Awesome Eyeballs

I’m not sure I’m smarter than a second grader.

When I visited MIT back in September, I spoke with Professor Woodie Flowers after his presentation on FIRST Robotics & Lego League (Lego League is the ‘little league' for the Robotics challenge). After his very inspiring introduction to the program, I went up to say ‘hello,’ express my general admiration (he is a demi-god of mechanical engineering after all), and ask some questions.

In his friendly sort-of-way, he threw down the gauntlet. I had made the mistake of thanking him for something. I should know better. No, he didn’t say ‘you’re welcome.’ He smiled broadly.

“You owe me, then. Start a team.”

Oops. I should know better.

I was thinking about it when I ran into an old friend outside of the 10-250 lecture hall. A short conversation made it clear his kids were only slightly older than mine, and he was starting a Lego League team this year. The third member of our conversation gushed about her experience.

“It was so incredible. You’ll never, ever regret it,” she went on emphatically. “My kids love it. I really have no choice now that I’ve started it.”

Within a week of returning to Ohio, my team was fully registered, Legos were on the way, the calendar established, and my fate was sealed.

I didn’t think it would be that inspiring, but it would be fun. I would take it for what it was and see where it went. I was sure she was exaggerating.

Except for one thing, I was wrong. It was that inspiring. It was just as awesome as she had described, except the parts that were even better.

The kids were amazing.

Oh, yes, they were jumpy and noisy and a little wild on Friday afternoons, but you’ve never seen kids more excited about learning. I was very prepared for the sessions, of course, but I was never prepared for where the kids would take the sessions.

Have you ever brainstormed with second graders??

I can assure you, I had nothing to do with the name “Awesome Eyeballs.” In fact, if I had taken the time to look, I imagine the mothers were rolling their eyeballs behind the kids. We shrugged our shoulders and all gave three cheers for the “Awesome Eyeballs.”

I also had nothing to do with the subject we studied.

The task was to decide on an object and learn about how that object moved from wherever it was made or grown to where the kids were now. I started by drawing a value chain of a pretzel on freezer paper across my dining room wall.

Did you know that kids understand value chain analysis? They understood it. They added to it. They thought about it. And, while I was busy scribbling all the kids’ thoughts across my wall, someone ate my pretzel (and the rest giggled uncontrollably).

So, we brainstormed ideas for things to analyze. One of the kids suggested electricity, and there was no going back. A mother gave me a look of mild horror. Electricity?? But, it was electricity: too late.

And so I spent a little time contemplating how to explain electricity, “electrons in motion” to second graders. They wanted to know all the details so badly. I wasn’t going to get off easily with this crowd.

We started from the beginning. I gave them magnets and safety pins to feel how magnets pull on the electrons in metal. We talked about how magnets pull electrons in wires to start them in motion. I made up a game in which the kids were the wire and they passed Duplo block “electrons,” but only one at a time, and the electrons could not pass and had to stop if one stopped and their circuit was broken.

They understood everything immediately.

They asked smart questions and made even smarter observations. We easily brainstormed the electron value chain on a new piece of freezer paper, and each child went home to investigate his or her own piece of that chain on the internet.

At the next meeting, they each presented their newfound knowledge to the rest of the team. You could tell they were proud. You could tell they understood it. They brought in pictures and hand-written notes. One of the mothers brought in a circuit with a battery and a lightbulb. Another mother confessed to finding electro-magnetism interesting.

Oh, yes, and we used Legos too.

At one of the early and boisterous sessions, I asked them to build the strongest tower they could out of Legos. Except, of course, they only had ten minutes and they were absolutely not allowed to say a single word or make a noise.

For ten beautiful minutes, I heard nothing but the sound of clinking Legos. I’ve never seen second graders so focused and quiet.

They used Legos at every session, but towards the end we focused on building our electrical grid – wind mill, substation, high-tension power lines, etc. The creativity was astonishing. They worked in teams of two or three on each piece.

As time went on, the parents came up with more and more eyeball themed items. I had always planned on making them t-shirts for the expo, but as time drew near I felt increasingly compelled to make it a truly “awesome” eyeball. They deserved it.

