One day, when my father skipped work and went to play pachinko, my mother was working at home. She was sewing bags with a sewing machine. Sewing bags for Sesame Street. That day, Dad’s boss at work called the house.
When the boss asked, “Do you have a husband at home?” Mom answered, “No.” Mom thought that was strange and went to a nearby pachinko parlor to look for him.
Dad was playing pachinko there.
Mom found him and sat down next to him. She picked up a pachinko ball from his pachinko stand and began to play with it.
“Stop it, please stop it,” I think he thought.
Dad kept his mouth shut.
The quietness that comes to a busy pachinko parlor.
Afterward, he got angry with Mom, “Why did you tell my boss at work about this?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
I think she is right.
July. I’m sitting in my father’s study, listening to the sound of heavy rain, reminiscing about the events of those days, more than twenty-five years ago.
I’m sure the Sesame Street bag will remind me of those days. Of those days. And I will realize that my parents have helped me grow up to be a somewhat decent adult.
I often think about this bag. I am often reminded of or encouraged by it.
Maybe I should put that bag on the wall of my room.
If I can find the bag from those days.
Photo from 「Self Portrait」 (taken on December 27, 1996)