The Bird

The act of extending the Bird (aka “the finger”) is a rude and disrespectful act, which is often done in response to a rude or disrespectful act.  It is a mythical bird – at least one, but perhaps an entire flock – that flies around visiting people. And sometimes, people have a very good reason for extending the Bird, even at the happiest place on Earth.


The Bird recently surprised me with a memorable visit on the Foothill Freeway in Los Angeles, as our family headed out of town for a 4th of July weekend getaway to Disneyland.

I was dwelling, no doubt, on the fact that we had driven this very patch of road just three days prior.  On that wonderful occasion we were heading to our health-plan’s nearest approved emergency room.  Normally I do most of the family driving, but that day I was crumpled in the passenger seat, writhing in excruciating pain as a kidney stone meandered through the various pinch-points in my urinary tract.  They say the only thing more painful than a kidney stone is giving birth.  At least when you give birth, you get something for your troubles (Tadaaa! A baby!)  Me?  I’m looking at two or three days of straining my pee with a makeshift coffee filter in the hopes of catching a rock shooting out of my penis.  No baby, just intense pain, yielding a worthless, non-cuddly lump of calcium oxalate.

So I try to endure the pain, while my wife heroically navigates the bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic to get me to the ER.  She suggests I try some Lamaze breathing (hee-hee-hoo, hee-hee-hoo), which I embrace because it’s the only thing I’ve got until I can get some real intravenous pain relief.  And that is when our minivan is rammed by a truck.   This is when I started to cry.  Although this turned out to be a relatively minor three-vehicle freeway collision, it was nevertheless unpleasant.  Thankfully, no one was hurt.  Eventually we get to the ER, and the staff administers a heavenly cocktail of IV medicine, followed by a CT Scan (which confirms the stone), and sends me home with the heretofore-mentioned pee strainers.   After three days of pee prospecting, my little rock arrives. Eureka! She was 3.7 millimeters long and weighed a fraction of a gram.  So cute.  I thanked my doula (which was my left hand).

Gregory Harrison – you just passed a kidney stone!  What are you going to do now? I’M GOING TO DISNEYLAND! Which brings me back to the Foothill freeway and the Bird.

As I mentioned, we were on our way to Disneyland. Suddenly a little teen punk cuts directly in front of our minivan, and then cuts off someone else in the adjoining lane.  Apparently he needed to exit.  Whew. Our recent accident left me uninterested in repeating the tête-à-tête.  Shortly after that,  I found myself driving next to the little teen punk, and I did what any responsible adult would do in my position:  I gave him my oh really? look.  I have perfected this look.  It involves a sidewise glance, coupled with furrowing of eyebrows in concert with a half Elvis lip-snarl.  Apparently,  I must have knocked my oh really? look out of the park.  Upon receiving my said look, the little teen punk was so enraged that he missed his exit, cut back into my lane right behind me and flipped me the Bird.  With verve.  I savored the moment via my rear-view mirror, proud that I was able to cause so much rage with my glance.

Cut to Disneyland.  

I am sitting in a passenger seat, next to my seven year old son, who is driving. We are stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic in Tomorrowland on the ride known as “Autopia” (an ironic combination of the words “automobile” and “utopia”).  Ten cars are stacked in front of us on the track, motionless, with more piling up behind us.  The reason for the pile-up is that an asshole (from the future, I’m guessing) has decided to take the perfect photograph of his child sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Autopia.  I try to relax.  I have no problem with people holding up everybody else’s fun to take a photo.  But when twenty cars are stacked up, that’s just rude.  And suddenly I reacted to that rudeness.  And that perfect photograph now includes a man, ten cars back, extending his middle finger.  And now you know why I flipped someone the Bird at Disneyland, the happiest place on Earth… oh really?