They needed a shirt that would match their pride. The logo designed itself. I just happened to be holding the pencil.

The day of the Expo, they all arrived promptly wearing their t-shirts and eyeball glasses. They were prepared to explain their work. They took turns speaking. They answered the judge’s questions and provided additional information. They were truly an awesome team.

On the way into the auditorium to receive their trophy, they started high-five-ing the other teams as they passed.

My cheeks turned pink with pride.

Now I’m one of “them.” I’m committed, and gushing, and the children will require me to coach them again. Two of them even sent me 'thank you' notes, with hand-drawn pictures. I have "no choice." My fate is sealed.

All of the sudden, I want to thank Woodie Flowers all over again.

Maybe I will. I just don’t learn my lessons as well as those second graders.

Japan #2 Almost Famous

On our way out of security in San Francisco, I paused by the baggage conveyor to zip up my boots. I looked up to see a familiar face. Have you ever seen someone so out of context that you couldn’t discern why his face was familiar? Since we made eye contact, standing face to face across the conveyor belt, I instinctively said ‘hello.’ He returned the greeting and we both moved on. A minute later, I realized that he was the Reverend Jesse Jackson.

“Mom, that was Jesse Jackson,” I said a minute later.

“What?” she asked.

“Never mind. That was Jesse Jackson. I’m sure of it,” I said again. The man next to me agreed.

“Oh.”

We shrugged our shoulders and sought out breakfast. I had honestly forgotten about it until I wrote this episode.

Our first stop in Japan was with Kawa-san and his family. I knew I would be welcome in his home. I have known him for 20 years and remember when his college-aged son was carried on his mother’s back. Kawa-san’s children are as wonderful now as they were the day that I met them. His oldest is a handsome father, with a beautiful wife. His daughter has outgrown cute and has become a lovely and confident young woman. And his youngest son is now a chemistry student and rock star. Okay, a budding “rock star,” but if you knew him, you would know what I mean.

I realized I felt at home when I returned to Kawa-san’s home at the end of our trip and went straight to the sink to “freshen up” before giving proper regards. I apologized, of course, but the transgression was taken for what it was.

I forgot to be nervous. I was home.

On the way out of Kyoto (our first time), Kawa-san’s youngest son was pressed into service. The young man had been convinced to carry our baggage as far as Osaka, at which point he was free to continue to his university in Hyogo prefecture. He is a polite young man and appeared to have no hesitation in fulfilling his duty. Of course, my mother and I suspected that at his age he probably had better things to do. We would arrive at Osaka before noon.

My mother is especially clever.

On our train ride to Osaka, we spoke English to Ryo-chan. I would have translated if he needed, but he didn’t require my help. I was twenty years old when I met him (he was just a baby) and we were busy convincing him to come to America, because, after all, he was already twenty. My mother asked him some key questions.

“Have you ever tried American food? Have you ever had a hamburger?” she asked.

“No, no,” he replied, “never tried hamburger.”

“You must come to America and try a hamburger,” my mother explained.

There was a pause. My mother leaned to me and asked me.

“Do you remember when we were in Osaka in 1994? You and your father required that we eat at the Hard Rock Café Osaka. Do you remember that?”

“I wouldn’t have remembered if you hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Well, I remember it because I came all the way to Japan and there I was with you, who had been living here for six months and your father who had been living in India for over a year and you both wanted a hamburger. I come all the way to Japan and I have to eat a hamburger!”

“Sorry,” I replied (and probably rolled my eyes too).

“We are taking Ryo-chan to Hard Rock Café. He is a rock star and has never had American food. It is perfect!” my mother exclaimed.

We briefly explained the plan to our Japanese friend and he began researching it on his Internet phone. He studied his phone carefully. After awhile, I couldn’t help but ask.

“So, do you think we can get there, Ryo-chan?”

“Oh, yes, we can get there,” he replied with great certainty. “We can get there. No problem.”

“Great. Then you know where it is.”

