waiting by the phone

Now that the boy is off to college, it is definitely quieter around the house. The dog seemed confused when we returned without him, but he adjusted. It is a new normal for all of us. I have caught myself driving down Lakeshore and panicking for a split second because I thought I had forgotten to take him to tae kwon do ... only to remember that he is not here and he has his license now, so he could have driven himself, anyway. I miss my twenty minutes of All Things Considered on the radio during our regular drop-off drives; an added bonus was watching how excited my son would get about the bumper music, frantically trying to Shazam a song before it faded out, usually, too soon.

With less driving around to do, I should have lots of extra time to do whatever I want ... but somehow it doesn't feel that way. I still feel like I am bouncing from one task to the next, punctuated by many tasks in the category of Putting-Food-in-My-Mouth, also known as Mindless Snacking -- not technically on my list of things to do, but something I do a lot. This has not been good for my waistline, but this is also not completely out of the ordinary. It has, however, gotten bad enough that I have taken to wearing loose-fitting dresses so that I don't have to feel the sensation of a tourniquet around my waist whenever I put on jeans. (But that's another story. Which I will put off for now. I will have a little snack while I am thinking about it.)

Being an almost-empty nester is something that has been made easier because I have friends with older kids, and they have tried to ease me into making the transition. One of my sempai is my friend Debbie, who is very good about getting me out of the house for a walk from time-to-time. She is a great multi-tasker, and she always suggests that I bring my dog. My dog loves Debbie.

As we were walking the other day, my phone emitted a choo-choo sound that almost made me jump for joy, or at least made my heart skip a beat ... my son had texted me!
"I have to get this," I said, apologetically.
"Yes, you do," said Debbie, with a nod.
I fiddled around with the phone and responded.
We continued on our walk, both of us knowing that the odds of this text-and-response turning into an actual text conversation were pretty slim.
Debbie proceeded to tell me about a text she got from her son, who had been traveling, telling her that he had arrived in Munich and was in line at a beer garden.
"I was so happy to hear that he was ALIVE, but then I'm looking at the time of the text and thinking that it's about 8:30 in the morning in Munich, and what the heck is he doing in the beer line at 8:30 in the morning? But then I couldn't ask him, because I didn't want him to regret that he had texted me, right?"

I agreed. It was tough to straddle that fine line of still being a parent and worrying about them, and not wanting to scare them away from texting you at all. I told her she should get a pet, because my son would almost always reply to a text of a picture of the dog. Video was even better. My husband's co-worker had confirmed that this was a "thing" -- she sent pictures of the family cat to her daughter at college, and always got a response. Debbie was not convinced that she should get a pet, but I think she may have considered it for a brief moment.

I will confess that I sent several pictures of our dog to my son, and eventually, that did not even garner a response. Sigh. He has, however, FaceTimed us a few times, for extended face-to-virtual face conversations, which has been very nice. The worst part about that is the dog can hear my son's voice, but can't seem to see him on the screen. I guess the dog is the only one who knows what's real. Meanwhile, I will take anything I can get. Don't mind me, I'll just be sitting by the phone.

under the rim interlude

Had the pleasure of playing in a J-Sei fundraiser (a.k.a. FUN-raiser), Under the Rim and Over the Hill, a 3-on-3 basketball tournament for hoopsters over 40. I had managed to cobble together a team of myself, my husband, Big Dave, and Mike Yoshii, also known as The Rev (because he is actually a reverend for the Buena Vista United Methodist Church). I had never played with Dave before, unless you count when he and my husband coached our daughters, and we all used to scrimmage them when the girls were all still shorter than me.

Mike Yoshii, however, I had met back in the day when my husband and I used to play at the Oakland JCC with the Asian Law Caucus pick-up game. You could tell Mike was a baller, even when he was just standing on the sidelines bouncing the ball. Since then, he’s survived a heart attack while playing basketball (props out to Deanna at the gym who gave him CPR until the EMTs arrived) and continues to preach and play ball.

As I sat there watching him play in one of the Under the Rim games, I caught a glimpse of him where everything just slowed down, as if I were watching him frame-by-frame. Top of the key, executing his signature stutter step, weight-shifting magic, the ball bouncing up and spinning in his palm, not knowing which way The Rev was going to take it as he blew by the competition. Basketball poetry in motion.