「パパ」との思い出

「パパ」との思い出

グレッグ・ハリソン

春という季節は常に変化を伴うが、私のこの春はとりわけ目まぐるしかった。

五月初め、父がこの世を去った。自宅で安らかに眠りについた父は、カズオやエイジからは「パパ」と呼ばれていた。最愛の父を失い悲しむ私に、多くの友人が暖かい言葉で慰めてくれたが、中でも一番心に残ったのが、「お父さんとの楽しかった思い出すべてをどうか大切に。。。」というものだった。

一方、子供の家では、この春園庭が大きく様変わりした。皆さん新しくなった櫓の下のマットや、外観全体を気に入っているようで、私も同感である。ただ、保護者の多くが砂場がなくなってしまったことを残念に思っていることも確かだ。私も子供の家父兄として通ってきた六年間を振り返ると、恐らく他のどんな遊具よりも、土を掘って遊べる砂場が大好きだったように思う。

土の重要性を過小評価してはならない。土で遊ぶこと、つまり、遊びに決まり事がなく、土の中に手を突っ込んで何かを形作ったり、水を加えたり、トンネルを作ったり、泥団子を作ったりという砂場での遊びは、全ての学びの原点である。繰り返して言うが、砂場での遊びは全ての教育の原点だと私は信じている。子供たちが砂場で遊ぶことによって作り上げた世界の数々は、言葉を学んだり、友達との遊び方を学んだり、お話を作ったりするのに最適なのだ。こういった世界は、どんな本よりも価値や意味があるし、子供たちの人生に後々まで大きな影響を与える。子供たちと砂遊びの関係を超えるのは、母親と赤ん坊の身体的な結びつき以外にはないのではないだろうか。何と言っても砂遊びは、我々と母なる大地とを結びつける絆なのだから。

子供たちが砂遊びに熱中するのは、ほとんど本能的でさえある。私も子供時代はそうだった。私の父も砂場で遊ぶことを喜んで見てくれたし、そういった父の方針に感謝している。音楽と科学を愛した父は地に足の着いた、謙虚な人だった。幼い頃は、兄弟と一緒に何時間も砂遊びをして過ごした。想像の中で様々な場所へ旅をし、登場人物や状況を設定した。トンネルを作ったり、火山を作ったり、他にも今となっては記憶のどこかに埋もれてしまっている色々なものを造った。成長するにつれ、砂遊びはガーデニングへと進化していった。我が家にはかなり大きな庭があり、たくさんの果物や野菜を育てた。たくさんの楽しい思い出もそこで生まれた。ガーデニングを通して、我が家と土との関係は深まり、土への愛情も育っていった。季節の移り変わりをみんなで楽しんだ。土の手入れをすることは、我が家では自然な事となり、ミミズを見つけては喜んだ。土の感触や、色、においに安堵した。種を植え、水をやり、土から生命の吹き出る喜びを知った。最後には食べ物となって、私たちに栄養を与えてくれた。父はいつも側にいて、土に関する全てを教えてくれた。そして、同時に命についても教えてくれたのである。

そして今、父からの教えに想いを馳せると、またもや土、生き物、生命のサイクルへと引き込まれていく。そして、今一度、土に癒しを見い出している自分がいる。

Digging in the dirt, lessons from my dad.

Spring has always been a time for change, although for me, this particular spring has been tumultuous.   My heart mourns the passing of my dear father, or as Kazuo and Eiji refer to him, “Papa”, who passed away in early May, at his home, peacefully.  I do miss him dearly. As many have comforted me with their kind thoughts and sympathy, one piece of advice that seems to stand out is this:  “Remember all the wonderful memories with your father.”

Meanwhile, here at Kodomo No Ie preschool, this spring has brought a magnificent change in the appearance of the playground.  Everyone seems to love the new play surfaces and overall appearance, myself included.  However,  many of us deeply miss the dirt.  As I think back over the six years of being a parent at Kodomo No Ie, perhaps more than any other physical feature, this was a wonderful place to dig in the dirt.   I do miss the dirt too.

Do not underestimate the importance of dirt.  Digging in the dirt – unstructured play, reaching hands into the earth and shaping it, adding water, building tunnels or making mudpies, this is the foundation of all learning.  That’s right: I believe that digging in the dirt is the foundation of all learning.  The worlds that have been created by children digging and playing in the dirt are the starships of language, social interaction and story-telling. These worlds have more meaning and have more lasting impact, than any book lesson.  In fact, these connections are second only to the physical bond between mother and child, and I think that makes sense, for these are the bonds to our Mother Earth.

