Rising Daughter’s SIN

Hey, my little girl’s not even thinking about sin or religious beliefs! I’m talking about her Social Insurance Number, which is the last bit of identification we need to get her Canuck profile up and running with The Powers That Be.



We needed a SIN number to start our little one’s education fund in Canada, you see.

Government proposes, bureaucracy disposes. And the bureaucracy must dispose of government proposals by dumping them on us.

-P. J. O'Rourke

Bringing a new life into society entails paperwork with the authorities no matter where you live. However, Naomi and I, being the social misfits that we are, managed to literally breed a few bureaucratic gaps that needed a lot of paper to bridge. For example, Naomi had decided to keep her maiden name -- which I am all for – and it’s something she will share with Elena here in Japan. Owing to a variety of local customs and laws, and because I am not Japanese, Elena cannot use my family name here. Fair enough. Canada, ever flexible and accommodating, allows us a choice. It’s a paradox for one little person to have two official identities, but that’s the reality. The upside is that it will offer more choices for her later in life. Regardless, with a little patience, much paperwork and translation, and forking out a fair amount of coin over the past year or so, we’ve managed to receive passports, health care coverage, birth certificates and official Hoser and Nippon government IDs (see the I….AM….CANADIAN….TOO post from April).

The last stage was applying for her SIN card. For those of you unfamiliar with the grand Canadian institution called “the Social Insurance Number (SIN), [it] is a nine-digit number used in the administration of various Canadian government programs. You will require a SIN to work in Canada or to receive government benefits.” (Yep, quoted from the Service Canada website.)
There you have it. And we needed it. So I applied for it. And they lost it…in the mail.

To be fair, the long and short of it is that although the new SIN number (and some important other IDs we included to prove the validity of the application) seemed lost, the very efficient people at Service Canada found the errant letter, and sent it back to us here in Hiroshima. That saved me many re-application forms and midnight calls to New Brunswick. Kudos to the Service Canada staff.

End result? We have a winner! Rising Daughter has a SIN number. And after a year of paperwork, we are taking a rest.

Politics and BBQs

Elena Supports Hillary to the End

Last week, our little politico and I watched Hillary Clinton’s “support Barack Obama” concession speech in Washington. Now, Elena and I have been arguing endlessly during the primaries about Ms. Clinton’s various campaign twists, especially the halting use of social media to spread her messages. Elena claims that Hillary-chan’s emphasis on “yes, we can!” mainstream messaging was the right call, and she thinks her handlers ruined the Clinton campaign by going negative too early. I keep telling her that no matter what happens, Clinton had the “toughness and experience factors” and non-elitist image that would really be important come November, but that gas prices and other economic realities will trump those any day for the average voter. She agreed that Mr. Obama was the first presumptive presidential candidate that really leveraged the possibilities of the new communication technologies. Man, that kid is brilliant!

Think FDR’s fireside chats, think Kennedy’s use of television, and then think about what we’ve witnessed over the past year and a half.

The Rising Daughter calls me a fossil. But as you can see, she was sad to watch Hillary hightail it. As was I, and it was a great speech. Look at those wistful eyes...!

That H.C. could make such progress for women in America…what kind of inroads will the Rising Daughter witness in her lifetime? Makes ya think, don’t it?

Rick and Naomi’s BBQ
In contrast to the previous post, the most recent picnic we attended was a BBQ hosted by our friends Rick and Naomi and their family. A sizable group of friends showed up for the fun. By the by, I was originally introduced to my future wife, ‘”my” Naomi, at one of Rick’s birthday parties more than a few years ago.

We hadn’t seen R&N in quite some time, so catching up was fun. Our friend Sachie was also there with her daughter, too. I snapped a few photos of the ladies, including this one.
The baby harness intrigued Naomi in that she could keep our two-legged tornado under control. This infringement on Lady E’s innate right to ramble around naturally brought on screeching wails of protest, and the experiment was soon abandoned. Perhaps we can use a modified version next year to put Elena to work plowing the fields before planting the rice seeds?

May 2008 Kid Summit in Hiroshima

My comrade James organized a picnic in early May near the Big Arch stadium in Hiroshima which temporarily converted the playground there into a very ‘international’ space. We escorted HRH Lady E to this picnic to meet our friends, all of whom were in “international marriages,” and this led to our cohort of rambunctious “half babies” wreaking havoc in the playground. Why all these quotation marks? Read on.

