Parents Who Snap At Their Kids: What Post-disaster Recovery Looks Like Today

I am in no position to diagnose.  With no training in medicine, psychology, or psychiatry it's not up to me to identify who's suffering from what.  What I can say is this:  I don't need a degree to see and understand there's still pain in post-diaster Tohoku.  Two and a half years after Japan's biggest earthquake triggered giant tsunamis, ambiguity and confusion are still the norm.  Leaving the question of why recovery is slow aside, those of us involved in disaster recovery focus on what we can do here and now.

Kazu is drunk.  The more alcohol he consumes the more honest he becomes.  Tonight he let out his pent-up inner most demons.  His main concern, he states over and over, is the kids.

"They're just too well behaved," he says.  "They don't ask for things, they don't say, 'Daddy can we go to so and so,' because they know what will happen if they do."
My job tonight is to listen and prod.  "What do you mean?"
"Well, it's primarily the adults who are the problem.  We snap at the kids.  We're all tense.  We've got short fuses.  We're tired, I know I'm tired, and when we get this way we take it out on the kids.  It's not right but we do it anyway."  He sips his drink.  How many has he had?  I've lost count.
"So, the kids, because they know we'll get pissy, they don't act out.  They're the ones trying to make sure the parents, that's us, don't have a reason to get angry.  Or, maybe I should say angrier."
We're silent for awhile.  When he speaks again Kazu runs his hand over his buzz-cut hair.  "I did it, too," he says.  "I snapped at Yuuki."
I think of Yuuki, Kazu's son, a boy who has I swear grown at least 20 cm in the two plus years I've known him.  "What happened?" I ask.
"It was dumb.  It's true I was mad.  Yuuki wouldn't stop playing those video games," and Kazu mimics Yuuki's fingers pressing buttons on a remote control device.  "I hate those things," he says.  "I had told Yuuki to go to bed.  He didn't, of course."  Kazu laughs but it's an uncomfortable laugh.  "So I yelled at him.  Normally, I would have said something about taking him up to his room and helping him get to bed, but that night I snapped and told him to get to bed.  We're all like that, us parents.  We're all stressed."

It's neither fair nor accurate to say all parents in Tohoku snap at their kids out of post-disaster anxiety.  Do some?  Yes.  Do many?  Perhaps.  Probably.  The take away tonight from Kazu's alcohol-induced honesty is that he is tired, and that many parents around him are, too.   Why wouldn't he be?  Earlier in the day, another one of my brothers from Tohoku told me how the spirit of gaman, usually a beautiful combination of strength, determination, and perseverance has turned into apathy.  "People are giving up," he tells me.  "Not in the 'I'm suicidal' way, but they're all tired of waiting.  Change and improvement, it's so slow.  It's taking so long.  Too long."  He's now talking to himself more than me, and because I don't have the words to fix what's wrong I stay silent.

In some communities rebuilding has been going on for a good year.  Prefabricated homes and stores and businesses have long since been available.  It's the newly rebuilt homes and stores and businesses that are marking how well reconstruction is going.  In cities like Rikuzentakata where nothing can be rebuilt in what was downtown, the city is far behind its neighbors.  The lack of speed in visible progress turns into disaster-fatigue which then turns into snapping parents.  Or so Kazu says.

Clearly I don't have the solution.  I listen.  I let them vent. I nod my head when they need agreement and shake it in disgust when they need an additional soul to commiserate with them.  I left Kazu wondering just how useful his venting was for him.  I tell myself I listened, and hope that was enough.

On Dental Hygienists and National Healthcarre

No, I don't floss.  Certainly not every day twice.  Pathologically honest that I am, when dental hygienists ask me whether or not I floss I answer with the truth.  I am promptly given a lecture which I ignore.  I'm an adult.  If I don't floss it's on me.  Back off, sweetheart.  I know what I'm doing.

Several months ago my husband announced he was through with our dentist.  "I've never been so insulted in my life," he said.  "We're switching dentists." 
"Okay," I replied.  "I'll leave it up to you."
Soon after, he tells me we now have a new dentist, one who came highly recommended.  "You should go see her while you're here," he suggests on one of my trips home, and I agree.  I make my appointment and head to the office.  Fast forward to the dentist's chair, I lean back, open my mouth and let the hygienist start her inspection.  She pokes, she counts, and she pokes some more.

"Do you floss?" she asks me.
"Not always."
"You should.  Twice a day."
"I know."
We're not off to a good start.  If this were a first date there wouldn't be a second.  Add to this she's very young and I'm not one who's fond of being told what to do by someone barely older than my son, so I tune her out.
"You have angry gums," she says.  I sit up in the chair. 
"I have what?"
"Angry gums," she replies a bit hesitant.  I don't think she's accustomed to having people sit up to ask in the middle of an exam challenging her diagnosis.  I decide she's new, that she takes her job a bit too seriously, and that she has difficulty picking adjectives.  None are reasons for me to take her seriously.  Before I leave the office she brings out a skull with a mouth full of crooked teeth and shows me how to brush properly.  She also tells me if I don't use a specific toothbrush and a certain mouthwash "you might as well not be brushing."  I come home and tell my husband I don't like the new dentist.