Children instinctively are drawn to playing in the dirt, and I was no different as a child.  My dad certainly encouraged it, and for that I am thankful. He was a modest man who was grounded in the earth, and loved music and science.  And growing up, I spent hours playing in the dirt with my siblings. We travelled to imaginary places and invented characters and situations, while making tunnels, volcanoes, and other creations that now inhabit the forgotten recesses of my mind.  As I got older, playing in the dirt evolved into gardening.  Our family had an enormous garden and we raised a cornucopia of fruits and vegetables, as well as many fond memories. Through gardening, our relationship with the dirt deepened, and our love for the earth grew. We became connected with the seasons.  It became our nature to care for the soil, delight in the earthworms, feel the texture, absorb the colors, and embrace the smells.  Plant seeds, and add water, and experience the joy of life sprouting from the earth, culminating eventually in food that we used to nourish ourselves. My dad was there, every step of the way, teaching us about the earth, but also teaching us about life itself.

And now as I dwell on the lessons of my father, I am drawn back to the earth, and living things and the cycles of life. And I am finding solace once again, in dirt.  

(Originally contributed to June 2010 Mamas and Papas for Kodomo No Ie Preschool)

An Azalea in the Garden

My neighborhood gave me a beautiful azalea plant in sympathy after my dad passed away.  I planted it in a nice shady spot in the garden, and then nestled myself in for a photo.   It's not obvious in this picture, but this azalea has very unusual flowers that are half white and half purple/lavender.  (It's not the azalea directly in front of me, but rather the one to my left, more in the front center of the image).

  

It's no surprise that I've been thinking about my dad a great deal. I've been reticent about writing about him, since his passing.  I admit, I feel as though I need to write something perfect, because my love for him demands I use my skills as best as I can (and as if I have this one and only one opportunity to remember him.)   Of course, nothing makes writing more difficult than layering expectations before you even get started.

But I would like to share one small piece I wrote.  For several years now, I have been a regular contributor to my children's preschool newsletter, "The Mamas and Papas", at Kodomo No Ie Preschool (Japanese for  "House of Children").   Obviously I write my articles in English and they are translated to Japanese.  I should clarify that this school is like a slice of Japan here in nearby San Gabriel California (different from, say, an American school that teaches the Japanese language).  The school is run as though it would be run in Japan, and everything about it is entirely Japanese.  It's been a great experience for my sons, and a wonderful cultural exchange for me.  I am fortunate that a few of the parents translate school notices and whatnot for us.

Apologies for the long introduction, but I suppose it gives you some idea about my audience for the original piece.  It's about dirt.  And it's about my dad.

An Honest Fool

Last year, during a five month kitchen remodel, we faced the frightening reality of being without our washer and dryer.  Oh we still had the actual appliances, but the part of our house formerly known as indoors was presently an empty cavern.  Once you have graduated into the world of having your own washer and dryer, it is a humbling experience to return to ... THE LAUNDROMAT.

The word does not stir pleasant thoughts. It evokes long-buried memories of my first apartment, lugging piles of sweaty dirty clothes to a unloved, dingy room with flickering fluorescent lights.  A room so bleak that its highlight is the machine that changes dollar bills into quarters.  Bling bling bling.  Nobody wants to go to the laundromat, which is why nobody talks to anyone there.  You want to remain anonymous. You certainly don’t make friends at a laundromat.

Of course, we really couldn’t complain because we knew this was only temporary.  So each week, we took a deep breathe, and we loaded up the minivan with our mountain of laundry, our kids, and some toys and crafts to keep them occupied, and headed to a local laundromat. 

The closest one was the one we used the most often.  It was no gem, but it did share a building with a donut shop, and we’d visit the donut shop each week after cramming our clothes into five, or six, or even seven washing machines.  I suppose it says something about a place when it is a step up to go to a donut shop. 

In all our trips to the laundromat, one visit stands out as especially laundromatty.  We had just arrived, and I was about to get some quarters, when I spied someone’s wallet resting on the change machine.  I should admit right now that I happen to have a bit of an honesty problem, and by that I mean that I am insanely honest.  I am sometimes paralyzed by honesty, if that makes any sense. My wife and I even had an epic fight, which spanned two days, because in her opinion, I was being overly honest about a minor detail in a form to get a temporary handicapped parking placard for my dad, who has only one leg.  It’s not always a picnic being me.  Naturally, the stray wallet activates my merit-badge-seeking boy scout mode and I announce “Did someone lose their wallet?”   There was just a small cast of freaks here at the moment, but luckily, a lady standing nearby said (rather quickly) the wallet belonged to her friend, and he was coming right back – he was just getting something to eat.  She said she’d hold onto the wallet for him, and so I handed it to her. 