“No, I have no idea.”

He didn’t have any idea. He had never heard of it. But, he could tell by the description that it was an American oasis. It would be very cool. He found it. My mother fed him like any mother would feed a starving child. It is the international language of love. She fed him like she knew Kawa-san had taken care of me so many years ago.

I think it was after 3:30pm when we finally left lunch.

Those are the lunches that count.

And, those are the people that count. Of course, we managed to spend several days in Kyoto and never see anything famous. Well, except a budding rock star, and what is better than that?

Mom with 'famous rock star' from Rad Bandary.

Happy 2010 !

This is our annual New Years' cake. The children make it on Dec 31st, and then enjoy eating 'year old' cake the next day. We also listen to everyone's New Years' resolutions.

Andrew will bike the entire length of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park trail.

Gladys will eat foods from all different countries.

George will eat cake.

I will cheerfully haul three children (many times) to the Cuyahoga Valley National Park trail, make foods from different countries and, of course, eat more cake. (George is such a sweet boy).

Yes, I have other resolutions as well. Since my glass seems is neither half full nor half empty, but rather 'overfloweth,' I think I will focus on doing less.

In fact, I think I'll start right now.

Excuse me as I go giggle myself to sleep.

MIT Mommy, this is your life

This was my life – as it re-appeared in 2009.

I found my best friend from high school.

I suppose with Facebook this is not a huge shock to anyone besides me. I found her on Facebook. There she was. I hadn’t really spoken with her since 1993. I feel like we are friends as if the past 17 years were merely a week spent in Florida.
Did you ever see that show?? That was 2009 for me. My past came up and grabbed me by the neck.

Thankfully, I have had a rather nice life so far. It turned out to be a rather shocking bear hug.


I remembered that feeling of giddy love.

Do you remember that feeling of falling in love? Can you put yourself back there? The truth is that I can’t really shoehorn myself into the jeans I wore then. But, somehow, driving down the same road, and breaking a Ford truck, brought me back. Yes. It was very nice, and now I am back in Ohio reminding myself that the best smoke comes from long-burning coals. (smile)

I said ‘goodbye’ to my host father (and enjoyed the laughter of my host mother)

When I was 17 years old, I spent 12 weeks in Japan with a host family in Kobe. As I explained to my children, I went back in the day when we didn’t have things like email. I spoke to my parents once all summer. We sent letters. Do you remember letters? My host family didn’t speak English particularly. Those were incredible days, and even more rewarding now that I can know my host mother as an adult. Since my host father passed away last September, I could only visit his grave. There is something poetic about pouring water over someone’s grave in a drowning rainstorm.

It needed to be done and it felt good.

I visited the most beautiful view in the world with my host aunt and uncle.

Yeah, she was the beautiful one in the pink kimono at my wedding. She is the woman who mentioned to me in my kitchen in Hiroshima that I should stay in Japan to have my children, where it is safe and she could help me. The sea in front of her home bore the first fish that I ever ate raw. I remember playing a counting game with my ‘cousins’ at her home because my Japanese was poor, but at least I could count. That was part of my summer in 1987.

I returned to ‘home base’ in Kyoto.

When I was in college, I spent a summer in Kyoto. From my small apartment each morning, I would lace on my Nike’s and explore the city. My boss’ family, Kawa-san’s family, became my second host family in Japan. They welcomed me as if I had never left. I strolled in with such comfort I nearly forgot my manners.

I visited my work friends in Hiroshima.

I should really say that they visited me. The young woman who picked me up at the ANA Hotel Hiroshima in February 1994 now has a child the same age as Gladys. We have kept in touch a little and she arranged a dinner for me at a restaurant in Hiroshima. I thought that maybe one or two old friends might appear – there were 9 of us. In 1995, the director of our technical center died of cancer. We all remember him well. Everyone in the room had worked with him. Unexpectedly, the son of our former director appeared at the restaurant and joined us.

I rediscovered the world’s biggest smile at the world’s most beautiful shrine.

