Mom

Recently, the PowerBall Lottery prize reached over $500 million.  Of course I bought a ticket, but I didn’t need to – I’d already won the Mom lottery a long, long time ago.  My Mom, who passed away on February 13, 2015, was a wonderful woman who always thought of everyone else first, and herself last, if at all.  The oldest of seven spanning eighteen years, and the oldest among her cousins, she was the one everyone looked up to.

She was a successful career woman.  She worked for a number of years at Bell Telephone, but her real career was family.  She had six children in rapid succession over eleven years, and I guess she and Dad figured out what was causing it, because they put a stop to it.  All six of us were born in the same hospital where she entered the world, Riverview Hospital in Red Bank.

Growing up, our house always seemed like the epicenter of a huge family.  We had aunts, uncles, great-aunts, great-uncles, grandparents, great-grandparents, cousins, and everything else.  A perfect blend of the Satter and Zieglar families, Mom was close to all of them, and we did a lot together as an extended family.  She’d hold court with her sisters, her cousins, and her aunts, and they’d entertain each other (and us) for hours.  And she always knew what was going on with everybody.  Our families were together so much that for the longest time, I thought I had 20 brothers and sisters.

Along the way, she adopted neighbors’ kids, daughters-in-law, sons-in-law, granddaughters-in-law, and grandsons-in-law, and treated them as her own.  I saw first-hand what a great mother-in-law she was to my wife, Chris.  Mom was always interested in how our boys were doing and loved catching up with Chris.  Chris and I were amused at how Mom seemed to trust Chris more than she trusted me – every Christmas, she’d send a check as a gift for the boys, and she’d make the check out to Chris instead of me.  We’ll miss that.

Mom was a genuinely giving person.  She never expected or wanted anything in return – for her, the gift was in the giving.  She was always concerned about everyone else but never about herself.  Toward the end, she reluctantly agreed to stay with my sister, Debbie, because she didn’t want to be a burden – on the contrary, Deb was honored, and many of us were able to visit Mom to share her love.  True to form, she decided to donate her body to science, in the hopes that someone will benefit from it. 

 

Her warmth was contagious, and everyone she met was touched by her.  To her, the other person’s story was always more important and more interesting than her own.  A woman of strength, charm, beauty, and character, she served as a great example for my sisters, my brothers, and me, and she taught us what really matters. She made the world a better place, and we’ll surely miss her.

 

She was never one to hurry.  She could spend hours getting herself ready to go someplace.  It seemed like Dad was always waiting for her – he probably still is.  For most of her life, she was always on the move though.  Whenever I came to the house to work on something, she’d be right in there with me, shoulder to shoulder (or since she was shrinking, shoulder to elbow) whether I needed her help or not.  And very often, when I was working in the yard, she’d be out there with me, tending to her plants and filling the wheelbarrow with branches.

One of my favorite, recent memories of Mom is about how she never stopped being a mother to me.  Last year, I was offered an opportunity to work for six months in Singapore.  When I told Mom, she was aghast, and for once, fell silent.  She couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just find something closer to home.  As she struggled with the idea, she said, “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”  At 60 (or “fitty-ten” as I prefer to call it), I found that I was still having to explain myself.  She even went so far as to have my older brother call to try to talk me out of going.  I made a point of calling her from Singapore once in a while, and probably kept in better touch with her while I was away than when I was home.  And she stayed healthy and independent until I was safely back.

There’s a new song out by Garth Brooks for anyone who’s a mother or who’s ever had one – it’s called, “Mom.”  When I first heard it, I knew about whom he was singing.  It begins with a conversation between an unborn baby and God, with the baby not wanting to face the uncertainty ahead.  As the conversation continues, He tells the baby about the mother who’s expecting:

You’ll never have a better friend

Or a warmer touch to tuck you in

She’ll kiss your bruises, bumps and scrapes

And any time you hurt

Her heart’s gonna break.

So hush now little baby, don’t you cry

‘Cause there’s someone down there waiting whose only goal in life

Is making sure you’re always gonna be alright

A loving angel, tender, tough and strong;

Come on child, it’s time to meet your Mom.

