Mo' Sports Day

In September, Lady E. & M’s supplementary language school held a sports day.  It was a small piece of the Japanese education system in action in middle Tennessee.  Still, experiencing this traditional Japanese rite of passage while we are living here in the South was somewhat bewildering. I felt I’d had a day of being back in Japan—and I loved that day of limbo somewhere between the two cultures. 

Recent trade friction aside, the kids are alright

Just like in Nippon this sports day was one big track meet mixing in calisthenics, bonkers games, and die-hard martial marches. The kids were split into class teams and ran relay races including a wackier version with huge truck tires. They gamely offered up slapstick ball tosses, ran obstacle courses, danced, sang, built human pyramids, and went through an elaborate paper/rock/scissors contest involving everyone, including parents. But it's better than being in a classroom all day on a Saturday, right? The Big Idea remains to teach students about the virtue of healthy competition and doing one’s best, all the while learning how to cooperate within a team. The building blocks of Japanese society, basically.

The mid-summer heat and humidity were still oppressive. If any of the parents, myself included, had to do more than one of these games we’d need paramedics to remain standing. As it stands, I got sunburned again and yakked it up with other parents using my deteriorating Japanese skills. Naomi soaked up the cultural vibe and chatted with her acquaintances.

Some of the differences between the ‘real deal’ sports festivals I’d experienced in Japan compared to the Volunteer State version were:

- It's wasn’t necessary to line up at 0600 to reserve a good photo vantage point at the sports day venue; lots o’ space here.

- Old habits die hard. By 0730 there were huge family-sized sun tents erected in a neat ring around the track and field pitch. Parents eschewed the usual humble blue plastic sheet for more space and sun protection, comfort, and unrepentant dozing while the kids did their thing. Yeti coolers everywhere!

- Since most of students’ parents were expat Japanese here on work assignments, there were fewer grandparents present. Very few gaijins, too.

- The event started and ended on time. Yet somehow it lacked that precision, the esprit de combat that you feel in the air with the strict adherence to schedules and loads of “gaman” (enduring with patience and dignity) so venerated in Japan.

- Very-visible sheriffs were on duty protecting us from gun nuts.

Did I have fun? Yessir, absolutely. As I mentioned, it was like being back for a day in Japan, providing the fish out of water elation I seem to relish.

And the Rising Daughters™ appeared to have also enjoyed the day. They did their part during their team events. Both E. & M showed some decent sprinting prowess. Elena was the anchor for her grade’s girl’s team and won her leg of the relay race. Marina was a close second against a bunch of girls one year older than she was. 

The school principal sealed the close of the day with a properly formal farewell message amid the clatter of chairs folding and tent pegs clacking as distracted parents pulled down their sun tents and awaited the kids. Just like back in the land of the rising sun.

Somewhat dehydrated from the heat and humidity, we left for home and stopped for stomach-bloating 26 ounce sodas—only 99 cents at a nearby gas station. God Bless America, too.

Green Eggs and M.

School has started for real.

I have been spending time with Marina to help shape her study habits and offer nudges in the right direction. Recently we reached a waypost in connection with her English reading comprehension and phonics. That is, building and protecting her self-confidence as a reader.

Extracurricular reading is part of her school’s recipe for school-parent child-centered learning “partnership.” Ofttimes my book suggestions were derided by the M-ster as boring. As a fun and less challenging diversion I suggested “Green Eggs and Ham." This is the Dr. Seuss book I read to the girls when they were toddlers, reinforced by YouTube views of the old CBS animation from the 1960s.

As Marina bit into the good doctor’s rhymes her facial expressions took on a mischievous bent. Her brow furrowed when she recognized familiar sections, perhaps triggering memories of me reading it years ago. As she read aloud the words: “That Sam I am, That Sam I am, I do not like that Sam I am,” the tumblers seemed to fall into place. As we burrowed deeper into the text, roughly halfway through the book, she smiled and uttered, seemingly to herself, “I can really read this.”

Courtesy of CBS Productions

It was music to my ears. She generally reads with gusto and with incredulity at the words she’s discovering. It's tough work for her, and she earns each one, sometimes grudgingly. Still, it’s gratifying to watch your kids expand their horizons right in front of you, real-time.

We’re playing catch-up ball right now, but we are turning this franchise around!

Late summer scenes

Let’s start with me 
This is my usual half-assed version of a selfie. Is the forlorn look on my mug a cry of ‘I don’t want to go back to work’ or the existential hell in Delta’s low cost carrier terminal at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport?

Sleeping on the floor of the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport
The Rising Ladies® returned to the USA in late July. On the way, “acts of God” materialized which ultimately stranded them overnight in the (you guessed it) Minneapolis-St.Paul Airport until the next connecting flight was available. Delta Airlines provided…umm…blankets and futons so they could sleep on the ground in the terminal mall. That’s customer service! (Not.)