Back in Japan I decide it's time to visit a dentist here.  Since moving to Japan two years ago I have yet to set foot into a doctor or dentist's office.  There are two truths:  I haven't been sick enough, and I don't like going to health care specialists unless it's really necessary.  Both were reasons to avoid the scent of rubbing alcohol that so often fills the halls of hospitals and the offices of all things medical.  Deciding if for no other reason I should find out how good my health insurance is, I ask a friend to recommend a dentist.  Her husband happens to be at the dentist's office "right now" and she calls him.  A few minutes later she receives a call back.
"Here," she says, giving me her cell phone.  "It's the dentist."
I'm a bit surprised by this sudden call and especially that it's the dentist himself on the other end but I say my proper hellos and thank yous and make an appointment for a few months out there on the spot.  While I found out the hard way at my subsequent cleaning Japanese dental hygienists are just as annoying as those in the US, I came away without insults hurled at my gums.  I'll go back.  Oh.  And, the whole thing cost less than 900 yen.

In the US there's been a debate regarding nationalized health care.  This is nothing new, and indeed there have been proponents preaching the benefits of national health care for decades.  The latest mud-hurling seems to based on "If it came from Obama it must be bad" (a sentiment I find very tiresome and completely unoriginal), but alas politics are not always based on reason, and politicians on both sides are not always the brightest of the bunch.

For those who have not had the pleasure of taking part in nationalized health care, here is how it works for me in Japan.  The amount I pay for my health insurance depends upon my income from the year before.  This means in 2012 I didn't pay anything for my insurance as I made nothing in Japan in 2011.  What I pay this year is based on last year's salary, and since my son makes more than me (I'm still essentially a volunteer) I pay very, very little.  For that, I get to pick my doctors and hospitals, I'm not required to get permission to see a specialist, and it cost 900 yen to clean my teeth.

It's not a perfect system.  I do believe, however, that I get extremely good care for the money I pay into health insurance.  (That said, dental hygienists seem to receive the same training, at least in the US and Japan.) There's something very refreshing about having freedom and control over my own medical care.  If I don't like a doctor I'll find another and not have to pay the fee with a kidney.   I know I only have one experience in Japan to stack up against the years of doctor's visits back home, but I am pleased by my trip to the dentist, and I don't think I've ever said that in my life.  So it is. 

In closing, just because someone decided to call it Obamacare doesn't make it bad.  I'm not saying everything this American president does is good, but neither am I saying everything he does bad.  Living in a country where I'm finding out what joy there may be in having more control over my own health care (all without having to worry whether I can indeed afford it), let's just say I might just be a believer yet.

On Women and Bags (It's Not What You Think) and All Things Chinese

Fury and tact.  One I feel, the other I will now attempt to muster up.

My three-hour layover in Beijing was not something I looked forward to.  It's a long story, but let's just say today I was indignant because of the treatment of the airline en route to Beijing by one of China's airlines.  Yes, I am one of those travel snobs.  I've not yet mastered the art of lowering my expectations from airlines where my status is supposed to make travel more pleasurable.  Because it was Air China that said "No" to things most other airlines says "Yes, of course" to flying into China I was already seething.  Cue three hours in Beijing where nothing is open (I landed at 5am) I plunk myself down in a chair ready to vent.  In e-mails, on Facebook, writing, I wanted to air my angst.  Having done so, I wanted a good cup of tea, some food, and to browse the news online.  Of those six items on my list, I got two: e-mail and food.

I get my access code for free Wi-fi by giving some large Chinese organization (government?) my passport number.  I wonder after the fact if that was a good idea (will they now track all of what I read/write/browse?), will they have my passwords?  Am I being paranoid?  Yes, likely to all.  The tea is Lipton (no), the peaches hard, the sandwiches iffy, so I go for bottled water and ... what are these?

Wife cakes.  Cakes made of wife?  Hang on.  The characters actually read "old bag cakes."  Here we go again.
My husband finds it hilarious (because he knows finding humor in this irks me) I struggle not to refer to him in public in Japan as my lord person, the word Japanese women commonly use to refer to their husbands.  I've asked him not to refer to me as his inside-the-house, the typical word for wife in Japanese.  I've shared with him our son is allowed to refer to me as honorable bag, but he's not actually to do so.  Not in my presence.  I make a quick mental note.  At least in Japanese mothers are honorable bags.  In Chinese, evidently, it's not the mother who's an old (but not honorable?) bag, but wife.  When did women become bags?  (Note:  no typo here.  The word is bag and not hag.)

Is it because we carry bags?  We were gatherers when our men were hunters back in the day, and the bags we carried then turned into our purses today?  Surely not.  Are we kangaroos, carrying our young inside our "bags"?  Is this a good thing, being thought of as a vessel, a holder if items, precious and sacred?  Do bags symbolize our wombs?  Am I reading too much into this?

