For our first dinner in Japan, we went to Red Lobster. I had fried clams, which I ate with chopsticks and a glass of Calpis Water. Calpis Water, I might add, is the best soft drink in the world. (Full disclosure: Calpis Inc. paid for the cost of the entire trip — just kidding.) It is some kind of water and dried-milk combination that is actually pretty tasty. The music at the restaurant was some early ’80s New Wave that brought back some memories. I hadn’t eaten in a Red Lobster since the early ’80s, when they never would have played New Wave. It was all as I remembered it back in Kalamazoo, Michigan. All except the chopsticks. 

Our next stop was a quick flight to Kyushu, in the south of Japan, where Noriko’s parents were from. We visited family that I couldn’t speak to and ate delicious Chinese food. I wrote a quick speech, and Noriko translated it into Japanese for me. I trembled as I stumbled over the words before dinner, and everyone was very polite. Noriko translated a few words from the family, and we dug into the meal. For the rest of the night, it was a family reunion that I couldn’t understand. My job was to sit with an expression of interest, while my new family members enjoyed seeing each other for the first time in years. If I looked bored, everyone made attempts to entertain me, so it quickly became clear that I had to appear to be engaged and amused while I sat in complete ignorance of what was going on for hours at a stretch.  (Related:  Japanese wife)

We made it, and we bowed after dinner; I was getting better at that part. The next day, we traveled to the cemetery to see where Noriko’s grandparents were buried. Incense was lit, and each family member bowed, then knelt by the grave, clapped their hands and prayed to the ancestors. After everyone but Noriko and I had prayed at the grave, everyone looked at me. With extreme embarrassment, I self-consciously tried the clapping and bowing and knelt in front of the gravestone and did my best to pray.

My eyes became warm. I pinched my lips together, and my throat started to choke. Before me was the weathered grave of people I had never known. People without whom my marriage could not have taken place. Here I was halfway around the world with the family of the woman I love more than anything, and there was so much I didn’t know. I choked back sobs. Visions of me bursting into tears in front of the family that I could barely speak to mortified me. Somehow, I kept it together. I opened my eyes, and someone snapped a picture.

After we changed into our Yukatas, we ambled down to the hot springs, which were on the grounds of the hotel. Just before we got outside, we split off; the women went one way, and the men went the other. Foolishly, I had presumed that my wife and I would get our own hot spring and the rest of her family another. Oops. All I knew about the hot springs was that you sit in them without clothes. Now, I am not a prude, but undressing in front of my father-in-law, a retired Infantry General, was an intimidating thought. I wondered what was going through his mind.

As we stood in the freezing air, we slowly undressed by the side of the hot spring. It seemed to be a race; only the goal was to be the last one. He had a distinct advantage of having more layers. I slowly unwrapped the Yukata, and then, before removing my underwear, I carefully folded the Yukata and placed it with the greatest care on a wooden shelf. It was the first, and probably last time I’ve ever folded any clothing that I just took off. My efforts were worthless; he still had two layers of cotton underwear to go.

I gave up and whipped off my underwear. I shivered and waited to see what came next. My father-in-law finally did it. He grabbed a bamboo bowl from a stack of them and squatted by the hot spring. Trying to act casual, I strolled over to the water and tried to squat in that Japanese way that looks comfortable but is impossible. With knees popping, I balanced precariously on the edge and managed to splash some water on myself. Together, we eased into the hot water. As we sat side by side in the chest-deep hot water, I finally exhaled the breath I had been holding for the past two weeks.

In the distance, a gentle range of mountains turned golden in the sunset. Steam swirled past our faces and into the night air. The stars were just coming out. In his broken English, my father-in-law told me that in two straight days, he had climbed the mountains all around us when he was an Army Ranger Instructor. I inhaled.

I gamely recounted the few pushups I had done while in the Army National Guard, and he smiled. We laughed about smuggling food on training missions and working on little sleep. We were both relieved that we could get along. I thought about Noriko, and how glad I was to be part of her family at last. The trip to the Onsen lasted a couple of days, and then we were off to Tokyo and our flight back to New York. Noriko’s parents dropped us off at the train station. We all bowed. I shook Noriko’s father’s hand, and he spoke.  “Important visit, accomplished.” Yes, indeed, General.

Noriko and I waved her parents goodbye, and then my wife and I were alone together for the first time in weeks. I leaned over and gave her a kiss. Noriko quickly pushed me away. I looked around and found that we were the focus of the evilest of evil eyes from a platoon of suit-wearing businessmen. I’d never been scared by a businessman before, but then, I’d never tried skinship on the Hibiya line before, either.

Recommended links:  American view of Japan     Arriving in Tokyo