We went about our business loading our clothes into the washing machines and I remember that lady was loading her clothes into some dryers... and then about ten minutes later a man bursts into the laundromat and blurts “Hey – did anybody find a wallet in here? I left my wallet here just a few minutes ago.” I could tell he was panicking (and who wouldn’t be), but I told him the good news – that his friend was holding onto his wallet for him.  And then he said:

What friend? I don’t have any friends here. That lady is not my friend.  Who is she? Where did she go?

I hadn’t notice the lady slip away and leave the laundromat.   But she definitely wasn’t here any longer.  I realized this was a troubling development.   Shit.  Why didn’t I hold onto that wallet?

Argh! Hindsight!  But I explained to the guy how she spoke up right away and said she was his friend.  I had no reason to think she was lying.  And after I handed her the wallet, she simply continued loading her clothes into these dryers.   She seemed honest.   In fact, even at this point, I figured she probably just went to get a donut or something and she’d be right back any minute.  Our attention turned to her clothes, still spinning in the dryer.  Our heads bobbed in spirals as we assessed the quality of her clothes – in order to predict if her return was likely.  To my relief, our missing lady actually had some decent clothing.  The room clearly harbored doubts about my judgement, but these clothes gave me some hope.  Meanwhile one of the other laundromat guests, a strange cat man that brought his cat with him to do laundry, decides now would be a good time to share his opinion that our missing lady seemed like a  "skank ho” to him.   He even struck an accusatory tone, “why did you give her the wallet?”

I think that is when the guy decided to call the cops about his missing/stolen wallet.  Meanwhile, our laundry was dry. While we folded, I watched for the missing lady and monitored her (now dry) clothes. The strange cat man finished up and left.  The situation seemed bleak.  My wife and I continued to chat with missing wallet guy and his girlfriend, examining the situation and thinking about clues.  We waited for the cops.  Eventually our laundry was folded, and we loaded it into our minivan.  We decided that my wife would drive the boys home and I would stay at the laundromat in case the lady returned.  We were the only ones still there that knew what the lady looked like.  But since I was the person that handed the wallet to her, I wanted to do as much as I could to help.  Besides, I also remembered that my wife once had trouble differentiating between the two similar-looking actors that played the police chief in “The Heat of the Night” – Rod Steiger in the film version and Carroll O’Connor in the television version.  When it came to police line-up situations like this one, I felt I had the edge.

The cops finally arrived and interviewed us.  I gave a description of the missing lady.  She didn’t seem like a “skank ho” to me.  I just did the best I could.  I remember we were all standing near the entrance of the laundromat when suddenly I see the missing lady through the large laundromat windows.  “That’s her – there she is!” I tell the cops.  She came back! The police officer immediately asks her where the wallet is and she says that she dropped it in a mailbox.  The officer then asks her if he can search her bag, and she relents, and admits she took the wallet and hands it to the officer.  I am super relieved, but then the wallet guy turns to me with and asks with disbelief “You thought she looked honest?  She looks like a skank ho to me.”  And I guess now she did to me too.

We eventually learn that this lady went on a big shopping spree with the cash in the wallet.  She still had the merchandise in her car!  The police were going to escort her to the stores and make her return all her ill-gotten booty so the man could get his money back.  

So I definitely blew it when I believed the skank ho.  She fooled me.  But I was right about one thing: she came back to get her clothes!   Next time, I’ll definitely hold onto the wallet.

Reflections on a past launch

As we approach the STS-131 Space Shuttle launch, I was moved to share something I wrote in October 2007 when we visited the Kennedy Space Center to view the STS-120 launch. 

The Final Frontier

Just across the water, I could see the Space Shuttle Discovery sitting on the launch pad.  Years ago, I watched a landing at Edwards Air Force base, but this was my first Space Shuttle launch.  We were guests of Astronaut Stephanie Wilson, a friend and former colleague of mine from our days on the Galileo mission to Jupiter.   Now she was flying on her second Space Shuttle mission.

I was here at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center (“KSC”) with my wife Nikki and our sons, Kazuo and Eiji.  We were thrilled to be able to share this experience with them.  Kazuo, in particular, has already shown some interest in space. Eiji, for his part, is especially adept at spotting the moon, which he calls “La Luna”. 

We patiently waited as the launch countdown continued. There were hundreds of us out here, sitting on blankets on this narrow grass swath along the Indian river. We had a very clear view of the shuttle and the solid rocket boosters and liquid fuel tank as it sat motionless on the pad, poised to erupt.  It was hot. No shade. The kids were getting restless.