Williamson County Fair
Nashville hosts a county fair every summer. We were vulnerable to its charms. The weather was bleaching hot and humid. We drank lots of sweet tea with lemonade to stay hydrated. Saw the animals in the agriculture stalls. It was fun, but a bit fetid.

Conversely, the luring aroma of food stalls; the shrieks of joyous kids on the rides; and the general merriment, were infectious. We had a good ‘ol fashioned day of family fun. Marina and I went inverted on the Majestic; Naomi and Lady E. went ballistic on the Twister.

Pool
No surprises here. With the Southern heat and humidity, we occasionally cool off at the nearby pool. ‘Pre-scuba’ lessons abound…I am lobbying my daughters already as future diving buddies…but first, the front crawl must be mastered!

Nashville Zoo
Alas, back to reality, where Saturdays are reserved for Japanese school. My kids are workaholics already! To ease their stress we make Sundays fun-days. One sweltering morning we lit out for day at the zoo. We criss-crossed the grounds a few times and saw most of the animals. Marina, for one, loves animals. However, this picture of her is for the birds.

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The Bitch is Back

Ten years ago I declared my heartache because I had to retire my beloved Kawasaki Eliminator ZL750 (“Sayonara, Two-Wheeled Friend”). I wrote a few whimsical haikus in her honor. Since then, I have driven scooters and sporadically rented motorcycles. 

Old Faithful: Kawasaki ZL750

Nothing has measured up to that bike since.
Until now.

Yes, dear reader(s), the Bitch is Back. I bought a used 1986 Kawasaki Eliminator ZL600 a few months ago and got her certified. I did a bit of work myself to quiet the exhaust noise. Also completed a few short shakedown drives to make sure she was roadworthy. I definitely needed to re-train my two-wheeled road skills on the back roads of Nashville.

What's old is new (to me)

Why buy a 32-year-old motorcycle? The machine was in good shape, only 26K miles, and reasonably priced. I am not planning a long trip on my new/old Kawi; this is just for puttering around on weekends when I have ‘me’ time. More importantly, why not buy it? I love riding motorcycles; this is one indulgence that doesn’t break the bank. It’s also good for my soul.

Despite two attempts, I never did finish "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," the purported scripture for bike lovers. Riding motorbikes (or their distant cousin, scooters) requires concentration to avoid traffic mishaps. Constant monitoring of the cars around you—potential  hazards, speed, road condition—becomes a state of mind that empties your brain of the unnecessary. On a good day, you are totally in the moment. On two wheels, I find my version of Zen.

In Shikoku, Japan, riding with da boyz

Plus, it’s exciting. Motorcycle touring is the ultimate way to see the sights of the world and experience them with all your senses and full attention. I sincerely believe this deepens my connection to the world and people around me.

Socially, it’s liberating. People tint their car windows to have mobility yet still keep privacy. Roofs and windows hold the weather at bay. Music, radio or videos for passengers assure everyone is distracted.

At the Arctic Circle marker on the Dalton Highway to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, August 2006

Not so with bikes. While riding, I often find myself singing songs to myself. I think about things and make acronyms of these random items so that I can write them down later during a rest stop. You lose your vanity because your clothes get grimy. Helmet head hair is always a threat. You accept when it's hot or cold or raining or windy.

For these reasons, and many more, I just can’t stop my motorcycle riding. Now, with my ZL600, I don’t have to.

Things I did while my family was away for six weeks this summer

I am not allowed to post photos of the ladies in my life without prior permission. 

So, some of things I did while they were away for the summer were:

-BreAk ThE RuLes

- I did my laundry. Once. 

Courtesy of Viacom int'l

- Finished the shakedown cruises on my used motorcycle. Two-wheeled motorvatin' again.

- Walked around the inside of the house naked. OK, I actually didn’t do that. Or maybe I did. Either way, live with that image in your head.

- Successfully repaired bald spots on my front lawn with new grass. Yes, I was occasionally so bored I actually worried about my lawn.

- Completed my Pleasure Craft Operator Card online course. This is the first step toward my dream of sailing the seas upon retirement. Powerball, Lotto 6/49--whatever works first.

- Watched an awful lot of Atlanta Braves night games. Thanks, Ted Turner.

- Didn’t watch a single game of the World Cup; I had zero enthusiasm. I played soccer through high school, but I cannot watch it on TV for some reason.

- I didn’t have to clear my browser history every day.

- Started jogging again. Honest, cross my heart. Still a work in progress, but it’s a start (again).

- Fed the two rabbits living in the grove behind our home almost every day. They are early risers like me. When the Zombies come, they're at least two meals’ worth.

- Went to a concert co-headlined by 1990s alt-rock royalty Weezer and The Pixies. I have always loved The Pixies and now consider myself a Weezer fan. 

