A Tale of My Family: A Father's Feelings | Kazunori Takashio, Dean of the Graduate School of Media and Governance
2024.07.30
I started writing this article after seeing my eldest son off at Haneda's Terminal 3.
I'm sending him off to Toronto. I've taken him abroad many times, including when we lived in Germany (though he was in kindergarten then, so he probably doesn't remember much). This is the first time he's going alone. Of course, I made all the arrangements for him. From here on out, he has to handle everything by himself. He said he didn't need an unaccompanied minor service, so we didn't arrange for one. He said, "No problem, piece of cake," but he looked a little nervous, so I suggested, "Let's get something to eat before you go through security," and we went to a tonkatsu restaurant.
And then, suddenly, the flight was delayed by two and a half hours.
Even after getting home, I lay down, constantly checking the screen on Flightradar. I was on edge. Whether he knew of his father's anxiety or not, he contacted me as soon as he arrived at YYZ. Apparently, he had no trouble activating the eSIM he had set up in Japan. As expected of a digital native, he's quick with this kind of thing. It seems he also met the local staff who came to pick him up right away. He said the flight was comfortable. Whatever the case, I was relieved. I replied, "Have fun."
To be honest, his father couldn't sleep until then (lol).
Since then, he seems to be progressing smoothly through the program. He's even been posting photos on Instagram with English captions. Watching your child grow up on their own, out of your reach, brings a complex mix of feelings—happiness, and a little bit of sadness.
I have also sent students from my lab abroad. One of them went to the Technical University of Munich, where I myself had studied abroad. However, although I sent him to train in robotics, he somehow came back as a "Nukamisso Ambassador." Seriously?! But that's also very SFC-like. I once wrote an incredible number of recommendation letters for a student who wanted to go to graduate school in the US. I wonder how he's doing. Right now, one of my students in the Doctoral Programs is studying abroad in the US. We don't keep in close contact, but he occasionally reports back, telling me how he's enjoying his research, even while groaning about the weak yen.
Writing about this brought back memories of my own experiences.
I joined a certain lab at Yagami Campus in April 1989. Strangely, there were no students from Keio's affiliated schools in my year, and we were all very close from our undergraduate days. We were so close that almost all of us went on to graduate school. Including peers from other universities, eight of us entered the Ph.D. program, and six of us earned our degrees.
Every Monday, we would all show up at the lab with a week's worth of clothes. For lunch and dinner, we'd go to "Tachibana," and occasionally "Oko." When we got tired, we'd go to Yagami-yu for a bath to wake ourselves up. Around 2 a.m., we'd pile into two cars and head to a ramen shop. Sometimes we'd even drive out toward the Kan-nana or Kan-pachi ring roads. As it started to get light outside, we'd set up our cots in our respective spots and go to sleep. On Fridays, we'd pack up and go home, spending the weekend as we pleased. That was our life. And we had a strange tradition.
Let's go back in time a bit. In the summer of my second year of my master's program, when I was starting to work seriously on my thesis, my academic advisor, Professor Tokoro, told me, "Go to CMU (Carnegie Mellon University)." In fact, this was my first time ever going abroad. It was my first time getting a passport, my first time on an international flight—my first time for everything. I'm sure the look on my face as I headed to Narita (not Haneda, of course) was even more uncertain than my son's as he ate his tonkatsu. And so, after a research stay of nearly two months, I returned to Japan. For some reason, my classmates were at Narita to pick me up by car.
"What's going on? What's this all about?" They quickly threw my luggage into the trunk while I stood there confused, and we headed straight for the lab at Yagami. "Huh? Aren't you taking me home?" Ignoring my growing confusion, they started a party. Then, saying, "This is the drama that got popular while you were away!" they started a screening of all the episodes of "101st Proposal," famous for the line "I won't die!" The whole situation was just too bizarre. By the time it was over, the sun was coming up, and we went for breakfast at the Denny's in Tsunashima, our usual spot after an all-nighter. And then, I was finally released and went home. My father was waiting for me at home.
I heard later that because his son, whom he had sent abroad for the first time, was coming home, he had taken the day off work and waited for me all day. A child never knows a parent's heart. I felt truly terrible about it. Now, I can understand how my father must have felt then. When I go to pick up my eldest son on his return, I, his father, look forward to seeing how his slightly anxious expression from before his departure has changed, and how much he has grown.
Incidentally, this mysterious act of picking up classmates returning from abroad at Narita and abducting—er, escorting—them straight to the lab became a strange tradition for our year.
The Olympics and Paralympics have also begun in Paris. Next week, the Camp for Designing the Future in Tottori will also be held. Another passionate summer, just like back then, is about to begin.