Many of these friends of ours no longer live in Hiroshima and were just visiting, or would soon be leaving for new places to live. It was chance timing that of our respective paths crossed in May, but I’m sure all join me in thinking it was wonderful that we could all get together for some fun. Elena seemed to enjoy herself among the other kids, all of whom were also of mixed parentage. She didn’t sleep the entire time and she was really hyped up, clearly enjoying all the new people, sights and sounds.
So what are “international marriages” and “half-babies”? This is a good opportunity to explain some of the interesting ways mixed marriages, and their offspring, are viewed here in Japan. “It’s a Japan thing,” but just my opinion, of course.

Lady E & Lady K

At its core, this great country is still a very homogenous society. The overwhelming majority of her people are of Japanese ethnicity and, of course, speak Japanese. The country doesn’t get many immigrants, so foreigners are relatively few in this society and still garner attention for trivial reasons -- mostly in a positive way -- despite decades of government-sponsored ‘internationalization’ policies. The majority of unions between Japanese people and westerners tend to be between a foreign male and a Japanese female (although this is slowly changing), and any kids that result are often referred to as “half babies.” This means half-Japanese, but not in a pejorative sense. Think of hyphenated nationalities: Chinese-Canadian, Franco-American, etc and you get the drift. Invariably, half kids are referred to as “kawaii” (cute) and there are quite a few on Japanese TV these days, because they don’t look fully Japanese, yet speak the language fluently.

Anyway, our group of international couples and their kids did prompt a few double takes at the Big Arch playground. A few of the local Moms took umbrage with a bunch of loud adult gaijin men climbing on the kids’ jungle gym….dangerous. But we all had a good time.

All photos courtesy of The Stig.

First Haircut

Lady E.’s hair was becoming an unruly shock of shiny brown that hung over her eyes and curled around the back of her head to form a quasi-mullet. At almost 14 months old, we knew we had to take her for a haircut.

(Check out the difference from a year ago, i.e. her ID mugshot in the last post.)

We kept procrastinating for two reasons. One was that Naomi had already administered a very nice trim of her bangs a few months before, but this rendered a charming K.D. Lang-esque cowpunk effect. So my dear wife was reluctant to trim our daughter's hair again. The second was that our energetic little person enjoys moving around so much we were concerned she simply could not stay still long enough for a proper haircut, or would cause some kind of bloodletting from either Lady E., or the hair stylist.

Inevitably, our child is developing her own personality, one not-so-pleasant feature of which is a penchant for 10 minute-long screamfests when she doesn’t get her own way, or doesn’t want to do something. These are characterized by frenetic waving of her little arms, jackhammer leg kicks, and wails at the same decibel level as a Motorhead concert. This happens as she is laying down wherever she happens to be: our apartment floor, in the middle of a mall walkway, in a restaurant, or beside a busy road—she does not discriminate in selecting venues.
So, naturally, we had vivid images of a haircut inducing a similar episode at a hair salon.

However, as her hair grew longer, our recognition that it could not be avoided grew more acute. Naomi found a nice salon that specialized in kids’ haircuts nearby. And once recent Saturday, the momentous occasion arrived: our child’s first haircut.

The hair stylist was a real pro, sizing up her pint-sized challenge with one glance, and adroitly placed Elena facing her Mom in the barber chair.

Incidentally, the salon featured a cool play area stocked with toys and other diversions. I had a great time waiting for Naomi and Elena, ruthlessly elbowing the little kids out of the way as I grappled for the best toys.

Meanwhile, the veteran stylist murmured a few soothing quips, then snip-snip-snip. Initially, Lady E. was too surprised at the swift assault to react. Then, the expected sniffles and wane cries soon arrived, but it was a manageable crisis. Regrettably, before I could finish my kickass Lego rocketship, The Haircut was over.
"Owarimashita," (finished) said the hair stylist, satisfied with her handiwork.

I reluctantly handed over my half-finished Lego masterpiece to the smirking 2-year old next to me, and left the Etch-A-Sketch in the care of the primary schooler who was waiting with extended, expectant hands.