Speaking for my brothers, Bill and Dave; my sisters, Debbie, Janet, and Joanne; and myself, I’m sure glad we made the trip.

Making Connections

You just never know when a seemingly unimportant circumstance begins a chain of events that leads to a totally unexpected and very significant outcome, often many years later.  It makes you wonder if the outcome is just a starting point for another adventure down the road.  It also makes you appreciate the journey and triggers cherished memories gathered along the way.  And the lessons you learn in reviewing the path are often quite profound.

When my wife and I packed our oldest son up to move away to college twelve years ago, we never realized how far that short three mile trip would become.  Sure, Jason could have lived at home, but Chris and I felt strongly that one of the most important aspects of the college experience is independence.  It prepares young adults for the real world after college, and if you’re lucky, the taste of independence is enough to keep them from returning to the roost.  I affectionately referred to Jason’s last dorm as a halfway house.

While at college, Jason, who had always shown a strong interest and aptitude in languages, decided to pursue Japanese and study the Asian culture.  His studies led him to spend a semester in Japan, and upon graduation, to teach English in Japan for two years under a government sponsored program.  He came home for a few months, but decided to go back and pursue other interests, one of whom he married last spring in a fascinating Shinto wedding ceremony at a shrine in southern Japan.

Soon after Chris and I returned from Jason and Fumi’s wedding, a chance email to a new acquaintance in a global company led to a life-changing opportunity.  I had emailed the person, who knew that I was between engagements, that I was “…back from Japan and rarin’ to go!”  It turned out that an opportunity for a position in Asia had just landed on his desk, and my credentials were just right, so he introduced me to his Asian counterparts.

Before I knew it, I was offered a three to six month assignment in Singapore.  Since I’d never been away from home for more than a couple of weeks, and had never been apart from my wife for more than about a week, the prospect of being away so long was daunting.  I’d also never been out of the US for anything other than vacations.  But the opportunity was tremendous, and as my wife put it, “Well, we’re getting to an age where one of us will most likely wind up living alone, so this will be good practice!”  Now who could argue with that?

So off I flew to Singapore, a land I’d never expected to visit, and about which I knew very little.  While I’d spent my life as a member of the majority, I found myself firmly in the minority…along with several million others.  Fortunately for me, English is one of four official languages, and the population is an incredible blend of global cultures, with strong Asian seasoning.  The Singapore English dialect is an interesting blend of Asian and English pronunciations, with the cadence and staccato of Chinese and the complexity of English with all its homonyms and rules variations.

I’ve learned a little bit of a new language, Singlish, which blends Asian and English words and forms new ones as colloquialisms.  I learned a phrase early from a cab driver – “No catch ball,” which means, “I don’t understand.”  Eventually, I came up with my own term, which I guess makes it Engaporean – “Say ‘gen?” which means, “Please say it again, because I didn’t understand the first time.”  It’s very handy.

I’ve been told that of all the places in Asia to be an ex-patriot, Singapore is the best – it’s referred to as Asia Light.  The Asian cultures and the Western commercial/industrial influences meld into a cauldron that is at once both familiar and nascent.  The high energy level work ethic that results is amazing.  Acknowledging the strong religious elements in the country, Singapore’s holiday calendar recognizes Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and Christian holidays.

The time difference between Singapore and the east coast of the US is 12 hours during daylight savings time and 13 hours during standard time, with Singapore being ahead.  It makes it easy to calculate what time it is in either place, but communicating is a bit of a challenge, as finding convenient windows of time for people on both ends, especially for people with busy calendars, can be quite a chore.  It can be fun, though.  I called my wife one day at work, and someone else answered.  I told her that I was Chris’s husband and that I was calling from the future!

There are fewer places on earth where you can feel as safe and secure as you do in Singapore.  Even in the downtown areas, where crowds are commonplace, there is very little concern about crime, and in most small business places, which are everywhere, you clearly feel the honesty and integrity of the proprietors.

