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)

Reference

Japanese https://note.com/yasuharunagura/n/n2db051ffd151

A day when it stopped raining quietly
I stand up in the sauna　
Sit down, arms crossed
White smoke billows up　　

Putting aside a wet hand towel　
I look around with a wandering glance　
And pulls his head back into the bathtub
The red face though he doesn’t drink　
　　
Small, round, beautiful　
I look at the beautiful bubbles　
I vaguely remember　
The open-air bath with shimmering willows　　

A boy bathes without a word
Soaking in the bath with his father
His son’s hair glistened wetly
And a smile on his face

Photo from 『Gujo June 27, 2018』