As you can see, we all survived the experience. Elena still has a full head of hair, nicely coiffed to match her proportions, and we still have our eardrums intact. I’m thinking of a new design for me to build during Elena's next haircut in a few months. And, yes, I enjoyed yet another milestone in our mighty daughter’s evolution into a real toddler.

I…AM…CANADIAN…TOO

Hey, we got the Rising Daughter’s Canadian citizenship papers! It took a reasonable amount of paperwork and a lot of time, but she is now a Canuck in addition to her Japanese citizenship. She's dual! To celebrate, I indulged in my last stash of Tim Horton’s regular grind coffee while eating an onigiri riceball.

So she is now a hoser in addition to being a (future) sushi eater. And that’s great--double the bureaucratic fun, two or maybe three languages to contend with, and being the brunt of lots of Doublemint chewing gum jokes? Or am I reaching here?

As a Canadian -- in addition to being proudly Japanese -- Elena has to be able to explain the elusive and opaque aspects of Canadian culture in the future. As is common knowledge throughout the world, Canadians form a mysterious, inward-looking culture that is often hard for foreign peoples to fully grasp. This is due to the subtle and refined meanings inherent to the structure of the Canadian language, and incomprehensible local dialects such as Ottawa Valley-speak, or Lower Sackville-ese. Strict adherence to social customs to maintain the harmony between individuals and groups, for example at mall parking lots or peewee hockey games, is also something that Canadians must be able to clarify to perplexed foreigners. It's a tall order even for an adult, so I have decided to begin Elena's 'education Canadiana' immediately.

I decided to focus on the following CanGov-GovCan approved citizenship modules:

1. The Beaver

2. Bob & Doug

3. Canadian Currency

More on this soon. But great news, eh?

Cute Phobias Banished?

Babies do cute things; that’s a given. But the most innocent behaviors sometimes produce an even higher cute factor. Take, for example, Lady E.’s odd aversion to two seemingly innocuous items: balloons and an air pump. Huh? Balloons have friendly and non-threatening shapes, and feature bright colors and inviting textures that beg them to be swatted around by little hands. So, when we were at a furniture store one day recently and Elena recoiled in horror when the salesperson handed us a balloon, we were mystified. Why? The sound? Just ‘one of those things’?

We tried repeated exposures to reduce her fear of balloons. Each time she would hobble over to us at high speed and cling in fear to either Naomi or myself. Bizarre.

She showed the same odd reaction to…a light blue foot-operated pump for an air mattress. I thought perhaps it was the sound, but she freaks out at the sight or sound of it. It’s very endearing and I am still puzzled as to why this happens.
Elena is otherwise a typical toddler, and she isn’t afraid of the dark and most animals. Perhaps she's a bit shy around new people. (This is fine with us.)
So why was/is she frightened by balloons and air pumps as the bogeyman? I have no idea.
We were at another department store that has a kids’ area with a room, enclosed with mesh netting, that has balloons propelled about by compressed air. It’s a loud and dynamic mini-environment. We decided to take a chance. I went in (OK, I wanted to go in just for myself, I also enjoy the colorful chaos) followed by Naomi, and we enticed our rising daughter into the fray. She slowly got used to it because Naomi and I were having a good time, too. Judging by the short video below, you can see that she started shrieking happily at the balloons and chasing them about the room.

It was fun to watch and just a little gratifying to see our beautiful daughter conquer one small fear.
Now, about that air pump….

My First Online Beer!

I shared my first “online” beer last Friday night. Specifically, I was able to have an Internet-hosted conference call with some great friends of mine, Andy and Scott, shoot the breeze and quaff an ale. And it was free! There is no substitute for actually having a cold one with the boys in person, but this was a close second.

Thanks to Skype and Asahi Breweries, I experienced a brief whiff of a pub night right at home in Mission Control (my computer area). Scott's here in Hiroshima and Andy now lives in Azerbaijan. Good sound quality made it seem that both were there in the room, talkin’ shit and having fun. What a great idea. Hopefully video will be the next step.

I had a “Style Free” pale ale or two during the chat. While the product name is Asahi’s wacky play on English words, for those of you that are familiar with my fashion sense, it’s fitting.

Information technology. It is both enabler of faster contact with family and friends as well as a time murderer if you get mired in endless link hopping. In this case, though, my first online beer at the end of the week felt liberating! You can communicate with people from pretty much anywhere these days…