Amen.

the drop-off: move-in day

Move-In Day. This was it. The first day of college orientation.
It was also Miles’s birthday.
“Do you want me to get a cake?”
“No, Mom, NO. I don't really want people to know it's my birthday.”
“Oh, okay. But ...”
“No.”
I guess that was clear enough, even for me.
We loaded up the car and drove the four miles to campus, and were greeted by a couple of cheerful students who directed us to park and register before unloading the car. We followed instructions, sort of, parked and took the scenic route to the registration building. As we made our way there, we passed trios that looked like us – a father, a mother, and a young adult/kid, looking slightly embarrassed. The weather was glorious. At least we could all talk about how nice the weather was as we – like our son – met a bunch of people for the first time who we suddenly had a lot in common with.

There was no registration line. We just walked on up and registered. The only glitch was with some fees that for some reason didn’t get pulled from the monthly installments that I was sure we made – believe me, there is no doubt when those tuition payments get automatically drawn out of your bank account – and I was a bit taken aback when the woman behind the table addressed my son and had him sign a document stating he would bring a check over to the office within a week’s time. Wow. This is really happening. Now, instead of wondering if I had forgotten to pay something on time, I could start wondering if my son had forgotten to pay something on time! This is getting real. Somehow, it felt like my life had just gotten more stressful, even though it should have had the opposite effect.

We decided to attend a faculty talk that was part of the parents’ “orientation” program. It was nice to run into a few other parents we had met in the Bay Area, and we sat next to each other like our own little club. The speakers were all very reassuring, and I started to feel ... reassured. This felt like the right school for Miles. He had chosen it, and it had, literally, chosen him. The talk went on with different administrators describing how they interact with the kids and what their areas of expertise were. They all gave different messages that basically amounted to the same thing: Leave your child alone, Don’t call the school, Don’t email the school, No you aren’t on the school emails but your child will be, Don’t call the professors, Do have your child call or email the professors, When you leave the school today, say good-bye. And leave.

Even with the bluntness that was underneath all the nice reassuring presentations, I felt okay with it all. Then, a woman raised her hand and started to ask a question. She was pretty much already in tears and could barely get her question out. She was doing exactly what I had imagined I would be doing: bordering on being a blubbering mess. And yet, I was sitting there, not crying, feeling ... strangely happy. This was my son’s time, and I was happier for him than I was sad for myself. Realizing this made me even happier.

After the talk, we found our son again and took one last look at his room. Time was ticking away, counting down to 4 pm when we would say our farewells. As I stepped into the hallway, a young woman stopped me and asked me if I was Miles's mom, and what kind of cake Miles liked, chocolate? She told me they knew it was his birthday, and they were going to get a cake and celebrate with him later. And, she was also allergic to nuts, so she would make sure it was nut-free. With that, I got to feel even more reassured. I was loving this college more and more by the minute!

We assessed his room again, and decided to make one last run to Bed Bath & Beyond to get a trash can, some over-the-door hooks, and maybe a full-length mirror. We said good-bye for now and hopped into the rental car and down Lancaster Avenue again. Careening around Bed Bath & Beyond, we grabbed a few options for hooks, one trash can, and no mirror. None of them fit the sleek modern lines of his room, so ironically, I decided against getting one.

As I drove around like a reality show contestant trying to beat a deadline, I made a mental note of the things a mom would notice: there’s the CVS, there’s the bank, there’s the Wawa Market, there’s the Chipotle. All within a two mile radius of campus. This gave me some peace of mind, since, let’s face it – my kid could get most of his needs taken care of at CVS, the bank, Wawa, and Chipotle.

It was surreal to think that eighteen years to the day, I was in labor, getting ready to bring this baby boy into the world. And, now, I was just worried about how close he would be to CVS, the bank, Wawa and Chipotle.

Driving back to campus this time, it was all feeling more bittersweet. This was the last time we’d see him. And we were running late, so we had barely enough time to get our latest purchases into his room before the parents’ reception and dinner, and the students’ orientation kick-off remarks. I rushed around, embarrassing him, since I had to walk past his small orientation group that was gathered in the common room on his hall. And, finally, it was time. Good-bye, I love you, good-bye, study hard, I love you! Good-bye.

And, amazingly, I still didn’t cry.

the drop-off: getting ready

The day had finally arrived. My son was leaving for college. And, unlike when I went to college on the opposite coast – his parents were coming along with him for “move-in day.” It would be a first for all three of us.

Packing was no small feat. I was determined to let him do it himself, just as I had done. Back in the 80’s when I was a kid, I had to rely on myself ... and my very prepared and understanding Eagle Scout boyfriend with his mom’s old Datsun wagon and good ol’ UPS on Western Avenue to ship my stuff across the country.