In Hiroshima, I also worked with clients. Two of them (and their families) greeted me like a lost friend. The one family and my husband and I used to go camping together in Japan. We would tent came by the sea and then enjoy the local hot springs and spas.

My other client and I worked together for a number of years. I recall one particular trip when he and I traveled back to America together on business in November. Since I did not have family in Michigan as most ex-pats did, we stayed in the same hotel and socialized after work. One evening, he joined me for dinner and complained that his children were nagging him about what he would bring them from America.

“Oh, that is easy,” I laughed, “tell them that you are a busy man and you haven’t the time for such things on this trip.”

He raised an eyebrow, and then he laughed too. The next morning he greeted me with the news that his children understood that he must work hard to support the family. He hasn’t time for shopping! The next day, we visited Walmart. He and I carted a full artificial Christmas tree and all the trimmings back to Japan, just in time for Christmas. I only wish I could have seen their faces.

I visited my mentor at MIT.

I hadn’t been back to MIT in about 10 years or so, but in so many ways it hasn’t changed. After a brief email exchange a few weeks before my trip announcing my intention to stop by, I searched for her office on campus. When I arrived at the top of the stairs, the rooms stood recently abandoned. I found her, finally, and enjoyed a morning of good conversation and introductions to colleagues.

That was my life that re-appeard to me in 2009. The very best of that life, I will bring with me into 2010.

One Museum. One House of Worship (Japan Day 1)

That is what my mother told me. She said it many times.

“One museum and one house of worship: that is my limit. After that, the little stone statues become a blur and I can’t remember any of them properly.”

I really wanted to show her whatever she wanted to see. But, I lived in Japan for many years. I really wanted to see my friends, some of whom are practically family. I have seen the famous places.

She would go on.

“I want to see what living in Japan is like. I want to visit your friends. I want to walk around regular places. Do you have any idea how many temples I have seen?”

My mother has traveled a lot. She likes meeting people. I tried to plan accordingly, but there are a few places I couldn’t help but take her. It wouldn’t be a proper tour without seeing a few famous places, right?

My mother only saw the most impressive places in Japan.

Our first full day on the ground was in Kyoto, visiting Kawa-san. After a relaxing Japanese-style breakfast and warming our toes by the hot coals under the table, Mrs. Kawa began to excuse herself to walk their dog.

“Do you mind if we join you?” I asked.

My mother and I had arrived in the dark the night before. She had seen the darkened courtyard of their 18th century home, and the traditional interior (better than any museum, trust me), but the neighborhood had been merely a blur out the car window.

The three of us, and the dog, exited the courtyard and began a tour of the rice paddies. (Kawa-san stayed behind). Kawa-san owns three rice paddies. The neighbors (busy with their farming) were pleased to pose for my mother’s pictures. We asked questions and enjoyed the scenery.

We then took a walk up the hill to the neighborhood temple. This one didn’t count as a ‘house of worship’, of course, because it was really just a simple walk around the neighborhood. We met the family who took care of the temple, and they offered us a bag of ginko nuts. My mother rearranged their two year old’s toy cars as the rest of us chatted. On our way back, we admired another neighbor’s garden and were rewarded with fresh mikans (tangerines). We also coincidentally ran into the Buddhist monk (father to the two year old) returning to the temple in traditional clothing.

We stopped for a picture, of course.

So, having been gone for only a short while to walk the dog, we returned to Kawa-san with an arm full of gifts and a camera full of pictures.

Kawa-san laughed with joy. He told us that having our picture taken with the monk was highly unusual and certainly would bring us good luck. Armed with fresh gingkos and mikans, it was tough to argue that we were lucky.

Our luck had only just begun, because Kawa-san decided that he would show us how to cook them. It is quite exciting to watch gingkos roasting. They pop out of the pan like stone popcorn.

We visited a few other local temples that day too. We played tennis by the river. We went out for a fabulous dinner.

We ended the day with a Japanese bath, warm toes, and a soft futon.

Did we see one museum and one house of worship?

No. We did a lot better than that.

A tale of two mothers

please excuse the typing and editing. this japanese computer is tricky to use.

