Crystallized Intelligence

About five years have passed already since my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Sometimes, she could not even spell her name.

One day, I was asked to take my mother to an event that her old friends organized at a hall downtown. We took the train, which was so hard for her since the stations were dangerous, complicated, and crowded. We left our house early because I thought our travel could take a long time.

Fortunately, we had a smooth travel to the venue. The event had not started yet when we arrived. A few event staff were doing last-minute preparations. In the hall was a piano with a chair. I asked my mother to sit on the chair since we had walked quite a long distance, and then I started talking with a member of the staff.

Suddenly, my mother started playing the piano. It was not perfect, but I could tell what song she was playing. She had difficulty remembering dates, times, and people, but she could play the piano. I was doubly shocked because I did not know she had musical experience. Apparently, she learned to play the piano when she was young.

Doctors call this crystallized intelligence. Most Alzheimer’s disease patients can perform behaviors they repeatedly practiced when they were young. Some types of intelligence are crystalized through repeated practice.

In my mother’s case, this intelligence was playing the piano. What about me? I was a member of a drama club in high school. I practiced tongue twisters a lot. When I get old in a facility and I am given an opportunity to stand on-stage, I would recite tongue twisters.

It would not be cool. My caregivers would be surprised because I could be loudly speaking meaningless words, and then they would isolate and place me a detention room.

I wish I learned how to play the piano.

 

Picture by Frog

Master of Comedy

 

I lived in Osaka in the beginning of the 2000s. I wrote scripts for young semiprofessional comedians. I had an opportunity to observe a closed rehearsal, where young comedians were nervous because they invited a famous “master of comedy.” The great old master of comedy had dignity. He was not friendly.

He watched the young comedians’ skits and jokes and then gave them some advice. He sharply criticized some of them. Some of the comedians almost cried.

Then a weird incident happened.

A young comedian sang a popular song while playing his guitar. Unfortunately, the master did not know the song. He assumed that it was original and criticized it.

The young comedian tried to explain that the song was not originally his, and he was stunned that the master kept complaining about the bad lyrics.

It was so hard not to laugh because I was also young then. Recently, however, I came to understand the master of comedy because I am middle-aged already. I don’t know the hit songs nowadays. And even if I listened to the newest hit song, I would not understand why it is so popular.

At that time, as an observer maybe I should have whispered to the master, “Master, he is covering a popular song.” But I did not because he was so scary.

We cannot stop ourselves from growing old, but we can avoid becoming a scary old man. I may not become a master in any field in the future, but I would gladly accept that and be loved rather than be respected but feared.

Picture by Hanaboo

 

Scary Thing Pigeons in the Temple Are Afraid Of

 In the beginning of the 1990s, I was a university student with a part-time job as an actor. The private universities in Nagoya produced a promotional video to attract high school students from other regions. The story of the video was based on the novel Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. A high school girl named Alice happened to visit Nagoya and had an adventure. I played the role of the Cheshire Cat, who introduced to Alice the beautiful places in Nagoya. The title of the story was Alice’s Adventures in Wonder Nagoya.

While we were filming in Osu Kannon, a famous temple, the director said, “I want to film a scene in which all the pigeons start flying away.”

Many pigeons were roaming around the temple. I tried to make them fly by yelling and chasing them, but they just ran away from me. The pigeons in the temple were tame, and people could feed them with food sold there.

The cameraman had an idea. We asked some grade-school boys to run to a flock of pigeons. It worked very well. The pigeons that had ignored me flew away together. The director was finally able to take the scene that he wanted.

Why were the pigeons scared of the little boys but not of me? Maybe they knew how cruel children could be. They know human behavior very well.

In the original story, Alice was a very delicate child, but not all children liked her.

 

Picture by osame

Mao Asada and I Staring at Each Other

 

 Mao Asada was one of the best figure skaters. She lived in Nagoya City, where I also lived.

During the second half of 2000’s, my gym closed down. I had to visit many places to find a new gym where I could work out.

One day, in a gym, a trainer walked me around to show their facilities. She unnaturally stopped at a spot and looked at a woman who was working out using a machine. That woman was Mao Asada.

The trainer didn’t say anything but silently suggested, “If you join our gym, you can work out with Mao Asada.”

However, during those years, I didn’t watch TV, so I didn’t know who she was. I just thought, “Who is she? She looks familiar.”

Moreover, since I worked as a teacher that time, I needed to memorize many names and faces of young students. I thought, “She must be one of my students. I am sure she knows about me. I’ll just wait till she remembers me.”

How rude of me! I stared at the famous world-class athlete, thinking, “You have to remember about me. I must be your teacher.”

She looked back at me, and we stared at each other for a while. Of course, she did not remember me because she was not my student. When she looked away from me, I thought, “What a rude student! She just ignored a teacher. I really have to remember her.”

However, I couldn’t remember her. We left the spot after. Later, the trainer said she was Mao Asada, but I didn’t know who she was then.

From 2012 onwards, I have been watching TV again. Now I am well-informed about Mao Asada. I am embarrassed for what I did.

I might have missed a great opportunity to become Mao Asada’s friend. For her, I might just be one of the few Japanese people who didn’t know her.

This year, she announced her retirement. I hope she is enjoying her new life now.

 

Picture by designer_ery