PARENTING January 19, 2009 Issue

SENDING YOU HEARTS AND PENGUINS

FUJIKO SIGNS

IT WAS AN ORDINARY TUESDAY afternoon in early 2005. I'd been living in Tokyo for nine months taking care of my parents, who needed a great deal of assistance. My younger daughter had graciously agreed to come with me from the US and go to school in Tokyo. She was a tenth grader, and this was not an easy choice for her. Being away from her father, friends, cats, and a familiar environment was difficult, and I naturally wanted to support her. So when I saw tears in her eyes once in a while, it was also an opportunity for me to rely on my source of comfort—the divine Father-Mother, God, who had always met my need—to give comfort and intelligence to her, too.

But that Tuesday afternoon I sensed a greater confusion, and even anger, in the text message my daughter sent me from her cellphone, after she got on the bus. Even before she got home, she was asking to see me.

I met her at the bus station. When I asked her if she wanted to go to a grocery store with me, she agreed to do so. Her face was sad, and tears kept welling up as she began telling me about all the things that were bothering her. And there were many. She didn't like her current living arrangements, the school-work, and having none of her old friends around. Her list went on and on.

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