Just When You Think You've Seen Everything, You See Something Else

Koi at Ofuna Botanical Garden

I have never had to remove my shoes when passing through security at Tokyo's Narita Airport and, until today, had never seen anyone else remove their shoes either.

The Ancient Mariner and I were loitering near the security gate doing our best to embarrass College Boy when we saw a young female guard approach two comely young Asian girls in his line. Both were fashionably dressed in short skirts and tall boots. The guard solemnly presented a pair of slippers to each of these girls. They changed footwear and padded compliantly through the metal detector.

Ah, the civility!

United Airlines gets a thumbs up as well for not charging Matt $200 for his overweight suitcase. The counter clerk waived the fee and wished him a happy new year, thereby changing one teenager's opinion of the airline that extracted $400 from him at the Norfolk Airport when he was returning to Japan from college last summer.

When I was his age, I hadn't flown enough to have opinions about airlines. I also didn't have $400 in my pocket. More like $4 on a flush day.

We've Changed His Name to Pip Bin Laden

If you tuned into the Royal Wedding last week, you no doubt noticed that the Middleton family bears a striking resemblance to mine. Not only have both Mrs. Middleton and I spawned three attractive and seemingly intelligent children, but we share a penchant for traditional names.  We both have a Kate, we both have a James, and surely the boy name she picked out for Pippa was Matthew. Surely. So last week we changed College Boy's nickname to Pip to subtly celebrate our royal connection.

While the Ancient Mariner and I were respectively guzzling and sipping beer at Yokohama Stadium last night, Pip left a message on our answering machine.  It was 4:00 am in Norfolk, Virginia, and he was enroute to the airport.  His first year of college had officially ended.  He was happy to be heading home for the summer.

He was still reasonably happy an hour later after forking over $400 to United Airlines.  His two suitcases were over the weight limit.  This strikes me as a modern day form of highway robbery.  It's something of a miracle that he actually had $400 in his bank account to fork over.  When I was his age, I never had more than $10 in my bank account.  (Remind me some day to tell you about that monthly stipend Pip receives as a benefit of attending college on his father's GI Bill benefit.)
By the time Pip arrived in Chicago to meet his connecting flight to Tokyo, the Ancient Mariner and I were sleeping off the Kirin, Asahi, Yebisu, and Sapporo beer.  Fortunately the telephone is on the nightstand nearest the parent who can actually hear it ring.  The airline did not want to let Pip on the plane.  He showed them his military dependent ID card and his valid tourist passport (the military passport expired a few weeks ago) but the airline wanted additional proof that the U.S. Navy would welcome Pip back to Japan with open arms.  The Ancient Mariner managed to locate a semi-official document, track down an English translation of the operating manual that came with our Japanese printer, and scan the document for the airline.  Then, because he is a good dad, he stayed up for two more hours until he was certain Pip was on the airplane and that the airplane had left Chicago.

The Ancient Mariner thinks Pip's one-way ticket was the sticking point.  "There is heightened security because of Osama Bin Laden's assassination a few days ago."

As for Pip, he never wants to travel through O'Hare Airport again.  And it looks like he won't have to in the foreseeable future because he's transferring from Old Dominion University to a college in Bellingham, Washington, where he'll be reunited with several of his high school track teammates.  This should be interesting.

Here are some signs we saw at Narita Airport while waiting for Pip's plane to touch down.

The Exodus

Today marks the end of the second post-earthquake week. That's what my calendar tells me but how can this possibly be true? Was it really only a week ago that my American friends started leaving Japan?

Daffy was the first to go. She handed me the keys to her "throwaway BMW" and we laughed all the way to Haneda Airport because the BMW's controls are different from the controls in my Japanese car. When I meant to indicate a lane change, the windshield wipers would spring into action. When I needed to roll down my window to pay a toll, I invariably readjusted my sideview mirror instead. I have known Daffy for six months. She makes me laugh. I miss her.

Then Fearless and the twins left, and my neighbor Hoorah, and countless others who booked their own flights when the schools closed. They left the day after the high school vice-principal fled Japan, ignoring the terms of her contract.  I miss Fearless and Hoorah.  I'd like to assume the vice-principal is now unemployed.

Erin tried to hold out for a government-funded departure but by Saturday morning, between the schools closing and the base announcing the cancellation of all child-friendly activities, she was at the end of her rope.  She booked a Sunday flight out of Narita Airport. The base runs three free bus shuttles to Narita Airport every day but none early enough to get Erin and her boys to the airport in time for their flight. So they took a Saturday afternoon shuttle and camped out at the airport with other Navy families overnight.  One of Erin's fellow campers was a young lady from my hometown who was traveling with an infant. I shudder at the thought.