Arguably the best way to get around is by mass transit.  For a country of about 275 square miles and 5.5 million inhabitants, the subway/rail system carries about 2.8 million riders per day.  The commercial bus system carries about 3.6 million.  The roadways at rush hour are choked with all types of vehicles, and swarms of “skeeter”cycles drive at full speed between the lanes, dodging mirrors and elbows along the way.

An interesting manifestation of the high population density is the mountainous high rise communities that result, and the foothills of shopping and restaurants that lie at their bases.  With so many people living in a relatively small footprint, there are shopping malls and grocery stores every few blocks.  Although there are crowds and crowded areas, it really doesn’t feel like there are 5.5 million residents plus a large number of daily visitors.  That’s due, in part, to the vertical living arrangements.  But there’s another city underground in some areas.  One day, I went into a shopping mall, and followed signs to more shopping.  Before long, I’d found underground connections to four other shopping malls that I surfaced in, and had traveled about three quarters of a mile alongside the Singapore River in what came to be known as my gopher tour of Singapore.

In one area along the Singapore River, there are probably 500 or more restaurants within a half mile stretch.  The offerings range from Asian to European to Mexican, with common American restaurant and fast food haunts well represented.  An informative sign in Clarke Quay shows a map and a list of its 77 establishments – that’s 75 restaurants and 2 “Other!”

An intriguing aspect of the crowds is that virtually half of all pedestrians seem to be engrossed in their cellphones and oblivious to everything around them, raptly engaged in conversation, texting, game playing, or movie watching, but they somehow seem to make their way without bumping into one another or stepping into harm’s way.  With the dual threat of drivers driving on the left and no apparent pedestrian rights of way, I’ve chosen not to participate in this ritual.

One thing that’s taken some getting used to is the Asian naming convention.  Most Westerners use their family name as the last name in the sequence.  Many Asians use the first name in the sequence as their family name.  In addition, many Asians have a two part personal name.  Adding to the confusion, in the US at least, the family name is referred to as the “last name,” which is contrary to the Asian convention.  The personal name is often referred to as a “given” name, which literally applies to almost every part of a person’s name because someone gave it to them.  A number of Asians, though, have adopted Western names just to make it easier for people like me to figure out what to call them. I thank them for that.  But aside from knowing what to call people, getting them to follow instructions for filling out (or “filling up” as Singaporeans say) US designed forms that require Last Name/First Name or Given Name can be quite a challenge.

I’ve only met a few dozen of the millions I’ve encountered over the past six months, but they’ve been among the kindest and most generous people I’ve met.  Lavish in their praise, and appreciative of the smallest of gestures, they inspire a level of goodwill that, if it’s representative of the entire country, could transform the world.  As my new friends have made me feel at home in Singapore, I hope to have the opportunity to welcome them to my home in the US someday.

The journey has been incredibly interesting and culturally enlightening, and the past six months have taught me so much.  I’ve learned how to fend for myself, how to survive on a diet of chicken nuggets and rice, how to get almost anywhere using mass transit, and how to understand a new language.  I’ve also learned how wonderful people in other parts of the world are, and how surprisingly comfortable you can feel in a foreign land, a lesson my son obviously learned many years ago and passed on to me along with his sense of adventure, in a sort of reverse heredity.  I’ll always cherish the memories I have of Singapore, and hope that I’ve left behind a few good memories of my own.

Oh For the Love of DOG

Travis pranced into our lives over 14 years ago.  His arrival was not without controversy, though, as my family conspired against me to bring a dog home.  I’d grown up with dogs, and while I found them to be great companions, I’d experienced the devastation of losing them at an all too young age, and I also knew how much work they were.  But my sons were at an age where having a dog was both a reward and a responsibility, and my wife, who loves infants, figured that a dog would be like having a perpetual two-year-old around.  Unfortunately, he went from the lovable two-year-old to a sedentary, failing hundred-year-old almost overnight, and we knew it was time to say goodbye.

