Pause for the pastime

Baseball is mostly an outdoor game that stretches over three seasons of a year. A baseball season’s length and the pace of the game itself are part of its charm for me and millions–perhaps billions--of other fans. However, I was jolted out of my lingering summer complacency last night when the all-powerful Yomiuri Giants defeated the Hiroshima Carp to complete their sweep of the inaptly named Central League Climax Series of Japanese professional baseball. This means the Giants, a team whose name alone conjures up irrational animal hatred in me, will advance to the Japan Series (the country’s equivalent to the World Series).

I have had a memorable summer and early fall, with a calendar that has kept me bobbing and weaving between fun-filled family activity and work commitments, with scarce time or energy for anything else, let alone stories from the Rising Family. But the Hiroshima Carp’s fairy tale narrative since September and the abrupt return to reality due to yesterday’s season-ending loss compelled me to jot down a few thoughts.

Third-place Hiroshima surprised the Hanshin Tigers with a sweep in the first round of the playoff CL Climax Series even though the Tigers posted a better record over the course of the season. (I caught a Carp-Tigers game with my good friend SDM in August while in Hiroshima during our summer vacation.) 

Hiroshima’s scrappy underdog narrative was riveting, particularly for me, an unrepentant Carp fan since my arrival in Japan; my allegiance continues to this day. Their surge in September to claim the team’s first playoff berth since 1991 was the come-from-behind storyline that captures the heart. Reality, of course, usually overwhelms mythic hopes and dreams, but in my mind, it is the possibility alone that keeps the child in us alive—and watching the game.

Last note. The frenetic summer schedule took me to various places over the last few months. I will soon offer a few tales about that. This travel enabled me to see the Carp versus the Hanshin Tigers, and the Red Sox versus Dodgers (both low-scoring games), so I caught of glimpse of the some of the best teams in the game of baseball on both sides of the Pacific ocean this year. Lucky me. Now, the yin-yang emotions of triumph of winning and the anguish of defeat remind me that soon the game will leave me to face the winter alone.



The author, proudly sporting Carp T-shirt in front of the Dodger bullpen.

Yes, we were allowed on the field! For a fireworks show after the game!

Postscript: just saw that the Red Sox are going to Series again, against the Cardinals. Go Sox.

Lady E: What I’ve Learned

“What I’ve Learned”
The bicycle-riding, self-dressing, public school wunderkind looks back on life, family and lessons learned.

I may not “know” much, but I know this: eat all the ice cream you can in one sitting, because it melts quickly and you don’t get a second chance.

Aging is a bitch. I see those mousy little kindergarten girls pouting their lips, strutting their stuff, just waiting for me to show weakness so they can eat my lunch. It ain’t gonna happen.

Nagging works.

So does being outrageously cute, even if it’s transparent.

I love broccoli, other green veggies and everything that doesn’t contain sugar. So, for example, it breaks my heart when I have to give up my broccoli for my younger sister, because she already finished hers. I give her mine because I just want her to be happy, y’know?

Turning on the waterworks with a fake cry is the ultimate tool to manipulate daddy and grandparents. Mommy, not so much.

You know what a salad needs? More cowbell.

You can bullshit a bullshitter. (Case in point: my dad.)

I’m an optimist by inclination, fatalist in practice. Doll houses crack, stuff gets lost, even if we take care. It just…happens. Yet, when I lost a couple of teeth, I got some money. Life is inconsistent and weird.

I categorize my girlfriends into the virtuous and the vicious. Despite my better judgment, I am bored by the virtuous, and tend to hang out with the vicious. Don’t yet grasp why. Boys ain’t on my radar screen—they just are smelly.

I haven’t figured out pathos yet. How could I? I haven’t had that much life experience! But it’s simple, really. You like candy, you eat it. You see someone hurting, you help them. That’s it.

Learn to swim or you sink.

Walking to school isn’t that hard. Follow the road, just keep moving forward, and hold your head high. Just like life.

I like my little sister, simply because I can punch harder than she can. And that’s what she gets for calling me “bossy” or not turning over the TV remote when I command it.

I handle stress by controlling impulses (sometimes), competing with other kids, whining, and losing focus…hey, look at that compelling new cartoon on TV ... see ya.

Summer Reading List

School’s out for summer. School’s out forever…well, at least we’re in the silly season before my summer vacation from the office. Which means it is summer reading time. I asked the Rising Daughters to indicate their favorites from our bedtime reading list amid these sweltering summer days. 
The Top 7 and a brief comment on (or review of) each book follows.

Aloha Bear by Dick Adair

“A penetrating analysis of Hawaiian socio-political norms and their integration with culture as seen in the form of the cuddly-wuddly brown bear who often says ‘Aloha’”.

-Marina

Sentimental Education by Gustave Flaubert

“Gallic tough love, baby.” - Elena

Cat and Dog by Rozanne Williams

“Packed with action. A roller coaster ride… dazzling. You won’t be able to put it down.” -Marina

Generation X by Douglas Coupland

“Still my bible.” - Me

Sally’s Red Bucket by Beverly Rendell

“A literary colonoscopy.” -Elena

Motel Chronicles by Sam Shepherd

“Hunk-verse. Yummy!” -Naomi

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

“This is a wonderful book to read with very young children.—especially in the original Russian! The story is simple and flows easily. The very vibrant colors in the pictures really draw the attention of your kids as you read the book. My kids simply love it. I am certain your children will as well.” – Non-existent Perfect Parent

Biker Babes in Toyland

My kids have the need for speed. This is not surprising, given my penchant to let them jump off ledges, poke the growling animals, swing just a bit higher for that split-second weightless joy, and other childhood on-the-job training evolutions (legal disclaimer: within reason). One element of this is the ritual of learning to ride a bicycle.

