Parents Visit in 1993
I arrived in Kanazawa weighing at some 300 pounds. I left Japan around the weight I now weigh which is some 120 pounds lighter than 300. In the months that elapsed from my arrival and my parents' my clothes got progressively larger and larger on me. Even at my slimmed down weight I was still large as a Japanese, and I could not find, nor frankly afford, new jeans or pants. I mention all this to help explain why you see me in these shots in some pretty ill-fitting clothes. I should also note I was never much of a snappy dresser and spending most of my days in a school uniform did little to remedy this deficiency.
Genbaku Dome, Hiroshima
Ground Zero for the end of World War II in the Pacific theatre.
At the age of 19 when I took this picture I was much a stilted young man who rarely found much pathos in my surroundings. That said, I was deeply affected most of my time in Japan and no more so than my brief time in Hiroshima. After nearly a year living amongst Japanese families, I changed from an American to American-in-Japan to American-Japanese, so much to an extent I was awash in a mix of emotions that straddled cultures and race and that to this day I do not think I can squarely describe to you. I was relieved that the war had ended. I was ashamed we had let ourselves, as a species, come to this. I was proud that we, as Americans, had courage to stand up to the tyranny of totalitarism. I was read enough to know history is never so simple. I was angry with the humiliation delivered at the hands of an arrogant occupation and all that it wrought in the aftermath. I understood the necessity of the occupation and appreciated the wisdom in the rebuilding and partnership that emerged. History is never so simple to have a single emotion or conclusion encapsulate itself, nor were or are my emotions. Only time has tempered them to a degree that now I see them as echos of a younger, more naive young man who shares my name with me.
Me and mom somewhere in Japan. Relative to my current crop of hair, this picture shows my hair streaming out and ending in another prefecture.
It may be the only time I ever carry, let alone use, an umbrella: me in Japan.
Yep, me and the many ladies of the class. I was big man on campus. I was never any Casanova of any kind and I am pretty sure my Harris tweed jacket, moments of rock-a-billy haircut did not do much to help me, either.
Mom and I offering you a mikan. They are delicious.
I earned my first-degree black-belt in kendo while in Japan from 1992-1993. I was fortunate enough to study at Kanazawa's Central Police station. For those unfamiliar with the martial arts, it is still considered a core skill amongst police officers in Japan and thus they often house the best dojos. This video is of a number of broadcasts shown on various TV stations in and around Kanazawa.
