The Ultimate, Awkward, and Earnest Gift from My Grandfather: An Abacus | Jōichi Yoshino (Dean, Graduate School of Health Management)

February 9, 2009

My parents used to say that when I was in elementary school, I was an extremely restless and mischievous child. I certainly remember being scolded often by my homeroom teacher and being made to stand in the hallway with a bucket on more than one occasion. For this installment of the Dean's Diary, on the theme of "gifts," I want to look back on my sixth-grade year by writing about a moment of unforgettableembarrassmentthat is deeply connected to this.

First, as a bit of foreshadowing, I had lost my abacus shortly before this, which I had just started learning to use.

On the day of the incident, during a boring class as usual, I got into a very lively chat with the friend next to me about a submarine movie playing at a local theater. But our excitement was short-lived, and we were immediately sent to stand in the hallway. Since we would just start chatting again if we stood next to each other, we were usually made to stand separately, one at the front entrance of the classroom and one at the back. That day was no different. Whenever a teacher or janitor happened to pass by, we would exchangesheepishlooks and simply wait for time to pass. I still have a strong, sentimental feeling of how we were always saved by the fact that students from other classes never came by while their classes were in session. Up to this point, nothing was out of the ordinary.

Well, a little while later, just as lunchtime was about to begin and my punishment was ending, a large man who was neither a teacher nor a janitor came briskly up the distant staircase. It was my grandfather! And he was holding an abacus! My grandfather, who claimed to have been a mischievous child himself, seemed to grasp the situation instantly. He gently tapped my head with the brand-new abacus, placed it at my feet, and briskly walked away. At the time, my grandfather had made various donations to the school for my sake, including landscaping, so my homeroom teacher knew who he was. But the teacher later said that even he was shocked by this. And no wonder. Who would have thought something like this could happen? In any case, my grandfather, a businessman, had gone out of his way to buy a new abacus so I could resume my practice as soon as possible. He had come all the way to the school with the sole intention of reassuring his grandson and seeing his happy face, only to find me in that state. Now, thinking about it, he was probably the one who was more surprised. He resembled the statue of Saigō Takamori in Ueno Park—stout and dignified—and to my child's mind, he was somewhat intimidating, so I had always been a "good boy" in front of him.

After that, I dreaded the walk home. But I mustered my courage, opened the front door, and timidly announced, "I'm home." Seeing the reactions of my family, no one said a word. I was told my grandfather had gone out after returning home. I don't remember much of what happened next, but I have no memory of being severely scolded. The next day at school, as expected, everyone, starting with my homeroom teacher, asked me, "What happened when you got home?" It was immensely satisfying to disappoint them by telling them what really happened.

And so this rare experience became the subject of today's diary entry. In the more than half a century I have lived since then, I have never been so surprised. I never want to go through it again, but you never know what life has in store...

(Published: February 9, 2009)