate-like cake from the supermarket. They gave us a brief tour of their three-story house and unfinished interior. Wife loved the bathroom with its rain shower shower, double sinks and large bath. We left around 11pm. Standing barefoot in the dewy grass of our Switzerland and Belgian friends' lawns and feeling the stresses of our life in Japan drain slowly away, may be the happiest memory from this trip. It had been too long. |
| Brugge was everything Nicole had promised: an old-style town preserved, modern architecture banned, Venice of Northern Europe, canals running here and there--tourists and tourist shops everywhere. None of the buildings are younger than a hundred and fifty years. Some of the display their year of construction somewhere on their facade: 1574, 1772, 1678. Lots and lots of scenes of the Crucifixion. Christ, how oppressive! constantly being reminded of that story and how we should all feel guilty because of it. Everywhere you turned, there it was: a tortured man, a dead man, and so many sad faces. Brugges is the most toursity place in Beligum, apparently. "This is where all the Japanese go when they visit Belgium, not the capital, Antwerpen," Nicole said. The river waters were green, plowed by low-hulled boats packed with tourists, ringing out with a multi-lingual spoken tour of the sights. Horse-drawn carts clopped along the cobbles, showing people more of the narrow streets and small shops. We visited the Beguinage of Brugge, a small square of private houses adjoining a church. This is where nuns would live, each to their own house, in seclusion. No men were allowed entry in the beguinage. The style of housing was faintly, to my mind, Spanish, situated around a central lawn interspersed by a walking path and shaded by large, leafy trees. We bought some souvenirs at a lace-making shop (for which this region of Belgium is also famous). Wife spent a long time admiring the various styles and making her selections. I swore the counter-girl was going to fall out of her shirt, and would've been happy for it. We had lunch at a care that advertised crepes, which wife hoped was the same place she had visited ten years before. Sadly, either she had chosen wrong, or the place had changed. It was a hot day, very sunny, with no breeze. We walked for hours. I'd worn thin-soled shoes. My feet hurt. Everyone was tired. By the time we managed to trudge back to the car, none of us, excepting son, were talking much. Later, we had a barbecue at Nicole's son's house. He and his wife, Vanessa, were very friendly and welcoming, and the food excellent. They asked many questions about Obama and the health-care debate. Their house had just been built in a suburban neighborhood. Each house had a long, narrow backyard separated from the neighbor's by a chain-link fence--looking out, you had the impression of both a wide field littered with the detritus of suburban backyards and of a large dog kennel. Great flocks of birds flew overhead as the sun set, their wing feathers rustling audibly despite their height. |
| I have, in the course of my ten years living as an ex-pat, often encountered non-Americans who express negative attitudes towards people of Jewish religion or descent, and have felt that cringe of angst at their comments. Basically, I think that when you grow up in the States, if you possess a modicum of sensitivity, you internalize a certain circumspect attitude towards any comments regarding Jewish peoples (at least, I have). So it always surprises me when people make such comments openly and with no sense of shame. Nicole's son, Tom, when telling us about Antwerp, talked about how this city is the center of the world's diamond trade, and how that trade is controlled by the Jews, who are, appropriately, a very rich, very established, and very powerful force in the city. Nicole seconded her son's view. Of course, there was nothing disparaging in their view--they were simply expressing a socio-political reality--but I felt uncomfortable hearing it. Wasn't it just a caricature, a stereotype, of the powerful, money-hungry Jew? Well, on the boat tour of the Skeld (the one which played stage to wife and I's bitter, silent battle), I happened to have a chance to observe quite closely one of these Antwerp Jews, the powerful men. Not sure what type of religion he practiced, but he had the long hair-tails at the sides of his head, wore lots of black, including black glasses. He also seemed to have a birth defect of the eye, which made it bulge out a little. As I watched him move about the two decks of the boat, escorting four small children, I kept thinking to myself: So, this is the powerful Jew, the dark, mysterious figure of history and present-day subject of so much distrust and stereotyping. Here is what I saw: A man dressed in black, in the heat of the summer sun, sweating, juggling two baby bottles and pushing a stroller, barking out hurried reprimands, directions and orders to a group of children, his own I assumed, who didn't really seem to mind much what he was saying. No mother was in sight. A harried father, in other words. I had to smile; in fact, I did, and he saw me then, watching him, a smile on my face. I nodded to him and pointed to son, leaning over the boat rail despite my numerous remonstrations, and wishing I could also tell this man about the fight wife and I were having at this very moment. He nodded back, one father to another, and rushed after a small girl who seemed to think hanging by her hands from the second deck rail was immense, giggle-worthy fun. I salute you, Jew of Antwerp, and wish we could've sat down over a beer and exchanged stories. |