Yesterday, my real mother and I wandered the streets of Kobe with my host mother and her best friend, whom i remember well from high school. they are both about 70 years old and are very difficult to chase. Nakafuji:s pedometer reported that we went about 8 miles. That is only one measure. if you were to measure the level of silliness, we would have been off the charts.

After breakfast, we went to see a Japanese flower garden. It was lovely and we took lots of pictures. We took pictures of the flowers, each other, and the gardener too. My host mother kept taking pictures of me when I wasnt looking. I told her that she could have a picture of my behind if she wanted it. we were silly. It was fun.

After the garden, we enjoyed lunch at kaiten zushi. That is the word for those sushi places that deliver plates on a conveyor belt. This was a special place in as much as my host mother wanted to show us that if you order something special, they will deliver it on a special high speed train track (a second level of conveyors). The food was only okay, but the entertainment was priceless. We were pretty silly. I bought a toy train in the vending machine on our way out.

After lunch, we visited a karaoke bar coffee house where my host mother:s friend works. I remember Tanaka san from high school, and of course she remembered me. We traded gifts appropriately, took pictures with people we didn:t know, received gifts from strangers, and I even sang some Elvis. If you have ever heard me sing, you will understand that the patrons were clapping loudly mostly to drown out my voice. When I was finished, I bowed deeply and used a typical Japanese expression which roughly translates to - that must have been very hard work for you, and you must be so very tired. They clapped louder and laughed heartily. We were silly. It was fun.

After karaoke, we went to Motomachi for shopping. Motomachi is sort of like NY 5th avenue, except there is a lot more shopping, a lot more restaurants, and a lot more people. After wandering through the maze of covered streets, I suggested that we go to Diamaru. Diamaru department store is sort of like Neiman Marcus. They carry Burberry, but mostly we were enjoying the excessively high end shopping - Hermes, Tiffany and the like. My mother and I fell in love with a purse that did not have a price tag, but was matched with some Japanese traditional shoes which were marked at about $1500. To be fair, I never saw any outfit for more than $7000, but I suppose I stopped looking. I think my Japanese mothers enjoyed it too since they probably don:t bother going in there very often. We were pretty silly in there, but I suppose the shop owners didn:t mind too much. It was fun.

After shopping, my Japanese mother decided to take us to the top of a tall building to see Kobe from above at night. Since it had started raining, they decided to keep us under roofs the entire way. That is not an unreasonable goal in Japan, but it is still a little bit tricky. We went on quite the tour. My host mother was very polite as we ran past the security guard at a local company and ran into the building. We moved quickly through various hallways and even through the company cafeteria. We all bowed quickly in everyone:s direction and tried hard to not laugh heartily until we were clear of earshot. It was very rediculous. We had fun.

After our office building tour and view of the city, we returned to the house to talk to my host sister via skype. My japanese mother wanted to introduce her grand daughter and give my sister and i time to talk. So, we did. My Japanese mother does this very frequently and showed us how her granddaughter in Australia likes to watch her grandmother in Japan play with a balloon. It was a very serious use of technology. And, it was nice to see my host sister again, even in that way. She explained that we were story book characters to her daughter, so I insisted that she start considering us movie stars. It was silly. We had fun.

After skype, we went to dinner at a local place. We took pictures of each other and different combinations of everyone in the restaurant. The food was good and the sake was warm. My mother received oranges from the shopkeeper. It was fun.

After dinner, we went to a local karaoke place. After all, we hadn:t sung in at least a few hours. By then I had moved to whiskey and was singing in Japanese. Our proprietors encouraged that heartily and I thus acquiesced to what I told my mother were silly foreigner tricks. But, even so, I did quite well with my oral Japanese character exam and surprised everyone with how much I could read. When asked where I learned Japanese, I explained noisily that I had spent 12 weeks with my host mother and she must be brilliant - much laughter. The proprietor also asked my host mother if it was very difficult for her when I lived in her home not speaking any Japanese and how she managed to feed me American food. My host mother laughed.

