Yesterday my nephew Christofer graduated from high school. I remember the day he was born. I was attending college at the University of California, San Bernardino near where my sister Darci and brother in law Bob were living. Due to complications and the decision to perform a c-section, I didn't get to witness the birth as planned. Rather, my first glimpse of Christofer was through the glass as the nurse was washing him. I knew right away which baby was my nephew because he looked identical to his father at just a few minutes old. The resemblance has stuck. His first year of life, I saw him most every day, always stopping by the house after class or work, even if only for a few minutes before heading out the door to study or do whatever a girl has going on in college. Twelve years later, not often but sometimes, I mistakenly speak "Christofer" when referring to my own son. Next year Chris will attend nursing school at the University of Texas in Arlington. This afternoon is the party and tomorrow I fly back to Tokyo. A quick trip, but I'm happy to be present for this special event. Best of luck to Christofer! 
Purple hair. Not an uncommon site when strolling around Tokyo. Not to be confused with the punk purple on rebellious teens adorning the streets of Harajuku, but rather purple on proper looking elderly persons. In discussion last week a few of us foreigners tried to unravel this mystery as it apparently perplexes us all at some point. Is it a fashion statement or a dye job gone awry? Die job gone awry is the obvious conclusion EXCEPT, the results look a little too perfect. Even more intriguing, rather than holing up in their home, the person often carries on with their business as if everything is perfectly as it should be. I have read that purple can be caused from trying to dye very white, almost platinum, hairs black. Often there can be an in between phase when the color looks purple for a few days. Which, since I've recently gone from blond back to brunette I feel fortunate to have skirted the purple hair outcome.
I've already made a booking for next Monday. I'm hooked! Each Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, Roo and I ride our bicycle to his school in the morning. The routine is the same - - I ask whether we should take the short-cut or the long-cut. Roo pauses and ponders introspectively for a moment, concluding we should take the medium-cut. The medium cut entails the largest downhill and is his most frequent choice. He commented that since he is now six he can keep his eyes open the whole time down the hill. The subsequent climb helps to keep me in shape as well. Roo does prefer to mix it up occasionally with the long-cut, which entails more precise maneuvering on my part so as to avoid hitting weary salarymen, nicely dressed women in high heels and aloof teenagers in school uniforms (most frequently tie and sport coat). We ditch the bike about 100 meters from the school, which becomes the starting line for our morning race to the front door of the school. He gives me a 30 meter head start (I get to carry his backpack along with my briefcase) and the race frequently ends in either a tie or a last minute surge to victory by Roo. Various teachers, waiting outside for other kids to get dropped off by parents with cars, frequently serve as the photo finish judges. Roo always has post-race commentary for anyone who will listen.
It may seem funny to you but the daily routine of the school drop-off will likely be one of my best memories of living in Japan. He and I get to enjoy 10 minutes together, just him and me (he chatters for the entire ride covering many unrelated subjects that I am nonetheless happy to hear about). I like seeing the teachers and it helps me to feel connected to a part of his life that I don’t get to see that much of. I’m enjoying every minute of the experience because he will switch schools next year and our routine will have to change.