I have the time to contemplate all this because from Beijing's airport I cannot access Facebook.  The links from Washington Post, CNN, and other major news outlets also don't work.  Is the Chinese mega-machine that is airport-government-and more controling what I have access to?  Wanting a good cup of tea but not willing to settle for Lipton, I make my way back to the small food stand and decide the old bag cakes warrant a photo, if for no other reason, my husband will get a kick out of this.  I take out my phone from my bag (my most honorable), open the glass door where the bag-cakes are kept cool, and snap a photo.  "Sorry, please.  No photo," the young woman standing next to the case tells me.  I look around.  This display of food is the only one with a guard.  Why no photo?  Because I'm surely not the only foreigner who thinks food should not be referred to as old, or baglike, or made from parts of a spouse, thus I'm forbidden to take the photo.  Someone like me will surely post it on Facebook once they get to a place where accessing social media is allowed.
"Uh huh," I tell the pretty, young, professional, but clearly intimidated guard-of-all-things-pastry and walk away, thinking "If you really don't want me to have this photo you should be asking me to delete it," or hide those old-bag/wife cakes.  But, that's the Air China flight fury residue talking.

Remembering back to the security line where only non-Chinese were taken aside for a pat-down I decide this is China.  When in China cakes are wife-bags, internet access is limited, the country where one would think I would have access to wonderful tea is clearly not the case, it simply is what it is.

Some day I will ask a Chinese friend, lightheartedly mind you with no judgment attached, what those old-bag-wife cakes are all about, but today I'll post my indignation and resolve to avoid at least all things Air China and leave it at that.

Tsunami Tendenko: Save Yourself, No Matter What

Depending on who you are, depending on where you live the date of September 11 holds a different meaning.  Today marks the 12th memorial of the terrorist attacks in the United States.  Two and a half years ago on this day, the coastline of most of northeast Japan was forever changed.  Regardless of how this day is important to you, and even if it's not, this day allows us to learn.

There's a saying in the Tohoku region of Japan.  The two-word saying is, tsunami tendenko.  These words contain a simple but powerful meaning:  if facing a tsunami save yourself first.

I've heard this from many of my adopted family and friends over the past two and a half years.  People living in Tohoku have grown up with this saying, hearing it from their parents and grandparents.  Evacuation drills stress safety and survival.  For those who live along the coastlines of Japan, that tsunamis follow an earthquake is a given.  The only escape is to get to higher ground.

It's a simple message.  Why then, did so many people lose their lives in the series of tsunamis that hit the Tohoku coast in 2011?  The answers are many.  Some are painful to divulge, while others are simply tragic.  The concept of when and how to escape begs repeating.  Fair warning:  what sounds easy isn't.  

Multiple foreign groups have visited Rikuzentakata since March 2011.  I've had the opportunity to share stories with many of them.  Part of my job is to relay information on what happened during and after the tsunami.  Another part of my job is to convey a message.  Prepare.  Think.  Have a plan.

Disasters cannot be predicted, whether natural, war, or cause by carelessness and accidents.  Many cannot be avoided.  While not diminishing routine fire and evacuation drills, the most important way to prepare is to not take disasters lightly.

This is where tsunami tendenko comes in.  Those living along the coastline of Japan are taught to run to high ground after an earthquake.  What we learned from the disaster of 2011 is as follows:  stay on high ground, remain calm but run, don't drive to evacuate, and take warnings seriously.

The tsunami hit approximately 30 minutes after the M9.0 earthquake.  Many who had run to higher ground went back to their homes and businesses thinking they had time to get their dog, their bank book, cash, and other items of importance.  The lesson learned?  Don't.

On March 9th, 2011 another large earthquake hit the same region.  A tsunami warning was issued but nothing happened.  Many who were in the towns where the warning came on March 9th stayed put on the 11th.  No tsunami two days ago meant it wasn't going to happen today either.  They paid for their mistake with their lives.

Those who tried to drive to safety ended up in a traffic jam.  Logic dictates cars run faster than people.  The truth behind this doesn't take into consideration people can get to places cars can't, and if people run they can avoid being stuck in traffic.

What does it mean to have a plan?  What does it mean to think through this plan?  Tsunami tendenko teaches people the simple message, everyone for themselves.  On the surface this seems cold and harsh but it warrants a second look.

For many, the idea of escaping to safety, to protect oneself is natural.  Our instinct is to live.  To survive.  For some, it's equally natural to want to help those around them.  Tsunami tendenko offers a simple message:  don't. 

This begs the following question:  Are you willing to die for others?  If so, whom? 

Parents naturally want to protect their children.  Are you prepared to leave everything behind (i.e. keys, cell phone, cash, passport, your backpack filled with emergency food and water) to grab your kids?  If faced with the decision of protecting your spouse over your children whom will you choose?  What about your colleagues?  Your friends?  Will you stay behind to help an injured friend or will you run for your life?

The message is simple.  Think.  Have a plan.  Stick to it.  Live.

My hope is days like September 11th will hold meaning for no one.  None of us want to commemorate disasters, whether caused by terrorists or an earthquake.  That said, none of us can see into our futures.  Life is precious.  Have a plan.