Abuse of Power

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 In the 2000s, I was a part-time library assistant in a university. It was the most comfortable job ever. Librarians basically sat down on their chairs. Sometimes we stood up and walked around to return books to the shelfs or finding closed books. Jobs that require both sitting down and standing up are hard. We sat down and stood up once in a while. A librarian’s job is a well-balanced one.

 Furthermore, I had a great side benefit.

 In those days, the Harry Potter series was quite popular even in Japan. There were over 200 on the waiting list at the city library. One day, the newest Harry Potter book was delivered to our library. I checked the waiting list, but no one reserved the book. I knew many students want to read it. The neighbors around the university could use the library. They want to read the book. But most people didn’t think the university library had Harry Potter books.

 I should put the book in the shelf for new books, but I abused my power as a librarian. I didn’t store the book; instead I completed formal procedures so that I can borrow it. I was the first in our library to read the newest Harry Potter book. I borrowed the book from the library, but it was completely new.

 I think all jobs should be allowed to have these kinds of side benefits.

Picture by Pinkari

Laughed at by a Child

 

 My grandaunt didn’t have a child. Her husband passed away. She had Alzheimer’s disease. I have been taking care of her since 2007. I called her every day. I visited her every week. I took her to the hospital every month.

 We used to go to a small internal medicine clinic. The clinic was always crowded. We had to wait for a quite a long time to see the doctor.

 Taking care of an Alzheimer’s patient requires this kind of wasteful time. In my case, I used this waiting time to study foreign languages, English and Chinese. I brought a clipboard. I always wrote down example sentences.

 One day, my grandaunt and I were sitting on the seat in the waiting room. I was studying. A child who sat next to me started to laugh. She seemed to be a third or fourth grader at elementary school. She laughed and whispered to her mother, who sat opposite to me. Her mother tried to calm her down. I was sure she was laughing at me. I didn’t know why.

 I went to the restroom and checked my appearance on the mirror. Nothing was on my face. My nose hair didn’t show. My fly was not open. It could be my misunderstanding. She was not laughing at me. A young girl could laugh without reason. I came back to my seat and continued my studying. The girl kept laughing. I ignored her.

 The front-desk clerk called a patient’s name. The mother and daughter responded. I solved the mystery.

 Their name was Chinese. The girl’s father or mother, or both of them, was Chinese. They lived in Japan. The girl could be a natural-born bilingual.

 OK, I was studying Chinese. I started it at over 30 years old. So for Chinese people, my studying level could be at first or second grade at elementary school. Of course I am sure I made mistakes on my clipboard. I was a middle-aged man. It must be funny to her.

 I should not have ignored her. I should have talked to her in Chinese. She could have been the best teacher ever. I missed a great chance!

Picture by Pinkari

Leaving My Mother at a Short-Stay Facility

 

When I lived with my mother, who had Alzheimer’s disease, I always looked forward to leaving her at a short-stay facility. I was able to take care of her at my house for more than ten years because the facilities helped me.

I used to assume that expensive facilities provided good services while cheap ones gave low-quality services. But I had an experience that made me realize that things were not that simple.

In those days, we used to rely on an expensive short-stay facility. We were satisfied with the services. But then the facility started to change. Initially, I had had to reserve a place at the facility for my mother two or three months ahead of time. But about one or two years in, I could get her a place at the facility without making a reservation. I was glad about that. But it would turn out that it was a result of the change.

My mother looked depressed after the short stay. The caregivers who drove her to and from the facility looked depressed too. When I visited the facility, I saw that the number of caregivers had decreased. I felt that some of them worked sloppily. My mother couldn’t tell me about the facility because of her illness, but I was sure that some bad things were happening there. After talking with my wife, I decided to use a different facility.

The changes I observed at the expensive facility were not completely unusual. For example, a sports team that won the championships last year could be at the very bottom this year, and a highly paid team might not always win. The facility where excellent caregivers had worked had clearly experienced some kind of problem. Then it had become an expensive but terrible facility. That could have happened in any organization under certain circumstances.

We don’t leave an aged parent at a facility building. We leave an aged parent with the people who work for the facility. So the people matter. Subsequently, I started to leave my mother at a nursing home that was our best available option. But I paid attention to the nursing home. I visited it every week and tried to communicate with the caregivers who worked there. A friend of mine, who worked for another nursing home as a caregiver, had told me that visitors to the nursing home kept the caregivers motivated.

Dear friends, let’s visit nursing homes. I am sure they are not attractive places. But if we familiarize ourselves with them, it could help us a lot when we will ultimately move into them.

Picture by keko-ka

My Father and Samurai Dramas

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My late father loved to watch TV. His favorite programs were the news, baseball games and samurai dramas. He worked for a newspaper company, so he liked to see what was on the news. And the newspaper company owned a baseball team, the Dragons, so he liked watching their games. But it seemed strange that he liked samurai dramas as he was not interested in any fictional stories and most samurai dramas were fictional.

