Exposure

On Sunday evening we received an email from the kids’ school informing us that one of the cooks in the kitchen had contracted COVID-19. (Uh-oh.) The school assured us parents that the person in question had had no contact with teachers or students. It also said that the remaining cooking staff had been sent home to quarantine for two weeks. What’s more, professional cleaners had been brought in to disinfect the kitchen and related areas over the weekend. As a result of the steps that had been taken, kids would be able to go to school on Monday with only one change: there would be no apple jam in Monday’s school lunch as the infected person had been in charge of it.

I asked my wife why the school would even bother mentioning the jam.

“Because some petty-minded parent would complain,” she replied. “There was no apple jam in my child’s school lunch!”

True. True.

Now, I wouldn’t say we were on pins and needles about this, but still I was checking my email every now and again to see if a cluster would develop at the school.

Well, late Monday night, we got another email from the school. Fortunately it was about a different kind of exposure.

“What is it,” my wife asked, her voice tense.

Just another pervert, I answered.

“Oh, what a relief!”

All or Nothing

Been thinking about attrition rates in karate recently. My elder son went to Kumamoto for a friendly soccer match early this morning. Every time I go to his practice, it seems the number of kids on the field has been getting bigger and bigger. Meanwhile, although the number of kids at the dōjō has increased, every year there are fewer and fewer of the older kids. And it's not just our dōjō. At last week's tournament, for instance, there were 27 third graders among the boys, 20 fifth graders, 11 seventh graders (中1), and only 2 thirteenth graders (中３).

I think there are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is that it ain't fun getting punched and kicked in the head on a regular basis. The biggest factor, though, has to be the all-or-nothing, total commitment mentality to your chosen hobby here. The notion of a season for a sport doesn't quite translate.

When I was a kid in the States, I played baseball in the summer, soccer in the fall, basketball and skiing in the winter, and track and field in the spring. Each season was just long enough to help you improve your skill, but short enough to keep you from burning out. If you wanted to take a break from sports for one season, there was no penalty. Thanks to that, a healthy active kid can continue playing the sports he likes all the way from elementary school through high school.

Here, it's the opposite: you join a soccer team or swim team or whatever and you do it all year long. If you are bumped up into a higher class, like my sons with karate, then you are doing it two, three, four, even five times a week all year long.

My wife and I used to have arguments about this. She'd get upset that our boys weren't doing better in tournaments or weren't focusing during practice. I would counter, "They're only five and eight. There's no hurry. Let them enjoy it and later on they can take it more seriously. I mean think about it: nobody is going to be impressed by a twenty-something-year-old who boasts: 'I was a karate baddass when I was seven years old!' It won't matter in the end. Continuing, however, will."

I wasn't very convincing, I'm afraid, but she eventually gave in and let them practice at their own pace which is twice a week rather than fourth. More before a tournament.

The other day, my wife and I were talking about what our sons will do when they start junior high school. She said she was thinking of letting them quit karate. Again, I said, "Why does it have to be all or fucking nothing all the time? I want them to continue. They don't need to go to the dōjō five times a week, but they should try to go at least twice a month to blow off steam. Jump into a tournament every few months where all they have to do is win one bout to bring home a trophy because everyone else has quit and there's no competition."

It was like an epiphany. "Oh, I hadn't considered that option."

So, my elder son is contemplating joining kendo when he enters junior high. I guess it looks like Star Wars to him. I'm hoping he'll try to stick to a team sport, like his soccer, so that he can have a good cadre of friends throughout his junior high school years.

Gotta Naraigoto

Ask a group of Japanese under the age of, say, thirty-five if they'd had lessons—what the Japanese call narai goto or o-keiko—when they were young, and you'll probably find most, if not all, did. Having been in the Eikaiwa (English conversation) trade for many years and having personally taught many preschool and elementary school aged children, I know from experience that Japanese children maintain schedules that would have American kids on their knees, crying, "Uncle!"

The whole business of training, cultivating, and educating children would be interesting to research some day. In the meantime, here are the results of a half-arsed survey I did the other day.

Of the twenty university sophomores (18♀/2♂) that I surveyed, 17 had had lessons of some kind before starting elementary school. By the time they had enrolled in elementary school, all of them were taking some kind of lesson. The most popular lessons were piano (15), swimming (13), calligraphy (11), and English and cram school, i.e. juku (10). Asked if they would also send their own children to these kinds of lessons, 19 said yes. The type and number of lessons they would like their children to take, however, changed.