"Oh, I didn:t do that. Are you kidding? I didn:t even really want to have an exchange student at first. I thought it would be a hassle. But, it wasn:t a problem."

"Oh, but I suppose it was probably a problem for her." she finished with a smile.

I replied on cue.

"Yes, can you imagine how horrible it must have been for me! I had to live with this woman who is always speaking in local dialect and making jokes. I couldn:t understand anything and the food was terribly strange! It was so so horrible. Can you imagine?"

"Oh, do you understand our local dialect?" she asked.

And, I answered in the only possible way.

"No, I don:t understand it at all," spoken with great drama, in perfect local dialect.

It was silly. We had fun.

My mother called

My mother called me in the Spring.

“So, Honey, what are your plans for this summer?”

“Well, Mom, we have a lot of travel planned, but we’d really like to see you. Do you have some time to come up to Cleveland?”

“That isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

She was vague. My mother is vague occasionally, like anyone, but I wasn’t following her this time.

“Will you be at home long enough for us to come down?” I offered. “If we’re around, I could probably come to you.”

My parents travel a lot. My dad works out West. My mother works on the East Coast. They travel more than your average grandparents, and are thus rather difficult to visit.

“That would be nice. I would like to see the kids, but that isn’t what I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind?” I finally asked. My kids were beginning to get restless, in spite of the fact that I had only been on the phone a few minutes.

“I have quite a few frequent flyer miles. You know, your father and I travel quite a bit.”

“Yes, I noticed that. What did you have in mind?” I was trying to think ahead. Maybe she would suggest my sister and I meet her in Vegas. That might be fun. Hmm.

“I was thinking we might go to Japan.”

My reaction was visceral. I started to sweat.

“Japan? Really?”

“Yes. Well, you haven’t been in quite awhile. I thought it would be fun, but maybe you don’t have time.”

“Um, I could probably work that out,” my mind raced, my heart pumped, my body sweated. I started going through the weeks of the summer. They were pretty full. I tried to start switching things around in my head. I started imagining who would watch the kids. What would I do? I couldn’t say ‘no.’ I couldn’t say ‘yes.’

“Maybe in the Fall? Would the Fall work?” my mother asked calmly.

She was serious.

“Um, the Fall?” Yes. My husband had to take a week off every quarter. I might even be able to do the Fall. “Yeah, the Fall. Are some weeks better than others? I’ll call Jay.”

And thus our trip planning began, all those months ago. My head has spun in disbelief ever since. So much has changed since I left in 1999. So many plans must be made before I go. What will we do? What will we bring? Where will we stay? What do you say after all these years?

We are on our way. By Saturday night, I will be bowing in salutation to Kawa-san in Kyoto Station. I will tuck myself into a futon under his roof. I will smell the reedy smell of tatami mats and the smoky, salty grease of tako-yaki at the stand near the Station.

I remember standing at Hiroshima Station in 1994 on the day I moved to Japan.

The smells in the air, the background noise, the high-pitched woman on the train imploring us “wasuremono ga nai you ni go chui kudasai” – “Don’t forget anything.”

In 1994, I remembered Japan as it was in 1987 during my exchange student days in high school. I remembered Japan as it was in 1990 during my days as a college student interning at a Japanese company. The emotions returned, as clear as you would expect if you could travel through time. Standing in the Station in 1994, seven years after my high school exchange experience, I felt the emotions of a high school student, thrust into a country without her parents, barely able to introduce herself – excited and anxious and alone and proud.

I remembered the book I was reading on the plane in high school. I expected to look down and see my old shoes.

And now, in 2009, I remember my going away party in 1999. The most poignant memory of my last days in Japan was that I did not feel like I was going home.

I felt like I was leaving home.

I grew up in the U.S. I spent my childhood in the U.S.

I became an adult in Japan.

If you have ever lived in a foreign country, you know that repatriation is far more difficult than orientation. If you have never lived in a foreign country, I’m not sure I could adequately explain it.

You can’t go home again. It won’t be the same. I’m not the same. But I can’t wait to get there.

Thanks Mom (and Dad)