| Listening to The Agonist as I write. Nice grindcore, if you're into that kind of thing. Thought I should try and catch up on what's been going on since we returned to Japan, but will also continue posting about the Europe trip until I catch up. Japan, post-vacation: Son is sneezy and his eyes are itchy once again. While he seems to like being back with his friends and his Sunday-morning kids TV, he is miserable with allergies and has already growled through tears that he wants to move. I swear he's taller, too. Speaks English more, and is spending more time with mother, and that is making a world of difference in his attitude, I think. Still, he is demanding, and speaks with little or no respect to us, but things are improving. Wife is a bit frustrated with the change, though. Spending more time with son is frustrating and difficult. But it is so obvious to me, now, how much they love each other. But whether it is the Asberger's or simply being spoiled, son just can't shut up. He talks incessantly, and interrupts constantly, despite our explanations of how rude this is and how there are better ways to get people to hear him. And because they are spending more time together, they've given me the space I need to do projects for the business (thought it looks like I might have to abandon this in the near-future) and too look for freelance writing gigs. Wife even read the blog the other night after returning from vacation--man, that made me nervous. "I love your blog," she said when finished, sniffing a little at the humor and sadness therein. Life continues to surprise. Keep it coming, please. |
| Now I remember what happened after wife and I's blistering, silent argument on the boat tour of Antwerpen: We continued with our sightseeing as if nothing had happened. I'm looking at a picture of wife, Nicole and son now, the one we took just after getting off the boat, and everyone is smiling--though, if you look more closely, you can see the weariness in wife's face. Son is making a silly face, as he always does for pictures unless told otherwise. We walked through the city, taking pictures of various statues, seeing so many images of Mary and the crucifixion of Jesus, the huge statue of Brabo (Nicole telling us the complete story), admiring the old guild buildings and the Stadhuis (town hall) lining the central plaza (which used to be a graveyard connected to the Cathedral of Our Lady but which had been dug up and removed on order of Napoleon (the clean freak). The Stadhuis is adorned with 40 or 50 flags of different countries and is quite stunning. Everything looks appropriately old, and horse-drawn buggies clomp along the streets carrying smiling tourists. Nicole took us for dinner at a cool restaurant tucked away into an acclove of the main streets; we ate an excellent dinner with wine and beer in plenty, lots of stories about wife's first trip to Antwerp ten years earlier, about life in Japan and our future plans. We laughed a lot. Afterward, Nicole took us to another restaurant that was famous for its basement location, a basement that had been preserved since its construction in the early 15th century ("It's older than the discovery of your country by Columbus," Nicole jibbed). We were all laughing and smiling by this point. Above everything, of course, rose the Cathedral of Our Lady, and, yes, it is big. It was nearing sundown (at 8:30pm, no less), when we finally sat down at a cafe near the cathedral, joining a group of Nicole's friends, divorcees, who meet as a support group once a week. Everyone was cool, though quite older than us, asking questions about our trip, about America and Japan, and give candy to a very happy son. I ordered a beer, a Trapist, which one of the men warned me was quite dark and bitter; the waitress asked (in English, though I kept slipping, by habit, into Japanese!) if I wanted a glass, and was surprised when I didn't. I took a large swig, set the bottle on the table and then looked up at the cathedral spire rising high above us. People at the table began to gasp. I looked down: the beer had foamed over and was spreading over the table. Ha ha. Stupid tourist doesn't know his beer. Yes, it was embarrassing, but it was good beer, so I drank down the remaining in a few gulps and ordered another. Everyone smiled. Slightly drunk after half an hour of such drinking, I dropped out of the conversation and leaned back in my seat to better look up the spire. It was impressive. I kept trying to imagine what it would've been like for some poor farmer peasant back in the 16th century to come to town and see something like that. How humbling, how awe-inspiring it must've been. Not only is the cathedral huge, it's ornate and beautiful--designed to inspire supplication to a greater power than a simple human, apparently. I must've looked up at it, lost in thought, for about fifteen minutes, totally ignorant to the conversations around me, because suddenly wife said my name and, looking over, I could see the impatience and anger in her eyes. The façade returned as she smiled at me and said we were going home. We shook hands with everyone and wished them all the best of luck, which they returned in kind. Thanks, I thought. I'm going to need it. |