My son would have two personal couriers with him. I figured the least he could do was pack everything himself.

My husband, of course, as prone to fantasy as he is about his sports teams, is more realistic than me when it comes to real life. Plus, he used to be a teenaged boy. So he casually (at first) asked to see Miles’s luggage. Then, I heard him gently suggesting things to our son. Ultimately, he just decided it was necessary to jump in and re-pack everything, going through my son’s room with him and asking do-you-need-this-how-about-that and eventually emerging with the necessities of life for a college freshman. Of course, the first thing to figure out was how to pack the Klipsch with the subwoofer. Of course. And how to pack his posters so they wouldn’t get munched.

Things he didn’t need or want, which I would have considered basic necessities:
mirror
hairbrush

Apparently, my son doesn’t need such frivolous things. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I stayed up most of the night, doing more laundry, just in case. This would be the last time I would be doing his laundry for a few months, so I didn’t mind. Plus, I probably wouldn’t have slept very well, anyway. While I waited for the washing machine and dryer to do the actual washing and drying, I searched the internet for a picture of Pikachu and Ash, Pokemon Getto Daze playing over and over in my head.

Miles said his good-byes to his sister and the dog, and then we made our way to San Francisco International Airport early the next morning and got checked in. I fell asleep as soon as I found my seat on the plane, and, as if in a time machine, we seemed to instantaneously land in Philadelphia. The rest of the day was a blur of luggage, rental car, Siri’s voice telling me where to go, and driving to the hotel, from the hotel, to Bed Bath & Beyond, to Target, to Chik-Fil-A, and back to the hotel again. Anything that he hadn’t packed that he thought he needed, we bought. This included a laundry bag, laundry detergent, shampoo, body wash (so he wouldn’t have to deal with carrying around a bar of soap), a pillow, towels, a trash can, ibuprofen and scissors.

Still no mirror or hairbrush.

furusato

This past year has been one of reflection. Time passes, as do friends and loved ones. Change is inevitable. My children have outgrown me, literally, standing taller than me now. Evidence in the face of my denial.

In spite of change -- or maybe because of it -- there is a place in my heart that I retain and nurture for my furusato: Gardena, in the South Bay area of L.A. Even though I have not lived there for more than a summer since I left high school, I still refer to it as “home.”

furusato

The place where I felt completely normal and average
not a model of anything, and certainly not a minority

Where I walked to school with a couple friends
across the railroad tracks on Normandie
hoping there wouldn’t be a train
when we were only six years old

Where I learned to play basketball in my backyard
and played tennis and rollerskated
on the smooth concrete of South Park
back in the day when the courts were new
and we all wore Dittos and rainbow pocket jeans

Where our club basketball team roster read
Ageno
Endo
Jung
Mochizuki
Monuki
Oyama
Sialana
Shiota
Tabata
Watanabe
and it was unusual because there were two names that were not Japanese

Where bento was something you took to school
not something you ordered at a restaurant
and nobody crinkled their nose and said "What's that?"
when you pulled out a rice ball for lunch

Where we knew what sushi was before it became trendy
Ordered from Sakae Sushi by the box
always wrapped in white paper and tied with a red string
Happy to play Uncle Min jan-ken-po (not ro sham bo)
for that last piece of ebi
I liked the saba better, but liked seeing Uncle smile
as we faced off
and I somehow won again 

Where I can still speak Japanese today
in one of the handful of Japanese grocery stores
and people are confused by my looks --
  What self-respecting Japanese woman lets her hair go grey?
  and what’s up with all the age spots
  (surely she knows there is no such thing as a “shimi-bijin”)?

Where my mom still has her yarn shop
a few doors down from the manju place
and you can still go to the Buddhist Church carnival to get
buttered corn on the cob
Okinawa dango
udon
teriyaki
and
of course
tamales

Where I was lucky enough to gather with friends and family
to celebrate the new year and years past
Sharing a moment with some who have changed my diapers
and others who I’ve “only” known since kindergarten or junior high

All of whom shared a time in their lives
when they called this place “home,” too

Time and distance have separated us
but we still share this space
that has shaped us in some way
Our furusato

As I lunge headfirst into this new year and one of my milestone birthdays, I’ll say a toast to all of you who’ve made my life what it is today -- Gardena homies and non-homies, alike. With appreciation and gratitude to you all, but especially to my better-half, who orchestrated my early surprise birthday celebration -- here’s to many more memories, and more milestones to come.

And ... happy birthday to all of my classmates who are hitting that milestone this year, too!