The Lemon-Yellow Sweater | Yoko Sato (Dean of the Faculty of Nursing and Medical Care)
2007.02.14
Keio University is currently holding various events as part of its 150th anniversary project. On February 4, an event titled "The Unfolding Campus: The Adventure of Keio's Integrated Education 2," hosted by the Keio Research Center for the Liberal Arts, was held at the Jisonkan (Auditorium of Keio Yochisha Elementary School). I was invited to attend a reading of Yukichi Fukuzawa's letters, which was to be attended by students from Keio Yochisha Elementary School, students from other Keio schools, alumni, and others. It was the first time I had read aloud in front of others since a school arts festival in elementary school. Although I hesitated a little, I was drawn by the temptation of how interesting it sounded and decided to participate. The actress Misako Konno, who served as the host and also gave a reading, was a wonderful person with a gentle yet dignified presence. The Keio Yochisha Elementary School students were breathtaking. Despite reading as a large group of about 30, their breathing was in sync, their voices were strong, and their sound filled the entire hall. The middle school, high school, and older participants read individually, and I was pleasantly surprised by the wonderful voices of Vice-President Kudo and Dean Shiozawa of the Faculty of Economics. As for myself, not being confident in the quality of my voice, I was simply satisfied with having finished reading without making any mistakes. A gathering like this, away from daily life, was a nice change of pace.
Today's topic, a "big mistake," is about something that happened when I was in the fourth grade, around the same age as the Keio Yochisha students I met at the reading. My mother was in the hospital, so my sister, who is two years older than me, and I were helping with the housework. That day, my sister said she was going to wash a sweater. The sweater was hand-knitted by our mother. She wasn't particularly skillful, but she had stayed up late at night to knit it for my sister. It was a lovely lemon-yellow, with a knitted pattern of a grape cluster and leaves on the left side of the chest, and it was my sister's favorite. For me too, that sweater, which was supposed to become mine the next winter or the winter after, was an object of admiration, and helping my sister was a joy. In our house at the time, there was always a wood-burning stove in the middle of the living room during the winter, and a large kettle on top of it would be hissing and steaming. On this occasion as well, my sister lifted the large, full kettle with both hands and, while warning me as I hovered nearby intending to help, "Stay back or you'll get burned," she poured the hot water from the kettle over the sweater in a large basin placed beside the stove. In that instant, the lovely lemon-yellow sweater, hand-knitted by our mother, shrank to a tiny size right before our eyes. I felt like crying, but the shock was even stronger. When our mother heard the whole story from the two of us, who were completely dejected with guilt for our mother who had knitted it so diligently and regret for ruining the beautiful sweater, she didn't scold us at all. She must have been very disappointed herself. Not being scolded made the guilt I felt toward my mother even more deeply ingrained in my heart. It was a big mistake.
(Posted: 2007/02/14)