As we watched the crowd gather and mill around, we thought back to the reception we attended in Stephanie’s honor.  It was nice to meet many of her family members, but also friends from many parts of her life: a former teacher, friends from her hometown, colleagues from past projects, former classmates, etc.  We also met two other astronauts.  Kazuo must have noticed that every astronaut he has met is a woman, because he proclaimed: “Mommy, boys can be astronauts too!”

Because of the timing required to dock with the International Space Station, the launch window was only ten minutes long. We kept our fingers crossed as the countdown continued. Everything was a “GO” for the launch, as we approached lift-off.  The crowd was excited, and readied their cameras. I hit “record” on my video camera.  We’re getting close.  Nikki picked up Eiji and I grabbed Kazuo.  9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2  - 1 … And I gasped as a saw a big cloud of smoke.  “That’s it! It’s going!” The crowd cheered, as we all watched this huge spaceship defy gravity, slowing escaping the Earth.  I was mesmerized by the incredibly bright exhaust which seemed to sear into my retinas as the shuttle screamed into the sky.  And then we started to hear the deep and powerful rumbling of this giant, controlled explosion.  I momentarily reflected upon the beauty of physics, and this wonderful reminder of the relatively slow speed of sound as compared to the speed of light.  And then I thought about our friend Stephanie, hurdling into the heavens, soaring above us all.  Godspeed. 

We could just make out the moment when the solid rocket boosters separated from the shuttle and the crowd cheered more. We wept too, as we marveled at the human race, our amazing species, and what we can accomplish.

As for our own children, we can only wonder the amazing ways in which they too will soar. 



Originally published in the December 2007 Papas & Mamas Newsletter for Kodomo No Ie

A note about Granny D

I wanted to say a few words about Doris "Granny D" Haddock, who passed away on March 9th at the age of 100 years old.   I consider her an American hero. 

I first heard about "Granny D" when she began her walk across the United States, at the age of 88, to raise awareness about campaign finance reform.  She started here in Pasadena on January 1, 1999 and walked some 3200 miles to Washington, D.C,  arriving on February 29, 2000.  She was 90 years old when she finished.  

Now I enjoy walking.  I really do.  And I feel pretty good about myself when I walk a mile to the grocery store rather than driving.  Granny D walked across the entire country. She covered about ten miles a day for 14 months.  She celebrated two birthdays along the way.   She did it because she wanted to draw attention to the issue of money in politics.  She was wildly successful in garnering media attention to the issue, and yet, money still overwhelms the voices of average citizens.  And the recent Citizen United Supreme Court ruling, which struck down the McCain-Feingold campaign finance law, has opened the floodgates by allowing corporations to directly fund political candidates. 

Nation Magazine contributor John Nichols quoted Granny D responding to the Citizen United ruling in his article "Mourn Granny D.; Then Organize for Clean Politics":

When I was a young woman, my husband and I were having dinner at the Dundee home of a friend, Max Foster, when a young couple rushed through the door breathless to say that they had accidentally burned down Max's guest cabin, down by the river.

Max stood up from his meal. He set his napkin down. He smiled at the young couple and he said,

"Thank goodness. You have done me a great favor, and you don't even know it. We have been wanting to completely redo that old place, and now it will be a clean start. It will be better than ever the next time you come to stay."

Well, I guess the Supreme Court has burned down our little house, but, truth be told, it was pretty drafty anyway. We had not really solved the problem of too much money in politics. Not hardly. And now we have an opportunity to start clean and build a system of reforms that really will do the trick.

I think one of the wings of our new house will be the public financing of election campaigns. I think another wing will be a dramatic expansion of our conflict of interest and bribery laws. I think all of us, left, right and middle, will enjoy living there without the special interests stealing us blind any more. I intend to be around long enough to see this new place built.

Her response, which was given at a party honoring her 100th birthday, recognizes the long meandering path that progress often takes, even as we hope for change quickly.   But her remarks also serve, at least to me, as a reminder that in this democracy, each of us is called to participate.   That doesn't mean we must all run for United States Senate, as Granny D did in New Hampshire, when she was 94.  But I believe it does mean we are called to use our voice and stand up for what we believe, as Granny D did, not only about Finance reform, but also on a wide range of issues facing our citizens.