When he was brought home, it was against my better judgment.  But I was overruled by a 75% majority.  We reached a compromise – my wife and sons would take full care of him and he would not be my responsibility.  Well, guess what…the son of a B won me over, and of course my being excused from responsibility was short-lived anyway.  My wife decided early on that he needed intensive training, and enrolled him in Puppy Preschool.  Not a great student, he flunked and had to repeat it.  My wife assumed the role of alpha dog, and the final results of their shared training was nothing short of remarkable.

A melting pot of pedigrees, he brought a diversity to our household that we never expected.  We’re not quite sure what his bloodline contained, but he was about 50 lbs, and had a look and coloring of a Rottweiler, but we think he was mostly German Shepherd.  Whatever his ethnic blend, it was a fine one, as he was always gentle, very lovable, quiet, entertaining, and at times frisky.  A rescue dog, reportedly from Trenton, he was adopted at PetSmart where he also attended training (twice) and returned for periodic grooming.  Until recently, he loved going there, and the groomers loved him.  He really seemed to understand that his rescue changed his life, and he was grateful for every minute of it.

When he moved in, we also had two cats, and they never forgave us for bringing this beast into their home.  In protest, they moved to the basement and seldom ventured out.  Travis, ever the peacemaker, tried to coax them upstairs, but they were stubborn.  Eventually, though, they settled their differences, and while they never became close, they tolerated each other.  He did, however, have a cat best friend – our son’s cat, Zoe, who loved him and whom he loved in return.

He was not a pretty dog, but he had a personality that won everyone over.  I’m not the only one who succumbed.  Kids loved him, people who usually didn’t like dogs loved him, even the mailman loved him.  He wasn’t a jumper, he wasn’t a barker (at least until recently when he could no longer hear himself), and he wasn’t annoying in the least.  He didn’t destroy things, didn’t jump on the furniture (except one time), and didn’t usually go after people food.  He did, though, decide to help himself once to a freshly baked apple pie that was cooling way back on the stovetop.  We came home to find the glass pie plate smashed on the floor, most of the pie gone, and some of the glass missing.  He sustained a cut lip in the process, but it didn’t faze him.

For years, Travis entertained us with his intense fear of loud noises, especially fireworks and thunder.  He’d always find a place to hide, sometimes finding himself stuck under our bed.  One of our favorite tricks was to turn on the weather channel.  It would only take one or two notes of the music to send him running, providing proof of Pavlov’s theory of classical conditioning – Travis had put it together in his mind that whenever he heard that music, bad weather was coming.

At Christmastime, he was usually as excited as either of our sons.  He’d open his presents and play with them, but always gravitated to his favorite – a beat up ball that he had for most of his life.  So a couple of years ago, we stopped buying him new presents, and just wrapped his ball and a couple of old toys up.  He was thrilled!

He was usually a great walker, and until recently, enjoyed his outings.  In his younger days, if we let him out without supervision for a few minutes, he’d sneak off and explore the neighborhood.  After 15 or 20 minutes, he’d make the circuit and wind up across the street where they either had treats or some really good trash.  And any time we took him out without a leash, whether we were watching or not, he’d go across the street to visit another neighbor – Joe, who treated Travis better than we did.  To Travis, the grass was always greener on the other side of the street, and he did his part to make it so.

He even inspired me, on one of our daily walks, to write what I consider to be my best essay, written during George W. Bush’s presidency, called Dogmata:

(http://apropositions.blogspot.jp/2006/08/dogmata_22.html)

The current events of the time were great candidates for a number of metaphors and ironies that occurred to me that day.

We don’t know Travis’s actual birthdate, but we estimate that he was born around the first of the year in 2000, so that made him almost fifteen – pretty old for a dog.  His health was failing, his hearing was gone (he no longer performed when the weather channel was tuned in), he was almost blind, he had doggy dementia, and he was limpy and lumpy.  So we knew his days were numbered, and we were left to make a very difficult decision.  He was the best dog to the very end.  He had a good life, and brought a lot of joy to our family.  He also tamed the skeptic in me.  For all the work, all the costs, all the walks in the rain…it was a great ride.

