December 23rd. It was the day before my eldest son’s birthday.
As we were all snuggled up in our blankets, wondering if Santa would come, my wife said
“Thank you, 3-year-old Ritsu…”
“Tomorrow Ritsu will be four years old. I wonder where three-year-old Ritsu will go… She won’t be able to see Mommy anymore… Goodbye, three-year-old Ritsu, thank you for everything.”
I played the shamisen so badly that my eldest son ended up crying.
“No, I don’t want to… I don’t want to turn four…”
Seeing my young eldest son so sad that he burst into tears, it’s perfectly normal to feel sorry for him.
However, my wife is extraordinary; she doesn’t hesitate to launch a fierce attack even against a boxer who has already given up and lost all will to fight. In other words,
“If I find something interesting, I’ll be persistent.”
This is one of my wife’s bad habits. We’ve never discussed whether she has any educational intentions behind it or not. Well, probably not. If she finds it cute, she just keeps doing it because she finds it amusing.
“Goodbye… It’s sad… This means that Ritsu, who is here now, will never be able to see Mommy again.”
“The person who will be here tomorrow is not you, but a four-year-old Ritsu…”
He should just stop, but he keeps playing cards that sound like something a third-rate philosopher from ancient Greece would say. A long, drawn-out victory lap. It sends chills down the spine of those of us watching.
From the perspective of our eldest son, he imagined that he would wake up as a different person before and after his birthday, and that the person he was yesterday would simply disappear. His wife was delighted by his vivid imagination.
The following year, December 23rd came again. My wife, with only her face sticking out from under the covers, gazed at our eldest son.
“Goodbye… Ritsu, who’s four years old. Today we say goodbye… Thank you.”
And so, in the exact same manner as the previous year, or rather, he began to put on a performance that even sounded like he was sobbing, so I couldn’t help but laugh. I laughed, but the eldest son himself had tears welling up in his eyes,
“Yeah…you’re right. Thank you for everything so far, Mom…”
That was his reply. His wife was understandably taken aback, her eyes red, but she smiled and hugged their eldest son tightly.
We could definitely sense that our eldest son’s perspective was different from a year ago. It was a quiet, small change, but perhaps this is what it means for one’s heart to grow.
Instead of simply being afraid, he accepted it and replied, “Thank you.” In the tone of his voice, I felt a tangible sense of the transience of parting that our eldest son must have been contemplating. Sometimes, imagination seems to surpass even experience.
I don’t know for sure, but I’m sure my wife played the same shamisen again on December 23rd. Bye-bye, five-year-old Ritsu. Perhaps each time, this child is learning a little more about how to say goodbye.
My wife’s shamisen playing, which I used to think was a silly bad habit, suddenly seemed not so bad after all, and I smiled again.