But I will NEVER take the I-24 home ever again at night while on a motorcycle. Major pucker factor cruising at 70 mph on a dark interstate highway with 18-wheelers barreling up on my six. Great concert. Nasty, frightening midnight ride home.

And on another note…

Spaceman for Governor

Politics is a blood sport these days in the USA. The contrarian in me loves that the gubernatorial election here in Tennessee has a candidate named Bill Lee. 

Why? I see lawn signs with his name and I giggle because all I can think of is ex-Montreal Expos and Boston Red Sox lefty Bill "Spaceman" Lee.

The Spaceman’s worldview and antics – his irreverent attitude to life, unvarying love of the game -- influenced me after I read “The Wrong Stuff” decades ago. It is one of the more entertaining baseball books I've ever read.

The “baseball” Bill Lee is the perfect foil to the odorous bouquet clinging to contemporary politics. 
Happy summer, ya'll.

So you're 70

I attempt to focus my posts on the Rising Daughters. I usually fail because I habitually revert to the most fascinating subject in the universe—me. However, this time it's all about The Dad, my dad. That's because he became a septuagenarian. It's a landmark age.

Dick O'Kerkinski has turned 70 years old.

How do you gush about your Dad without resorting to Father's Day bromides or the familiar tunes of Hallmark cards? His paternal love for my brother and me was demonstrated by all the numerous dad duties he did while raising us, and the things he gave up to do it. In truth, he still guides us. His demeanor is not as strict now, more easygoing Fred MacMurray-style benevolence. I gained a new appreciation for Dad as I grew into adulthood and spawned kids of my own. He chuckles when my sprogs/his granddaughters demand yet another handout of candy or whatnot. 

At 70 he is a still-evolving, even-keeled character, and a vibrant dude. He likes his beer & cocktails, enjoys a good joke, and is gonzo for golf. Yet Dick also cares about his neighbors, maintains his faith but does not preach, and is generous with his kids and grandkids. He ain't perfect: he drops the occasional malodorous daisy. He offers a stream-of-consciousness litany of expletives while driving.

But, in sum, an absolutely fine human being. Clearly old friends and new stick around. People like him.

For these reasons and many more, my brother S. O'Kerkinski and I were adamant that turning 70 required a celebration. So we rounded up a few of The Dad’s past and present friends and drank some beer, ate some cake, and showed we care on his birthday. The party guests provided an added blast of happiness.

Happy birthday Dad. You da man.

"Sorry"

Canada turned 151 today and I have never been prouder to be a citizen. To my many non-Canadian friends I can only say “sorry ‘bout that.”

I learned in Grade 11 Canadian History class that “Peace, Order and Good Government” (POGG) was a phrase used in the British North America Act of 1867. This Act proclaimed the Dominion of Canada, making it a country. POGG defined the federal government’s authority to legislate in matters typically considered to lie under provincial authority. Usually it is invoked when there are disputes between the feds and the provinces. It’s still in the Canadian Constitution.

Are you still with me here? Don’t leave. Give me two more minutes of your time to make my point.

Unpacking what POGG has meant for Canada is easy. It’s legalese that boils down to “be nice to each other, stay out of trouble, respect each other’s privacy, and let the government do its thing.” It sets the tone of our national character. Now extend that philosophy further to the use of “sorry.” I still say sorry frequently. It’s a cliché by now but Canadians do say sorry a lot, in our work and everyday interactions, usually as a social lubricant rather than an apology. It’s a fine instrument for communication in a tolerant civil society. The Japanese preface pretty much everything they say with their version of it. The British don’t mean it. Americans rarely say it.

Other novelties make Canada an agreeable and unique place. They range from national policies (e.g. liberal immigration, embracing multicultural policies, bilingualism) to the wacky (e.g. Homo milk bags, Caesars, Letterkenny, Ashley MacIsaac, and poutine/beaver tails). But my contention is that POGG and sorry are the linguistic epoxy that keeps the Canadian puzzle together, and thriving.

One more thing. I read this article in April that captured the essence of how Canadians approach their governing: with a laugh and a grain of salt. “Stephen Harper spotted at an Ottawa McDonald's — possibly where a 2014 brawl involving a raccoon took place” was the National Post headline. Former Canadian prime ministers are often spotted in public walking around like an average citizen. Sometimes it is deemed safe enough for them to forgo RCMP security staff. But I laughed when I read one of the tweets the Post article quoted: “Ran into Stephen Harper at McDonalds, and everyone ignored him.”

I’ve heard firsthand accounts that Montrealers would usually leave former PM Pierre Trudeau alone as he walked home from work, too.

Says it all, doesn’t it?

Sorry for taking so much of your time to read this. 
Happy Canada Day.

From the temporary (one day only) Canadian Consulate in Nolensville, TN