So if there’s a heaven, I hope that dogs are allowed, and I also hope that our neighbor, Joe, finds a place right across the cloud.

It's been a while since I've written anything for publication.  This was published in the March 21, 2014 Trenton Times.

Making a Difference

If you had your druthers, wouldn’t you want to make as much of a difference for as many of your neighbors as you could, at the least possible cost?  There aren’t many ways that we can do that individually, but there’s one organization that does it all the time – the American Red Cross.

In a tradition that began with Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1943, each year the president of the United States proclaims March to be “Red Cross Month.”  This year, President Barack Obama’s proclamation read, in part, “During American Red Cross Month, we honor those who devote themselves to bringing relief where there is suffering, inspiring hope where there is despair, and healing the wounds of disaster and war. Today, American Red Cross workers, alongside countless humanitarian organizations and caring volunteers, deliver life-saving assistance in every corner of our Nation and all across the globe.”

The Red Cross provides emergency assistance, lifesaving training, disaster relief, services to military families, blood collection, and many other supportive and preparatory care services to anyone who needs them.  Most of the services are provided by unpaid volunteers, while a small professional staff coordinates the services and provides direction and continuity.

The Red Cross is there when local, regional and international disasters strike.  The Red Cross is there when training is needed in first aid and CPR, lifesaving and emergency response.  The Red Cross is there when military personnel need connections with their families and communities.  The Red Cross is there to ensure a safe blood supply for emergency and medical needs.  The Red Cross is there when planning is needed to prepare for inevitable disasters, both natural and man-made.

For major disaster responses, the Red Cross is there in a big way.  Imagine the logistics involved in assembling an organizational structure, lining up and coordinating hundreds of trained volunteers, acquiring purchased and donated resources, and establishing a presence, all within hours of the occurrence of a disaster.  During Hurricane Sandy, for example, huge empty warehouses were transformed almost overnight into well-stocked, fully staffed, busy distribution centers.  These hives of activity were surrounded by a swarm of Red Cross and rented vehicles, each picking up and delivering much-needed supplies to people in need.

With over 500 chapters nationwide, the American Red Cross is virtually everywhere, even though it’s one unified organization.  While chartered by the federal government, it doesn’t receive funding from the government, except in certain limited circumstances.  Much of its financial support and virtually all of its trained volunteers come from local communities.  Here in the heart of the Garden State, the American Red Cross of Central New Jersey (redcross.org/princeton) serves 1.8 million residents in Mercer, Middlesex, Hunterdon, and Somerset Counties.  The chapter also serves as the headquarters of the North Jersey Region.

Although the Red Cross spends about 91% of every dollar raised on direct services to those in need, its tremendous volunteer base magnifies that investment exponentially.  For every paid staff member, there are about sixteen volunteers.  This translates into a huge return on the investment in paid staff. Talk about leverage!  In addition, many non-cash donations are made by businesses, so the overall return is even greater.

What all this means is that we depend on the support of Red Cross staff and volunteers more than they depend on ours.  Nevertheless, they do depend on our financial and volunteer support in order to provide vital ongoing services to us and our neighbors.   More importantly, they need our support in advance of major disasters; after a disaster strikes, it’s too late to prepare, so the financial investments need to be made and trained volunteers need to be in place beforehand.

After almost every major disaster, the outpouring of financial support from individuals is incredible. But the Red Cross is responding to local disasters nearly every day. Last year alone, the American Red Cross North Jersey Region responded to 485 local home fires, providing 1,269 families with emotional support and emergency assistance with food, clothing, and temporary lodging.  Just recently, the Red Cross responded to the gas explosion in Ewing, establishing a reception center at the West Trenton Fire House and providing emergency assistance to families as needed. The Red Cross continues to coordinate with Ewing Township and other organizations to help provide comfort and assistance to the families affected by this disaster.  So it’s important to recognize that fundraising is not just episodic, but rather that a steady flow of financial support is needed to keep the Red Cross ready and able to respond.

