A Family Trip, and I Get a New Name

Last week Japan celebrated one of its most important annual holidays, Obon, or the Festival of the Dead. Most families gather to remember their ancestors, and there are a great many festivals. One of my English conversation class students (Oikawa-san, who always comes with her 4yr grand daughter Haruna) invited me to join her family at the Nishi Monai Bon Odori festival in Akita prefecture. As most of my JET friends were travelling and my Japanese friends were busy with their families, I was happy for the invite.

The family (grandfather, grandmother, two daughters, and grand daughter) picked me up in their minivan and we began the 2 hour drive north along a curvy, mountain road. We stopped briefly at a convenience store for a bathroom break and to pick up Japanese fast-food, more specifically three kinds of sushi, Japanese pickles, fruit, and cold bottles of green tea. Snacking comfortably in the very backseat, I had distinct memories of family trips as a kid in the same minivan backseat , but with burgers, fries and large, sweating paper cups of Coke as nourishment instead. The family peppered me with questions, mostly in Japanese but using some English when they could. The spry grandfather,a lacquer artist, was especially keen to talk, and we conversed about a wide range of topics such as the population of North Carolina, the situation in Israel/Lebanon, the Japanese military, my recent vacation to the Philippines, the family's lacquerware shop, NASA space shuttles, and the possibility of a MLB World Series Champion vs. Japan League Champion match-up. The unbelievably cute 4yr-old entertained me with 4yr-old antics, slipped me a few gummi-bears and caramels from her candy stash, and asked the grandfather to lighten up when the conversation became too serious for her liking. I chatted too with with oldest daughter, who lives in Tokyo and speaks English quite well, but she passed me endless containers of sushi and other delights so our conversation was well interrupted by my noshing (After a primary refusal, I find it impossible to say "no" to 2nd and 3rd offerings of food...).

The festival, which centers around its Bon Odori (Dance of Obon) was quite interesting, though my ignorance of its 400yr old origins made it not nearly as special as my inclusion in the Oikawa family's attendance. A long line of people dressed in patchwork kimonos, all with their faces completely masked by black shrouds or peculiar shaped rice straw hats (the name in Japanese is "kasa", which means umbrella), marched and danced slowly and repetitively around fires in the street while old traditional songs blared from loud speakers. Merely standing and watching with the Oikawa family gave me a brief yet refreshing sense of inclusion, something I had not felt in some time.

As the rather unvaried dancing came to a close and the 4yr-old's cotton-candy high wore off, we returned to the car sweating and fanning ourselves in the stifling August night. Again we made a pit-stop at a market before beginning the long drive home. The grandfather returned with two bottles of sake, one as a gift for me, and the other to be drunk on the return trip.

In the back seat again, he liberally poured into little plastic cups, and told me of his love for rice wine. With each sip, his English became better and he at one point declared "If there was no sake, I would die!". Too, he expressed his gratitude for sharing the wine with him. Living in a house full of women, he claimed to be constantly henpecked, and even went so far as to call me his new son. Upon hearing this, the grandmother turned around from the front seat and in a manner that was both polite and curt, told me: "You are NOT our son, but you are welcome in our home anytime. Please come soon". The grandfather mostly ignored her and then began to consider a combination of kanji characters to represent my name . I told him of the serveral I had already received from other Japanese folks, but he seemed to dislike them. After some deliberation and more tiny cups of sake, he wrote down three characters of my new name (the Japanese pronunciation of my name has four syllables: Ma-i-ke-ru), though apologizing for his indecision on the fourth and final character. He explained the first three and why he felt they represented me. Though he had known me for several hours only, he believed me to be a powerful person and thus had selected "horse" for the first character. Not just a horse, but a grand horse--thus the second character means "great". He also believed me to be a fast learner, and and showed me a third kanji which means as such. He then put his hand on my shoulder and declared in English "You are a great person, a great horse, your mind is clever, you are....a thoroughbred!" He again apologized for the lack of the 4th kanji, but preferred to wait until his mind was clear to choose the final piece. I told him I was pretty happy with thoroughbred. He promised, "when you come to my house, I will make you a hanko" (a personal seal with one's kanji, which is used in place of signatures in Japan).

The 2hr journey home ended too quickly. Though it was nearly 1a.m. when we arrived at my apartment, I begrudgingly climbed out of the comfortable and familiar backseat. I had not enough words to thank them properly for all their kindness, and yet they replied with open invitations to visit their home and lacquer painting lessons. How could I say no?