A few months before he passed away, we had a party with our relatives. At the party, he shared a secret that he had never told anyone before. Apparently, he had worked with a star actor on a stage production when they had been students. The star’s name was Gou Katou. He mainly acted in famous samurai TV dramas, and most of the Japanese knew about him. He was a superstar. My father and he studied in the same theater department at the same university. Gou was his classmate.

At that point, I understood why my father used to watch samurai dramas. He was supporting his classmate by watching TV. Gou Katou acted in almost all the samurai dramas on TV. But I didn’t understand why my father had had to keep it secret. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to boast about it?

Dear friends with whom I have worked on the stage, I hope some of you become famous like Gou Katou. I will secretly support you, even as an old man. I want to be able to boast about you right before my death.

Picture by Chipori

Are Males Not Good at Caregiving?

 

 When I took care of my mother, who had Alzheimer’s disease, I was surprised at the unexpected responses. Some people who worked for welfare facilities treated me like a layperson. 

 My mother once needed 24-hour care. We used day service and short stay. My wife supported me. But I had taken care of my mother as the main caregiver for over 10 years. I was an expert at least in taking care of my mother. How could they treat me like a layperson?

 In most cases, caregivers are females. The care manager and most helpers who took care of my mother were females. I attended a governmental mutual-aid society for caregivers. The members were all females as well. Even a national TV station had come to our home to interview us because I was a rare male caregiver. There is an assumption that males are laypersons when it comes to caregiving.

But even I also had an experience in which I assumed that males are not good caregivers.

One day, I took my mother to a hospital for an X-ray. The radiographer was male. When my mother needed to move from the wheelchair to the bed, I was going to support her. But the radiographer said, “Not necessary. I will take care of her.” In a short moment, I suspected him and thought, He is a man. Can I trust him? But he moved my mother from the wheelchair to the bed better than I might have done.

That hospital was specialized for elderly patients. Of course he was a professional expert. I unconsciously assumed he was a layperson because he was a male.

If many males take part in caregiving, this assumption would fade away.

Picture by Shintako

Domed Stadium

 

 Many people from theater say, “The most important ability for an actor is not saying lines. The ability to listen is more important.” There are many ways to describe this concept. Acting is reaction. An actor has to react to his or her co-actors and the atmosphere of theater. Therefore, most theater actors have an insight into the human mind. They can read people’s minds through movement, tone of voice, facial expressions, and so on. Some of them are almost psychics.

 By the way, we have a domed baseball stadium in our town. When I take the subway, sometimes I encounter masses of baseball fans. The trains are so crowded especially after a game.

 Then I imagined that I was an actor and tried to read the atmosphere of the baseball fans and guess whether our home team won or lost.

 In those days, I believed I was a good actor. So I tried to guess every time I saw a crowd of baseball fans. After guessing, I would check the result of the game on TV. I would also check my insight as an actor.

 The results were terrible. In most cases, I guessed our home team won, but when I checked the news, sometimes our home team was beaten really badly. I lost my confidence. My ability as an actor could be lower than that of average actors.

 But I recently thought of a different idea. I had been a caregiver for my mother, who has Alzheimer’s disease, for over 10 years. I had become seriously ill. I had experienced many kinds of misfortune.

 The baseball fans who were on the way from the ballpark to their home were special people. They had enough money to buy tickets. They were physically tough to watch the game, which took three or four hours. Baseball’s rules are complex. They have the intellectual power to understand and enjoy ballgames. Most of all, they love baseball. The result of the game was not important. They had just enjoyed their favorite sport.

 I was not completely wrong. I read the happy atmosphere, the happy people. They were always winners.

 Now, I have left my mother in a nursing home. I have recovered from my serious illness. I am kind of well-off. A few months ago, I visited the stadium and enjoyed watching baseball with my wife. There were tons of happy people in the stadium. I was a one of them.

 Dear friends! Let’s go to a ballpark to affirm our happiness.

Picture by jimsy

Linear Motor Train

 

 In 2005, we had the World Exposition in our prefecture. We had linear motor trains from our city to the venue. The linear motor train line is still running. We call it “Linimo.”

 A few years later, I shopped near the terminal station of Linimo. I told a shopkeeper, “This area has changed so much. I hope it would develop more and more.”

The shopkeeper answered, “It must be developing. Because some people had to face tragedies.”

I was shocked. I only recognized the bright side of the World Exposition; I had never thought about its dark side. I was curious and asked the shopkeeper, “What do you mean? What happened around here?”

Then the shopkeeper surprisingly looked me and said, “Are you a journalist or something?”

I told him I was not a journalist, but I still asked him about the tragedies. But he stopped talking. He didn’t say another word to me.

 Dear journalists! There is an issue you need to report!

Picture by 8suke