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Not My Child; Not Me

Ok, ok. So some of you more astute readers noticed a rather important error I made to the last post. The following photograph, which I mistakenly claimed to be of me holding my son was, in fact, a photo of my good friend Holden holding his sleeping daughter Calla on the train from Tokyo to Kyoto.

How do I explain and justify this error, you ask? I’m left wondering the same thing. A few theories surface. Perhaps it comes from a retrospective desire to imagine that it was my child who was sleeping peacefully on the train (instead of shrieking continually and disrupting the pristine Japanese silence). Perhaps I had a jet lag flashback (I still feel it acutely even though I should be long readjusted by all biological indicators). Perhaps it is merely nostalgia for that sleek, warm can of Black Boss (undoubtedly the thing I miss most about that magnificent nation far away).

Or perhaps I’m just testing you all?

Yes, we’ll say it was that. Good job Clare and Veronica. If I were the generous sort, I’d give you both a prize.

For now, I have some explaining to do to my tiny manchild.

2 comments to Not My Child; Not Me

  • Clare

    Matthew,

    I am feeling rather guilty for publicly shaming you. Truth is, it’s an easy mistake to have made (even though your “manchild” certainly does not look like a girl!).

    Explain to him that these things happen. Tell him that you will forgive him should he mix you up with someone else. I remember taking my son to a big scawy birthday party when he was a toddler, and taking quiet amusement at his clutching onto the leg of a friend whose child was off romping in the crowd. She and I giggled and let it be, until he finally noticed. Still makes me laugh when I think of it.

    P.S. Speaking of “disrupting”, that photo of the kids wreaking free-spirited havoc on the train cracked me up. Crazy American tourists…

  • ALMA FREEMAN

    I know the shock of Seiko’s death was so hard for you, but I know from experience that the days afterward are still difficult. Time does wonders, never heals completely, but the good memories of her will carry you through.

    Love,

    Alma

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