Kindergarten Graduation

Your first graduation. You will dress in clothes that your mother set out for you on your futon in your tatami room: for the girls, Sunday dresses (although they will never be worn to church) and colorful ribbons tied in your hair in ways to make you look like cute bunnies or pandas along with something sparkly to tie the whole ensemble together; for the boys, dress shorts and hiked-up argyle socks along with matching suit coats and complimentary sweater vests and uncomfortably tight neckties underneath. Relatives will come from places so far away that it would take several minutes to get there by car. Your little brother will cry the whole time, and when he isn't crying he will run rampant like an escaped monkey from the city zoo--trying to crawl up the mayor's leg and swing from his tie--while the zookeeper (mom) tries to put him to sleep. You will get a piece of paper with symbols and kanji on it that you won't understand until you are past this stupid ceremony and several years into elementary school, or even junior high school where that kanji, and reading for that matter, are taught (think of it as a take home exam). Important people will speak at your graduation saying....umm....don't know....something about dreams and being sure to thank your parents. You won't pay attention because you will be too busy trying to remember when you are supposed to bow and wondering if you could run around with your brother. Your mom will cry, but you won't know why--she probably forgot to unplug the rice cooker, and your father will be very upset when your house burns down. You will have more pictures taken of you than you can count (read as: more than 10). Yes, you graduated. You have proved yourself. You no longer put the left shoe on the right foot unless the right foot is the left foot. You have learned the names of things (some in English), the way of things, how to learn, and you are now old enough. So, good luck! Elementary school is waiting.