If you are not already engaged with the Red Cross, now that you realize how valuable it is to your community and how great an investment it is, please consider making a financial commitment to the organization and/or adding your name and skills to the long list of selfless volunteers who provide services or donate blood.  You can find what you’re looking for on the web at redcross.org/Princeton.  Once you’ve done that, you’ll know this: it’s great to know that we’ve got neighbors like us!

The Audacity of Nope

This was published in the August 7, 2011 Trenton Times under the title, " We must unite to solve our nation's problems"

I’m disappointed...and so are many other Americans. When Barack Obama was elected, we had the audacity to hope that the tendency to deadlock in Washington would be reversed – that there would truly be non-partisan cooperation, and there would truly be harmony. But the struggle for superiority continues to work against such an elusive goal, and we continue to hurtle toward the abyss. The total lack of cooperation, and indeed the rampant obstructionism – the ubiquitous use of “no,” is frightening. It seems that Nancy Reagan’s “Just say no” slogan has been co-opted for far less noble purposes.

The behavior of our elected officials, particularly in our nation’s capitol, is very disheartening. We entrust these people with our lives and our livelihoods, only to see them gamble away our limited wealth in games of brinksmanship, wars of attrition, and schemes of Ponzi. And most recently, with our country tetering on the edge of bankruptcy, we’ve seen them at their worst – pointing fingers, issuing ultimatums, wasting time while other major issues are burgeoning, and each waiting for the other to blink. What seems to be lost on them is that compromise is not necessarily a bad thing, and doesn’t have to be a zero sum proposition. A rising tide can lift all boats, but not if they’re too firmly tied to their moorings.

The games being played by our elected officials are extremely dangerous. With a refusal to agree on anything meaningful, not only are we losing our credit standing, and with it, much of our economic value. We’re losing our place as leader of the free world, which desperately needs a strong leader. We’re also losing the momentum we’ve built with growing prosperity, where each generation is better off than the last. We owe it to our children and their children to keep their dreams alive.

Wars of attrition are being waged in many ways, both domestically and internationally. On the inside, with our elected officials’ parties sniping at each other and refusing to cooperate, with actions bordering on extortion, they’re gaining nothing for themselves, and by their intransigence, continuing to sink our economy. On the outside, our involvement in the Middle East continues to be a swirling vortex, and the more we spend, the less we seem to achieve. By squandering our treasure against unseen and often duplicitous enemies, we fulfill the very goals of terrorists – to destroy our financial foundation, and in doing so, rob us of the desire to interfere with their plans for domination.

Charles Ponzi would be proud to see how our government has adopted his financial strategies. We’ve built pension plans, Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, bond issues and other programs that have morphed into financially ruinous schemes that count on tomorrow’s revenue to pay today’s bills. We talk of many of these programs as “entitlements,” and lose sight of the fact that for many of us, they are investments that we have faithfully made, while our government hasn’t kept its side of the bargain. The very idea that we can continue to raise the debt ceiling with no viable plan to pay off the debt should be ringing loud and clear in the heads of every ethically-minded individual.

Our great nation is in danger of collapsing under its own weight and our experiment in democracy may not survive. The debt we’ve run up, the regulations we’ve entangled ourselves with, the underfunded entitlements and subsidies we’ve created with incentives to game the system, are all piling up on top of us. Our government seems to be good at placing more burden on its citizens, especially in good times, but seldom takes any of it away, even after it’s proven to be a failure or its usefulness is diminished. In addition, the Baby Boomers (of which I am one), who are responsible for much of this dysfunction, are causing a surge in expense and a shortfall in revenue as they leave the workforce and move into retirement.

It is clear that our problems didn’t materialize overnight. Expecting them to disintegrate overnight is pure folly. Similarly, expecting reduced expense alone, or increased revenue by itself, to solve our problems in the short term is not realistic either. We need a comprehensive balanced approach to move the country in the right direction, and we need it now. Revenue increases need not be permanent, while spending cuts can and should be. We have to realize that a plan of such import will take some time to implement, and even longer to have the desired effects. So we’ll have to be patient, and we’ll probably have to do without for a while. And we must all be willing to share the pain and sacrifice.