Lady E. was a late convert to the two-wheeled life. We bought her this yellow-colored beauty when she was still a zygote, yet despite my best efforts she just did not get the hang of pedaling without the training wheels until early in 2013.

I tried doing practice laps with her in the safe confines of our neighborhood streets: pushing/launching, pep talks about balance, the virtue of being persistent after falling over—patiently teaching my ass off. But I think the prying eyes of her competitors in the ‘nabe had some kind of psych-out effect. Countermeasure: adapt and overcome! We changed training venues, going to a local park for these practice sessions. Then, after several furtive attempts and occasional exasperated tears, all of a sudden, whammo! SWOOSH! off she went, propelled into a new stage of her kid-hood. The promise of freedom that comes with mobility…it’s a powerful moment in anyone’s life.

Marina, quite naturally, wants to be like her demigod sister. She pedals around on her trike, furiously trying to keep up. She’s a gamer. The frustration is evident when she gets “crazy eyes”; eyes alight with a Rasputin-like intensity, followed by a later pummeling of her older sister to telegraph her displeasure if Elena trash-talks or flaunts her bicycle-driving superiority.

When we’re bored, or to clear the mechanism when there has been a crying session, or after a temper tantrum has subsided, I’ve been taking the girls on recon missions through the small residential roads near our house on my emasculating 50cc scooter. 

In turns, they perch on the front seat and grasp the mirrors, and we prowl around. It’s fun, and the glee on their faces is worth the fine that I will inevitably get from the cops here, who are – uhh – not the world’s most flexible when it comes to “no passengers” rules for this class of vehicle.

What the hell, it’s a small price to pay for instilling a love of speed and adventure, and the willingness to do something just a little dangerous (legal disclaimer: within reason).

My favorite Martian

We Do Not Negotiate With Emotional Terrorists

Most parents are amateur anti-terrorism experts. My wife I have logged this type of operational experience owing to numerous incidents with our first daughter. Recently, we have had to deal decisively with a second wave of organic terrorism in our home. Our beloved tyke, Marina, has developed into a part-time antagonist with her own extremist agenda. To our chagrin, we recognize she has been using calculated verbal and physical violence to provoke a state of terror in the Rising Family™ in an attempt to impose her worldview on us.

It is incumbent on me that I reiterate, with resolute conviction and moral certainty, our family policy on these matters:

We do not negotiate with emotional terrorists.

(Even if we love them with all our hearts.)

Thus, Ms. M has been indicted by our family court for her violations against acceptable behavior, as follows:

Charge #1: Has used 30-minute ear-splitting screaming and unwittingly hilarious tantrums to try to force her food, clothing, and play choices, and general social agenda, on the rest of us.

Ruling: guilty.

Charge #2: Has used physical and psychological warfare against her older sister to compel compliance with her nefarious three-year-old-kid socio-economic manifesto (i.e. “Gimme your grape juice, bitch. NOW!”)

Ruling: guilty.

Charge #3: Has deliberately blocked view of TV with cutesy mini-kitchen set to coerce other family members to change to her preferred kiddie show (Teletubbies). Related charge: when rebuffed, defendant sprinted around room, screeched at high decibels, and threatened violence with swinging arms.

Ruling: guilty.

Charge #4: “Freakouts Without Cause”, viz. numerous early morning tantrums (before even rising from bed) that infuse the day with dejected gloom.

Ruling: oh man, so, so guilty.

Sentence: no Doraemon cartoons or ice cream until behavior improves.

For the past several months, all efforts to calm with hugs; charm; keep busy; redirect or divert attention; ignore; change location/environment; and other well-intentioned responses to this anti-social radicalism have met with nothing but more 30 to 45-minute terror tot temper tantrums. Therefore, we have countered this tide of tempestuous deeds with our strict adherence to the no-negotiation policy.

Our war on tiny person terrorism continues.

Virtual Beer on Father’s Day

The Rising Daughters blog often honors the women in my life because...they surround me. However, it occurred to me this past week it was nigh time to send out some public love and thanks to my Dad.  As the still-incredulous leader of my own clan, I’ve learned that being a father is a lifelong job, yet it isn’t on anyone’s resume. Do I think dads are unsung heroes? Sometimes.

Moms seem to get better PR.  Sure, they handle the lioness’s share of the myriad responsibilities of raising kids. Still, dads tend to bring home at least half the bacon, teach practical life skills, offer an occasional boot in the ass complemented with “advice”, and generally try and guide their kids they best way they can to make their lives the best it can be.  That was my experience with my Dad.

So this week, I was mulling how I could bridge the distance to deliver a manly thanks from over 10,000 km away. Eureka: a virtual beer with my dad.

Skype is godsend for families living in different parts of the planet. For Father’s Day, I arranged a virtual beer with my Dad. And it was good, although I had to settle for sipping namby-pamby non-alcoholic beer because it was 0730 here when we spoke. My brother Steve-o joined in, and we had a males-only bonding session. It was, to quote Steve, “sweet.”

What did we talk about? Nothing specific. It was just having a beer and talking shit, which in of itself is quite fulfilling. You don’t need to speak much to say a lot.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Ya done -- and are doing -- good!

Happy Birthday to my Mom

Say it loud, say it proud: Happy birthday. We love you!
And now an excerpt from our sponsor:
(Think of a certain song by the Beatles)

…Dad is quite handy mending a fuse
When your lights have gone.
You can sand a desk by the fireside
Sunday mornings sleep in ‘till nine.

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When you’re 39-no-more?

Every winter you should rent a cottage
In a warm place, if it's not too dear
You have scrimped and saved
Grandchildren on your knee
E., M., and 'no-way!'

Doo-de-doo…happy birthday.