I've long been interested in knowing not only what people studied and when, but also whether they feel they had benefitted from the lessons and whether they would do the same for their own children. Most, it appears, feel they did and would make their future children do likewise. 

As a father myself the time will come soon enough when I will be forced to decide if I will make my own son take these kinds of lessons and what I will have him study. I am already leaning towards lessons in a third language, guitar, calligraphy, soccer, abacus, and swimming. The poor kid.

I originally wrote this blog post back in 2011 when my elder son was only a year old. Now that he is almost nine, I can say that the third language probably won’t happen until high school—getting the boys to be bilingual is hard work enough—musical lessons won’t happen unless they decide to pick something up themselves. Calligraphy? What was I thinking? That said, the older boy has nice handwriting thanks to his mother’s constant berating. The final three narai goto have worked out alright. The boys love soccer and have played on “teams” for several years now. Abacus, or soroban, can’t be more highly recommended. As for swimming, with their tight schedules it’s hard to put them in regular lessons, so we drop them off at intensive courses every long holiday. In addition to those, the boys have been doing karate two to four times a week. They also have English lessons with Daddy a few times a week.

Unlimited

無限の可能性
Unlimited Possibilities 

As I watch my boys grow, one of the things I often hear them say is “Daddy, I can now do this or that!” It doesn’t matter if it’s their studies or sports, they are constantly developing, maturing, getting better, learning, playing, mastering new things.

As I age, I find the opposite is true. There are things I can no longer do or, worse, things I think I am no longer capable of doing. Negativity is part of aging and to fight it I need to be more positive. Not in a silly Pollyannic way, but in a way that is rooted in reality. The possibilities may not be unlimited, but they are still there if you have an open mind and are willing to push yourself to try new things. Visiting this shrine in Kyōto reminded me of that.

Fifty, shmifty. I can do it. 

Carpool Dad

At my son’s Tuesday evening soccer practice again.

It may sound silly to admit this, but I had no idea child-raising would be as time and labor intensive as it has been. For example, just getting the kids ready for school and kindergarten eats up a good two hours of my weekday mornings. (This should improve once they are going to the same school and are once again on the same schedule.) Then, there’s taking them to all their extracurricular activities and lessons and often having to hang around until they are finished—because in Japan you don’t just drop off and pick up; no, you’re expected to observe and then drill the kid later at home. 

The evenings are occupied with making sure homework gets done and understood, providing the boys with opportunities to hear, read and speak English. Then there’s the feeding and cleaning up after them, getting them bathed and ready for bed, and finally reading book after book after book before succumbing to exhaustion and having to do it all over again.

Not that I’m complaining. I love watching my boys grow up, learn or master new things, overcome challenges. I wouldn’t give it up for the world. That said, I wouldn’t mind being able to sleep in every once in a while.

Blasphemy

My wife made an interesting observation after spending the day with an old friend: "Ideas about the proper way to raise children are like a religion. It's like I belong to this sect. My friend belongs to another sect. And just like you shouldn't say 'My God is the One True God and yours is a blasphemy.' it's hard to tell someone that their way of raising a child may be wrong."

She was referring in particular to the Boob Tube and how some families have the TV on all day long like BGM in their homes. "How can you talk to your children or read to them if you've always got the TV on?"

As with religion—you won't really know if you were right or completely wrong until you die (even then you still may not have an answer)—when it comes to kids, you won't know if your policies worked until the kids grow up and go out into the world.

The other day, our sons (“Cain and Abel”) were at their grandparents. (Heaven on earth!) I plopped down on the sofa and looked at the black screen of my TV. I thought about turning it on to watch the news, but the effort to get off my arse and do so was too much. Inertia has a way of keeping you verring out of habit. It occurred to me that for many people the effort required to turn off the TV and open a book, instead, is often too much for many people, too.

Free-Range Kids

I was watching the US news earlier today, and there was a report on a "free-range parenting" law passed in Utah. The report mentioned Oregon as one of the states where kids under ten are not supposed to be left alone/unsupervised.

The law states: "163.545 Child neglect in the second degree. (1) A person having custody or control of a child under 10 years of age commits the crime of child neglect in the second degree if, with criminal negligence, the person leaves the child unattended in or at any place for such period of time as may be likely to endanger the health or welfare of such child."

