I guess I better start by saying that technically, I'm considered Chinese. I was born in Japan, but my parents were both from China, and that makes me from China too- never mind I've only been there once to visit relatives. Citizenship is a really sticky question in Japan; there's loads of technically Chinese and technically Korean people whose families have been born in Japan for three and four generations- yet the government stubbornly insists they are not Japanese. Basically if you don't have at least one Japanese parent, you aren't, and two are much preferred. When I was younger I used to think that was silly; now I use stronger and more disgusted words for it. All it does is encourage a lot of discrimination and prejudice, which might have a lot to do with my- shall I call it interest?- in justice...

Anyway. My parents were both born in China and came over to Japan as children, seperately of course, with their families. They met in Toba and got married and started trying to find a place to live. Ma always says she could have moved in with Pop's family, but she knew her kids were gonna be wild and she didn't want to inflict us on the grandparents. Then she laughs. I got my sense of humor from her, I think. She likes to joke around a lot, which I always felt was a lot cooler than being all, 'don't smile or your face will crack.' 

Um...anyway, they couldn't find a decent place to live. Funny how that works, isn't it? I mean, it's such a coincidence that all the nice places were clean out of space, or if they did have space their rates had just suddenly gone through the roof, or someone else had just gotten there an hour or a day sooner and taken the verrrry lassst open room... Yeah. Riiight. Might as well stick a 'No Chinese, No Korean' sign on the front door; but I guess that wouldn't be polite. ...So, since they couldn't get a nice place and didn't want a shack, my parents kinda bowed to the inevitable (weird saying) and found the place they live now, which I won't name, just to be on the safe side. Enough to say we've got a great view of some mountains and it doesn't take too long to get to them, either. 

I was the first one born. My first sister, the stubborn one, was born when I was three, and my first brother, the quietest of us all, when I was five. Then youngest brother, who can't even be quiet when he's sleeping (he talks in his sleep) when I was eight. Youngest sister, who I called princess from day one, showed up when I was eleven. Ma got kinda sick around then and had an operation and we all agreed that five of us was plenty. 

Really, some days, five of us was about four too many. Especially when my princess was teething; and when she hit the terrible twos- Oh. My. God. I think that was about the only time in her life she didn't have us all wrapped around her little fingers; she was a TERROR. Lucky it didn't last long; she soon found out there's other ways to get what she wants out of people, especially ol' butter-heart here. That's something youngest brother really never learned; he's less of a terror now than he used to be, but he still hasn't figured out how to charm people. Lucky for me. First brother doesn't usually ask for anything unreasonable, and when he does, it's a good bet that 'someone' has put him up to it. It doesn't take any guessing to know who: those two boys are not so bad separately, but put 'em together and I would swear they clone themselves because they end up in ten times the trouble. And first sister- this bears repeating- is very, very, very stubborn. Some people say I'm stubborn. First sister can out-stubborn me. Sometimes. When that doesn't work, she turns on the charm. 

So as you might guess, being older brother to two hell-raisin' boy-kids and two manipulative girl-kids helped me learn real quick to raise more hell and be a better manipulator than the four of them put together. In that respect, having a temper was more of a benefit than a problem. When eldest brother started yelling, it was time to cool it before he blew his top. 

Seriously, I love the kids, but they really would make a saint swear sometimes. 

So why was I the one keeping everyone in line? Because Ma and Pop always had to work. That was typical of where we lived; most families had both parents working to make ends meet. Our main family business was- is- a restaurant that my father established, and he usually spent at least fourteen hours a day there. It didn't do very well at first, thanks to the prejudice thing; his customers were mainly the Chinese families in our little 'Chinatown' there, who were all striving to make their own ends meet. Some Japanese families would come in when they wanted something a bit different, but that didn't happen so often for the first few years. My mother was a kendo instructor before she married Pop, and for a while she worked in a dojo near our house, so she could take care of the kids and me. But once I was old enough, she went to work with Pop in the restaurant in order to let a couple of employees go and save expenses. Sooooo, as eldest and theoretically most responsible, I kinda got to be the default babysitter (I can just hear youngest brother yelling I'm not a baby shut up you're so dumb!! You'll always be baby brother, Sprout; I changed your diapers, okay?). 

On a side note, the name of Pop's restaurant is Dynasty. Seriously. Can you hear me rolling my eyes? I've tried and tried to get him to change it, but no deal. The patrons are too accustomed to the name and we might lose business if we change it. 

I know I haven't said much about my father yet...the truth is, and this is depressing...I don't know him very well. My main memories of him from when I was young are brief and few and mostly consist of him being stressed out. He got less stressed after Ma joined him at the restaurant, but I didn't see much more of him then- we were usually in bed when they got home, and if we weren't, we got in trouble. Ma was always kind of there, at least when I was younger, and we got along just fine, but the few times Pop was around he was usually too fried to want to do anything and too stressed to appreciate any joking around. We kids were always a lot more subdued when he was home- the way kids get when there's a stranger in the house and they're not sure how to behave. Which is sad. It wasn't until I was ten that...well, I don't want to think about that right now.

My relationship with my mother, like I said, was just fine. Though I think the dojo she worked at must have been incredibly lenient, to allow her to bring her kid (kids) with her every day when she was teaching classes. I didn't realize at the time that it was anything odd, of course, and I'm glad they let her; otherwise I would've had to stay home with some babysitter. I made myself useful, too, though at the time it was just me having fun: whenever a beginner class needed an extra student to form up sparring pairs, they called me and I'd run over to help out. So I got a good early education in several different fighting styles. Ma was very pleased that I was good at it and she often said I had a natural talent. 

