“How old are you?”, the waiter asked.

I was at a hotel restaurant in Oahu with my parents. I knew how to count the number from one to ten in English, but I had to count up from number one to get to my age — a long journey to number nine.

Feeling fretted, I tried to answer the waiter’s question by showing the digits of my hands which confused him even more, as we Japanese move our fingers differently when counting numbers.

Mom laughed and told the waiter that I was nine. Dad, who was filming everything with his brand-new SONY video camera, laughed too.

I felt so embarrassed.

—

I don’t remember much about my first overseas trip. I enjoyed the beach, had a huge hamburger, tried guava juice and such. I liked the swimming pool and the gigantic bed too. In a photo, my sister and I were smiling in matching summer dresses.

Mom and Dad were still together. It was a picture-perfect summer vacation back in 1991.

Sometimes I wonder if those things are still there: the sun, the beach, guava juice and big hamburgers. All the good things in life.

Someday I would like to visit Hawaii again. Maybe on my honeymoon, or some anniversary or even to celebrate retirement. Actually, it would be better if I could turn 90 years old there. I hope I can still remember how to count numbers, as well as how to count my blessings.