Under a silly rule like that, we, and I'd say a lot of parents in Japan, would be found guilty of neglect. Our boys (5 and 7) routinely go out and play by themselves, as do many of their friends from school. My main concern is whether they look both ways before crossing streets. 

When did Americans get so nervous? When I was a kid, my mother was more than happy to get rid of me for hours at at time. Be home before dark, I was told. And I usually was, albeit covered with mud and scratches.

The other day, I noticed my son had some bad bruises on his arms from karate. He was going to have his annual measurement-taking at school later that day, so I asked him what he would say if someone asked him where the bruises came from. He replied: "I'll tell them Momma did it."

We laughed about it at first, but I warned him against making a joke like that in America as it probably wouldn't end well.

Woman Kinder-rupted

My wife dashes out the front door, our six-year-old son, half-dressed in his karate "dogi," scurrying behind her. “We’re going to be late! You can tie the obi in the elevator.”

It’s Tuesday again, which means my wife had to pick our two boys up at their kindergarten bus stop at 2:40 p.m., then drop the older one off at his 3 p.m. "soroban" (abacus) lesson at the local community center. Fifty minutes later, she fetched him so he could have a quick bite at home before shuttling him back to the center. Like many of the other mothers, she will observe the entirety of his karate lesson, dutifully taking notes and occasionally videoing. Once home, she will go over what our son has learned that day, and admonish the boy if necessary, before putting him and his younger brother to bed with a book or 10. Tomorrow it is soccer practice. The day after that, “Play School.” Fridays are for English and, once again, karate.

Although Japanese women are said to be some of the most highly educated women among OECD countries, their participation in the labor force, at 48.7% in 2014, is much lower than the average, and falling. Part of the decline is due to Japan’s aging society — male participation in the labor force dropped from 78.2% in 1993 to 70.1% in 2014 — but the main reason that comparatively few Japanese women work is due to societal demands on mothers. According to The Economist, “When [Japanese] women have their first child, 70% of them stop working for a decade or more, compared with just 30% in America. Quite a lot of those 70% are gone for good.”

To address this, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe announced in 2013 that raising the female participation rate and allowing women to “shine” in the workplace would be one of the most important aspects of his Abenomics growth initiative. While I applaud any effort to support working mothers, my courtside perspective on parenting in Japan has me doubting how successful his proposal will be in the end.

Japanese corporate culture — the dominance of males in the workplace, "sabisu zangyo," i.e. unpaid overtime, "matahara" (maternity harassment), etc — is often cited as the one of the main obstacles holding Japanese women back. I find, however, that rather than this oft-maligned “honne"culture, it is the demands of the home culture — namely, the daily imperative of rearing and educating one’s own children — that has so many mothers in this country shunning full-time work.

Although the percent of Japanese children left at daycare peaks at 42.6% when children are three years old, from the age of four (the age at which kids enter kindergarten), 52.9% are in kindergarten, compared to 39.4% at daycare. By age six, 62.3% of kids are enrolled in kindergarten; and only 37.7% at daycare.

You might think that with the little ones parked in “kindy” all day, a mother would have a sudden windfall of free time — and so did I when our second son was also enrolled — but think again. For one, most kindergartens in Japan only keep the children for three to five hours a day, compared to seven or eight in the U.S. And, two, the typical kindergarten places great demands upon parents, the bulk of which falls upon the mother. Duties include serving lunch, taking part in excursions, attending monthly social gatherings for guardians (read mothers), event-planning, sitting in on lectures, serving on the executive board, and on and on.

Then there are the extracurricular activities to which mothers must ferry their young children to and from. The typical Japanese child attends two to three lessons a week, some as many as five or six. Many mothers believe that these lessons, which run the gamut from swimming and soccer to piano and cram school, are necessary to ensure their children’s future success and can spend upwards of ¥30,000 a month on them.

Many Japanese women so feel strongly that it is their role to not only raise, but to also discipline their children, that they are loath to leave much to chance. I can’t help but wonder how many mothers with young children would be willing to return to the workplace no matter how brightly they were permitted to shine.

I’d love to ask my own wife what she thinks about all this, but she’s scrambling out the front door again: it’s her turn to put the kindergarten’s library in order.

For some reason, Japan Today has taken my name off of my articles.