| Monday, August 17th, 10:30 pm I guess I should've taken that inauspicious start as a sign of bad things to come; I would've been more prepared for the disaster that was to come. We took the tram to central Antwerp. Wife's friend is as good as any tour guide, seeing as she has lived here all her life. We started at a small park so that son could play and release some of his pent-up energies. That was fun, and there was a small enclosure of goats, deer and chickens for him look at as well. Then we went to a street market, but didn't find anything interesting. Afterwards, we went for a walk in a large park area that used to be attached to an old mansion/castle (now renovated as a restaurant). That's where things started to go wrong. Wife and friend walked ahead while I stayed behind to keep son with us--he wanted to play, not walk, and was angry that we weren't doing more that was fun for him. He'd stop and sulk often. I was nervous to let him do this because we were in a strange place that he didn't know and he could get lost in the trees quite easily once he lost sight of us. I had to shout at him a couple of times to catch up. Wife came back to me, her face stormy. "You've said too much! Why do you always ruin things for me?" When I finally got out of her what she was talking about, I was confused: Apparently while they were walking ahead, wife's friend had commented that wife, not me, needed to spend more time with son, and that she'd formed this conclusion based on observing us for the past couple of days. "Well, there you are, then," I said. "It's not because of anything I said. It's just what she has seen. And you do always walk ahead and leave me alone with son." Our argument was hot but quiet, tense with the stress of trying to keep it from friend's attention. Secretly, I was pleased that someone had told wife exactly what I had felt--that she needed to spend more time with son. Wasn't that what I had been trying to get her to do in Switzerland? Isn't that what she had gotten angry at me about, scolding me for helping too much when I was only trying to make sure she had more free time to spend with friends and son? I told her as much, but should've kept my mouth shut. I couldn't win. Still, after that, she did stay with son more, leaving me free to take pictures. Son then played in a fountain, soaking his clothes and angering wife. We went for a walk through a rose garden and looked at some interesting statues. Lunch at the house and then catch a tram to central Antwerp. The big train station there is beautiful. We walked leisurely, and all the while, I tried to make sure that wife was walking with son, which I felt good about. At one point, on a busy shopping street, wife had to take son back to a toilet at a Quick (a fast food restaurant not unlike McDonalds). While they were gone, wife's friend tried to give me the same advice, and more, that she's given wife. "Also, you two shouldn't argue in front of him. He's playing you off of each other." I thanked her, but had to warn her that any advice she gave wife was probably going to come back on me in a bad way. More sightseeing ensued, but tensions mounted. Son was difficult at best; spoiled and rotten most of the way, demanding sweets, complaining about the sun; angry that we weren't doing fun things. Things went Chernobyl on the boat ride. Friend suggested we take a boat ride on the Skeld to get a good view of the city along the river banks. Wife, friend and son had gone ahead and boarded the boat while I stayed behind to take some pictures of the dock area. When I finally boarded, I found son, alone, on the stairs, crying because he' somehow hurt his leg. As I tried to find out what had happened, wife and friend came up. "What happened?" wife asked. I was angry. Wasn't she supposed to be spending more time with son? "Who's watching this kid?" I barked, angry that she was asking me. Things went deathly quiet. Friend walked away, reading the situation. The air around wife went frosty and then cold as the grave. "You've insulted me in front of my friend," she said. The rest of the ride--the rest of the day--was a study of silence filled with the quantum energy of unspoken reprimands, insults and yearnings to just call it quits on this sham of a marriage. Wife spoke to no one, and just sat in a chair near the bow, watching the scenery roll past. I tried to make small talk with the friend, but soon lost heart. I don't remember clearly what happened after that. We got back to friend's house. Did we have dinner there? I don't recall. Probably we argued quietly whenever we had a moment's privacy. Wife slept with son. I tried to do some emails and research our upcoming trip to London, but mostly I just regretted my words, my anger, and hoped that things would cool off. I knew that I could've been more careful, more silent, more guarded of tongue, but I really did feel that wife was coming to understand so much of my frustrations over the past few months--that I had been, against my own wills and expressed wishes, thrust into being the primary caregiver to a child I couldn't communicate clearly with, in a situation that required someone with knowledge and the cultural background that I didn't have, with a child who needed his mother now more than anything. I felt justified, but it all depended on if wife would understand and accept. |
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