The Navy employs thousands of men and women whose primary task is planning. They would be well served to consult with a few young military spouses like Erin who could remind them that the "devil is in the detail".  Erin called a cab to transport four suitcases and three children from her apartment to the bus shuttle.  The cab did not arrive.  Erin loaded everything into her van, drove to the bus depot, unloaded her van, left her oldest son in charge of her youngest, tracked me down, and drove back to the bus depot where we loaded four very heavy suitcases into the bowels of the bus while several able-bodied sailors looked on, apparently admiring our biceps. 

I returned Erin's van to her designated parking space and strolled home after imparting some unsolicited advice.  Erin is about the same age as my nieces Amy, Jennifer, Ann, and Jessica so I tend to be a bit free with my unsolicited advice.  To her credit, she takes it in good humor and probably a grain or two of salt.  I suspect I will miss Erin a tiny bit more than she will miss me.

We were standing in the bus depot when I advised her to take a mental snapshot of her three boys, four large suitcases, and four incredibly heavy backpacks.  "Be sure you remember this moment, Erin, when they start begging you for a dog."

That was Saturday. Sunday the mass exodus commenced. That's when the Department of Defense started executing the order authorizing the voluntary departure of military dependents. Thousands of young military families, primarily young women with infants and small children and whose husbands are currently at sea providing humanitarian relief, might have been spared much pain and confusion if our government had only communicated clearly rather than indulging in hair-splitting bureaucratic-speak. How can we expect young military spouses to comprehend the difference between "authorized", "ordered", and "executed" when graduates of college journalism schools do not?

On Tuesday Artistic, her three teenagers, and their very large dog left Japan.  Two vehicles were required so Weather and I escorted them to Narita Airport.  I fastened my seatbelt and adjusted the mirrors before confessing that I had never actually driven to Narita before.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  As for missing Artistic, I think longtime readers know that goes without saying.

Sameness, Sadness, and a "Celebrity Sighting"

We instituted Weekly Restaurant Night when the kids were young.  The plan called for rotating the responsibility for choosing a restaurant between the five of us, in order from youngest to oldest, but we pulled Matt out of the rotation five minutes into Week Six when he nominated the same restaurant he'd picked the first week:  McDonald's.  He was four at the time.  We assumed he'd develop more catholic tastes, at least in restaurants, as he grew older.
Silly us.

Fourteen years later, we asked Matt where he wanted to eat after his graduation ceremony.  He picked his favorite yakiniku (Korean BBQ) restaurant, Chaya, and we reserved a semi-private roomlet with two tables.

Fourteen years plus two days later, we asked Matt how he wished to celebrate his 18th birthday.  He wanted to invite his girlfriend to join us for dinner at -- sure enough -- his favorite yakiniku (Korean BBQ) restaurant, Chaya, and we got there early enough to snag that same semi-private roomlet.  Katie graduated to the grownup table to accommodate Jeanine.

Figuring they'd eaten enough Korean BBQ to last a decade, we took James and Emily to Sunday Brunch at the Officers' Club on base their last morning in Japan.  We dawdled to postpone the inevitable gut-wrenching departure.  Sunday Brunch is a great venue for dawdling but eventually we had to buckle ourselves into that rental van and wend our way to the airport. 

Emily's plane left first (long story) and we had a little time to take a few more pictures before James made his solitary trek through that family-severing metal detector.

We were feeling weepy.  Narita Airport knows all about weepy and has positioned smile-inducing signage throughout the departure area.

Unfortunately, you cannot read the sign behind them.  It says something about no samurai and no swords allowed on aircraft.  (I hid that shirt from Matt for six months.  Too bad I didn't hide it for seven . . .).

Why are we crying?  Matt and I will see James again in August.  We're going to spend a weekend in Dallas when I escort Matt to college in Virginia.  Still . . .

Mike will be deployed in August.  He does not know when he will next see James.

"Maybe a non-fat latte will help you feel better," I suggested, pushing him into the airport Starbucks. 

"Food is not a cure for melancholy," he lectured me as he waited morosely for his drink and I inhaled a box of mushroom-shaped cookies.

 Doesn't he look like Jack Benny when he is sad?  I think it's the thing he does with his arms.

Next:  Suzi and Kate in Tokyo