my 10-year-old outclassed me
what I learned from our japan dream vacation together
“Daddy, I wanna go to Japan”
“You do? I love Japan! Why do you wanna go to Japan?”
“I wanna ride the in-kam-sen”
“The shinkansen?” I asked. I figured he was repeating something he saw on YouTube. “You mean the bullet train?”
“Yeah, the shim-kanren. I wanna see that one.”
At age 3, my oldest was already obsessed with trains. He collected every train toy, and screamed in joy every time he saw a train pass by on the street. If we didn’t take the train to go somewhere, he would always be disappointed.
“I don’t wanna ALWAYS drive the car daddy! I wanna ride the MRT!”
This was a common refrain that, more often than not, resulted in an extended whining and tantrum session. I sometimes wondered when this phase would end.
Thus began his second obsession: Visiting Japan.
Of course, I wasn’t about to hop on a plane with a 3-year-old and a baby bag full of wet wipes and milk bottles. But, 7 years later, that’s exactly what we did. Well, minus the milk bottles.
Neil had turned 10, and I wanted to take him somewhere memorable over his school holiday, instead of watching him sit at my computer playing Roblox all day. I cycled through a few options in my head, and remembered our conversations from years ago about Japan. That was where we were gonna go.
Travel plans had been on my beanies.family to-build list for a while, and I thought it would be a good way to get Neil engaged in the planning (as if he needed any motivation).
Like most 10-year-old boys, I stuck the app in front of his face and he understood it instantly. Within 5 minutes, travel ideas started popping into the aptly named “Daddy Neily Japan Trip” travel plan.
“Visit the famous red Fushimi Inari Taisha gates”, see the “sakura”, “visit Kiyomizu-dera”, one of the most famous temples in Kyoto, and more. One plan stood out: “teamLab Biovortex Kyoto”, whatever that was, followed by “!!!11!!1111!!!!”. Neil was googling. I figured I’d better start the planning.
This was a tricky one to plan. We had a limited amount of time, lots of things to do, and it was what’s known in Japan as “mankai” - peak cherry blossom season. At most, mankai lasts a few days, and it’s impossible to pinpoint exactly when it will come, as it depends heavily on the fickle whims of mother nature.
If you ever visit Japan during mankai, be warned - you might be trampled to death by tourists, especially in Kyoto. I thought I might die of old age before I was able to find flights and hotels that wouldn’t require taking out a second mortgage to afford.
After weeks of searching, I booked our flights, each leg one-way on a different airline. We got a lucky break with a traditional Japanese ryokan in the center of Kyoto’s historic Gion district that had a cancellation just one week before our trip.
Neil counted down the days, reminding me each night of the number of sleeps until our trip. Our plane departed at 12:40am on a Friday night (technically, a Saturday morning).
The night of the trip, I put Neil to sleep at his usual bedtime, and went to knock on his door when it was time to leave for the airport. Before my hand hit the wood, the door swung open and a little (but rapidly growing) beanie leapt into my arms, almost knocking me over. I guess he was ready to go.
We arrived in Tokyo the next morning, rode our first “Japan train” from the airport, and met one of my good friends for the traditional Japanese hanami picnic at a local park. Trees were bursting at the seams with cherry blossoms, and families packed the narrow park roads.
The next morning, as every Japan travel guide on the internet recommends, we took our right-side seats on the famous Nozomi Shinkansen, heading south to Kyoto, specifically so we could get the best view of Japan’s crown jewel volcano from our bullet train window.
As we exited the mountain tunnel towards the famous Mt. Fuji vantage point, all we could see were clouds. Neil took a video of a gray mass, with a vague silhouette of a majestic mountain in the background. He mentioned, calmy, that he hoped the view would be better on the way back.
Each day of our trip was choreographed, down to the exact train or bus we would ride. We hit our first snag on our last day in Kyoto. I just didn’t think that a modern art museum would require advance booking. I mean, an art museum being completely sold-out?
It turns out, I didn’t quite understand how popular “teamLab” attractions are in Japan.
I pleaded with the staff in broken Japanese. Our train was leaving at 2:30pm, and the first available ticket was for 5pm. I asked if there was anything we could do, but this being Japan, “Sumimasen, muri desu ne, kippu ga nai to.”
Sorry, you can’t go in without a ticket.
I looked at Neil’s face. In his mind, this was the highlight of the trip. Instead, it became a learning experience - for me.
The sadness in my son’s face grew deeper with each negative gesture from the museum employees, even though he couldn’t understand their words. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn’t cry.
My frustration grew with each passing moment. It was at that point I felt my son’s eyes train on me, except he wasn’t looking at me with sadness, but with concern. His hand reached for mine, not to pull me towards the museum, but to pull me away.
It occurred to me that I may be taking this disappointment harder than he was.
Neil saw what was happening, and accepted it like a grown-up. His focus shifted to easing my frustration. I don’t think I could have been more proud of him.
The next 20 minutes, aside from feeling like my stomach was tied in knots for not realizing that, in Japan, anything popular sells out, was filled with a very parental-sounding lecture about flexibility and adapting to changing situations. In travel, things rarely go 100% to plan. I may have been talking to myself as much as I was talking to him.
We’re lucky to be here, I said, and we’ll find something else fun to do. Kyoto is a huge city. Let’s get a nice lunch and find something to do that’s even more awesome and cool.
A 20-minute walk later, we landed at a huge children’s indoor playground, with games and puzzles you could only find in Japan. Neil raced a dinosaur on a 25-meter-wide video screen, and we played real-life Tetris. We laughed as we stood on separate perches and knocked each other down with foam jousting sticks, American Gladiator-style. I won (not that we were keeping score).
It wasn’t the teamLab Biovortex whatever, but I’m pretty sure he had a good time. And this still being daddy-feeling-guilty time, we followed that up with a Happy Meal at McDonald’s.
And just like that, we were on the bullet train back to Tokyo, Neil’s face pressed firmly against the glass, struggling for the second time to see a majestic, snow-capped Mt. Fuji out of the left-side window of our northbound train, again obscured by misty rain and gray clouds.
He didn’t complain.
—
Despite the throngs of tourists, some less-than-ideal weather, and one big, dumb honking mistake by yours truly, memories were made on that trip.
There’s no app that can make your kid smile like that.
Which reminds me, sometimes you need to put the app away, and just be there with your son. I need to hear this more than anybody.
Stay cool, my beans.
greg
Hi friends! I originally posted this story on my substack at every bean counts, where I talk about technology, AI, beanies.family, and my own crazy family life in general.
What a trip you had with your son, this would be something he will remember forever. More so because you didn't make a reservation for that art museum, yes, a great lesson that life rarely goes as planned. But a bigger lesson your son probably took from it is that his dad will go any distance to make things happen for him. 😊 And a Happy Meal at a Japanese McDonald's? I'd say you truly nailed it. 👍
Good lessons!