But we must have a plan, and we must have the resolve to see it through. In the meantime, the increased debt ceiling will provide some necessary breathing room. It’s long past time for our elected officials to get serious about reducing our debt and living within our means. Time is running out for them to find some common high ground, before the rising tide drowns us all.

Japan - Resourceful and Resilient

Barely a week after the devastating earthquake hit northeast Japan, and despite advice from friends and warnings from the US State Department and the Tokyo Consulate, my wife and I kept our vacation plans and went to Japan on March 19, 2011. It wasn’t that we couldn’t have rescheduled – the airlines made it easy and attractive to do so. What we couldn’t reschedule was our son’s graduation from Kumamoto Gakuen University in southern Japan.

The morning the earthquake hit, my wife, Chris, awoke to the following words on NPR: “...magnitude 8.9 earthquake hit Japan...” To a mother whose firstborn is a half a world away, and to whom Japan seems only as big as a postage stamp, she was very concerned. Quickly, though, she made contact with Jason through the internet, and he was fine. It turned out that he was about 700 miles from the earthquake and its aftermath, the tsunami and the nuclear meltdown at Fukushima.

Every day after the earthquake, the prognosis became more dire, and Chris and I did not dare to discuss the trip. Our flight arrangements had us flying into Tokyo, whose airports had been shut down immediately after the earthquake, and then on to the southernmost island of Kyushu, where Jason lives. She’s a white-knuckle flyer as it is, and the thought of flying into a serious danger zone was best to avoid. So we talked about it obliquely until the day before departure, when it came time to print the boarding passes. To my mild surprise, she agreed with me that we should go.

The flights were uneventful, and although we were on a jumbo jet heading into Tokyo, I think we were the only Americans (other than the flight crew) aboard. The plane was only about a third full, and there were several passengers who were visibly upset. We assumed that they were heading home to deal with personal disasters, and felt their pain in some small way. Tokyo – Narita Airport seemed like a ghost town when we landed, but the people who were there were going about their business as if nothing had happened. After a several hour layover, we flew from there to Fukuoka, on the west side of Kyushu. Jason picked us up at the airport and took us to our hotel.

His graduation ceremony was one to be remembered. Not for its pomp and circumstance, but for its simplicity and irony. The entire graduating class included about a thousand undergraduates and a handful of graduate students. Jason was in the graduate program, and his particular class numbered four students. Each class had one representative who accepted the graduation honor on stage for the class. Since all four students in his class had straight As, they needed a tie-breaker to choose their representative; Jason had taken an extra class, so he won!

We followed the directions into a large auditorium and found some seats, and waited patiently for the ceremony to begin. Curiously, there was a large projection screen on the stage, and it soon became apparent that we would be viewing the ceremony on it. The students were all in another auditorium, and the professors and speakers were on that stage. The ceremony began, and we tried to follow its progression, in a language that we could not understand. I videotaped some of it, and was able to record Jason’s performance. So Chris and I travelled halfway around the world, braving earthquakes, tsunamis and radioactive fallout, to videotape our son’s graduation on a projection screen!

After the ceremony, the students adjourned to various classrooms and other venues to meet with their professors and receive their degrees. Jason led me into the room, and his professor approached me and began speaking to me, presumably about the amazing son I had. Soon my blank stare betrayed my utter ignorance of the language, and the professor smiled and returned to the front of the room. He then addressed each of the students, presumably talking about their wonderful performance and their bright futures. He then turned to me (he wasn’t through with me yet), and told me to stand up and speak. Obediently, I stood, and made an brief, impromptu fool of myself and sat down. Actually, according to my wife and son, I did pretty well.

