"How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it." - Marcus Aurelius
To think, that at one time in our very recent past, we were sworn enemies of Japan, and now, trusted friends. Well, it depends on who you ask, just �how� trusted and trusting we are. But regardless, last night, my adventure aboard the Japanese JMSDF KIRISHIMA was, for lack of a better word, awesome. We arrived at the Navy base off of 32nd Street, a sister of mine, a friend of my father�s, Dad and I, all in his van. At the gate, he said we were here for the reception of the Japanese Destroyer ships. The guard asked us for our invitation. What? No, we don�t have anything on paper, we were invited by the Admiral.
Some of my father�s colleagues also had difficulty believing that the Admiral called my father at home to personally invite him and his family. I must admit, once we convinced them that it was true, the reverence apparent in their accepting gazes felt� for lack of a better word, good. In the military, the Admiral is God, HMFIC, my father likes to say. I don�t want to have to spell that out for you, so think really hard, and you�ll figure it out.
Walking through lines of smiling, uniformed Japanese navy men, I was first up the long plank to where the Japanese officers were standing in a greeting line for the guests. Shinohara, the Admiral, and our family friend since we sponsored his family to stay with us 20 years ago, embraced me in a hug, and pictures were snapped from all around. We were led by bowing, smiling officers to the deck, where amazing and colorful shapes and set-ups of exotic sea-foods adorned several tables, and men in white naval uniforms walked around with trays of Japanese beer and Saki to serve to the guests.
There were two or three gentlemen constantly waiting on us, filling our drinks, making sure we tasted everything we may enjoy. Then, I had to pee. Now, I�ve been on ships before, I�ve gone up and down ladders into tiny rooms and hallways. But I�ve also been to events on U.S. Ships, and there tend to be bathrooms off the main deck for those, or so I remember. So when I asked a Japanese officer where the restroom was, I wasn�t expecting to be led on a trek halfway through the freakin� destroyer. In a skirt and sandals.
It was impossible to scale up and down these ladders with my purse, so he not only took the burden from me, but put it over his shoulder, as I would have carried it. I had full view of him, for he was in front of me, when he wasn�t offering me a hand or stepping back to let me in an entrance ahead of him, and I must say, my red bag went great with his uniform. And I tried to muffle my giggles. Finally, the bathroom. In the bowels of the ship, no pun intended, I�m sure. No females in the Japanese military, at least I don�t think so. This restroom was a urinal and a toilet, and an odd flusher with directions written in� Japanese.
Don�t worry, with hysterical-nervous laughter echoing off the metal around me, I finally figured out the fucking flusher. And then, with my purse on his shoulder, we made our way back to the deck.
The Admiral showed us his family photo album, and my father shared pictures with him as well. Then, some U.S. Admirals and our friend, Shinohara, put on kimono jackets, gripped wooden mallets, and ceremoniously banged-open a giant wooden keg of saki. I asked Mr. Shinohara to autograph my wooden saki box for me. He did, and added, �To my dear Barbara.� Very, very cool. It�s sitting on top of my monitor right now.
-Barbarella
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