For the rest of the week, Chris and I kept watching Japanese TV, with its occasional flashes of English-speaking broadcasts, to find out what was happening in the Fukushima and Tokyo areas, since we had to return through Narita Airport in Tokyo. We watched one particular broadcast, all in Japanese, while the scientist-narrator described the latest developments with the failing reactors in Fukushima. At one point, his monotone took on an air of excitement, and he splayed his arms and uttered the word, “BOOM!” Now it was hard to tell if “BOOM!” was what just happened, or what was about to happen, or what might happen if control wasn’t restored. But “BOOM!” was not a reassuring word.

We also endured a small earthquake in generally stable Kumamoto, where Jason lives. It was about mid-week, and I was taking a shower. My wife told me that she thought we’d just had an earthquake, and I thought it was her imagination. It turned out that it was a 3.0, right there in our hotel!

The rest of our trip was equally memorable. Kumamoto, where Jason lives, is a fishing village with mountains on three sides. We visited the tops of the mountains, and got to see a simmering volcano up close. The drive to the mountaintops was invigorating, as the roads were steep, loaded with switchbacks, and dotted with mirrors so that you could see traffic coming around the bend. This was important because the roads are barely wide enough for cars to pass, and guard rails are a luxury.

The food in Japan is amazing, and the Japanese people love their food (and alcoholic beverages). In the areas we visited, rice and fish were the main staples. I’m not big on fish, especially for breakfast, but there was no getting away from it. Rice was in virtually every meal, so one morning at a Japanese style hotel, I loaded up on a bowl of rice, thinking it was the Japanese version of oatmeal. I then sprinkled a large tablespoonful of white crystalline powder on top for sweetness, and poured on a brown syrup for texture. It turned out that the white stuff was salt, and the syrup was teriyaki sauce! I was too embarrassed to leave it, so I wolfed it down.

At another meal at an authentic Japanese resort, I ate what I thought were bean sprouts (on top of rice, of course), only to find out that they were raw fish (baby eels, perhaps?). I also ate what I thought was a block of raw salmon, which I normally would have avoided anyway, but felt obligated to try. After I swallowed it, I was informed that it was a fish egg sack! Nothing goes to waste, I guess.

We also visited Nagasaki, the site of the dropping of the second atomic bomb during World War II. A memorial and museum there are somber and sobering. One striking thing about the museum was its frank and balanced view of the history leading up to the bombing, but I couldn’t help but feel more than a little disbelief that we, of all people, could use such a weapon in such a way. Near the end of the museum tour, there was a photograph of a boy with a story that moved me like few other things have. Here’s a link to the photo and a brief story about its photographer: http://www.societypolitics.com/?p=620. The story accompanying the picture in the museum describes how the boy stood at attention for a long time, biting his lip until it bled, and then watching as his baby brother’s body was cremated.

Nagasaki has fully recovered, and is a thriving seaport. Due to its strategic location, it is influenced by many foreign traders who have made their home there. While Japan has a tense relationship with neighboring China, its Chinatown area is bustling. Also striking is the Dutch influence, since, for a period of Japanese isolationism, the Dutch were the only foreign traders welcome. There’s a large Dutch village stacked up the mountainside like boughs on a cedar tree.

Throughout our trip, we were struck by the stoicism of the Japanese people. While they all expressed concern about the earthquake and its aftermath, nobody expressed selfish emotions, even those closest to the disaster. TV coverage showed multitudes of people helping out, and no disorder or looting. In fact, some coverage showed people waiting in line for hours for supplies, and when they ran out, merely turning and walking away.

We returned home a week after we arrived, and in that second week after the earthquake, much had returned to normal in the Tokyo area. Things continued to worsen in the Fukushima area, but the threat to Tokyo and areas south seemed to stabilize. Our visit to Japan showed us that the Japanese people are a proud and honorable lot, and they have a unique way of accepting the way things are (shikata ga nai) and immediately taking steps to rebuild. If only that were a universal human trait.

Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear

Chris and I attended the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear on October 30, 2010 in Washington, DC. It was a lot of fun, but we got there late, and couldn't see or hear the Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert show. Here are two signs I made - they were a hit among the nearby crowd. The picture was taken by a syndicated news photographer - that's me in the left foreground, and Chris is in the red coat to the right of me.