So I was, I guess, a pretty common sight in the dojo, and since I was busy participating, I didn't get into much mischief. The classes were fun, but I liked the time between classes the best. That was when Ma would call me back to her classroom and sit down to read a book with me, or do a puzzle or something. She always brought lunch and snacks from home; we could eat a snack in the classroom, but lunch was in the little kitchen-room at the back of the school with the other instructors. (Once in a blue moon someone would order in a pizza, or get take-out fried chicken or burgers, but that was usually saved for someone's birthday.) 

After Sister was born, Ma brought her in with us as well and I ended up in a dilemma. I wanted to go and spar with the beginner classes whenever I could, but I also felt like I should stay near Baby and make sure she didn't cry and interrupt Ma's class. My solution, such as it was, was to stay in Ma's classroom until whoever needed a partner came and got me, and when the sparring was over, to hurry right back to Ma's room. So I didn't learn as much, since I wasn't constantly wandering from class to class and trying out whatever was going on at the time, but I did nip a few potential baby-fuss scenes off before they got out of hand. It was lucky that Baby was very lazy and didn't fuss a lot (not like some I could mention). And it didn't hurt that Ma often told me what a good brother I was and how proud she was to have a responsible son who made things much easier for her. 

Talk about lucky, it's lucky I didn't get a swelled head, hearing that so much. But I guess she knew what she was doing, because I never even considered getting jealous of Sister. What was there to be jealous of when my mother was so approving? 

It was a similar situation when Brother was born- in fact, that was when I learned how to delegate. "Now, you stay here," I would tell Sister in a whisper; "I have to go work, but I'll be back in a few minutes. Just don't let Brother interrupt or anything." At that point, one of two things would happen. Either my sister would nod solemnly and fix her gaze on the baby, determined not to let him get away with anything... or she would frown and tell me that she wanted to come and watch. I had a stock answer for that: "You need to stay with Brother, since he can't walk yet and it wouldn't be fair that he miss it, but I'll show you when I get back." That almost always pacified her, though after the first time or two, Ma asked me to do my demonstrations in the hallway. Apparently it was a source of great distraction to her students, to see me teaching my little sister some simple martial arts move. 

The bottom fell out of my nice little world when I turned seven. I had to go to school.

I know, melodramatic, but that was how I felt at the time. I did NOT want to go to school and have to miss being at the dojo with Ma and sister and brother and being able to spar with anyone and so on and so forth. My sister didn't much like the idea, either- Brother was a bit young to have an opinion yet- but there was no getting around it. Not that we didn't try. In fact, we tried until Pop lost his patience and told me I was going to school like every other boy and he wanted to hear no more about it. And that was the end of that.

So I endured school, and every afternoon I would run from the bus-stop to the dojo and sit in on Ma's classes until she was done and we went home...but it wasn't the same. I was almost a little glad when Ma started telling me to take Brother and Sister home each afternoon, give them their snacks and put them down for naps 'til she got home. My feeling was that if I couldn't be there for the whole day, I didn't really want to be there at all and have to think so much about what I had missed. I'd just rather be doing something else entirely.

That's me- all or nothing.

Thus started my days as the babysitter. A bit of a job for a seven-year-old, but I was pretty good at thinking up distractions for the kids, being of a rather short attention-span myself. Fortunately, as a first-grader, I didn't have a lot of homework and usually managed to get it all done before supper, in spite of the distractions. Ironically, the most successful of my distractions was the one where I explained all my homework to Sister as I did it. Brother was a little too young to get it, but Sister was interested and ended up with a head start in math and reading. It's kinda funny, though; we never told Ma about it. For some reason, we both got it in our heads that she wouldn't approve. I think it had to do with 'the rules'; the rule was, when you were seven, you went to first grade. Neither of us really wanted to know if you could get in trouble for learning first-grade stuff when you weren't seven yet. So we just kept it to ourselves.

The best- or I guess the good- part about the whole not-in-the-dojo-anymore-thanks-to-stupid-school was that even though I wasn't getting to participate in the assorted classes, Ma still kept training me. Every night after supper she'd take me aside for a little while and give me a whole little class to myself, and it was always the best part of my day. I never really thought of it as 'training', honestly- it was just- I dunno, I think I felt my most content then. That is, until bedtime came up. I don't suppose it'll surprise anyone when I say I loathed bedtime, but since I had about as much choice in that as I had in attending school (and since Ma could still pick me up quite easily and swat me if necessary) I learned not to make too major a commotion about it. Most nights, anyway. I think only once did I make such a fuss that Ma 'let' me stay up til my father got home. Learning that his eldest was being loud, disobedient and insolent did nothing to improve his already bad mood. 

Needless to say, I didn't make that mistake again.

Ma didn't believe in physical punishment, most of the time. She might swat one of us once or twice on the backside if we were being especially unruly, but she didn't like canes or belts. My father saw it a bit differently, or maybe I mean traditionally. Traditionally, the woman runs the house and raises the kids, which includes dealing out all the discipline. If you'd been bad enough that the father had to get involved, then it was time for stern discipline, the sort you wouldn't forget in a day or two. That usually meant the belt, since Pop didn't have the time or patience to go cut a cane. It's fair to say that the phrase 'Do I tell your father about this?' was enough to give any of us cold chills (and excellent behavior) immediately. It's also fair to say that not one of us has a scar anywhere, which is a lot more than some of my classmates could say.

But it sure didn't help us develop a good relationship with him.

Second grade was a lot like first, only harder. And things at home were about the same until maybe halfway through the year, when Ma took some time off from the dojo and hyper-boy got born not long after. Things went on pretty much as they had, though; Ma really had her hands full with the new baby, and first brother and sister were used to having me look after them anyway. I'd never known babies could be that loud, and at the most insane hours, too. Sometimes I think the little brat screamed sheerly for his own amusement, having nothing better to do at two or three in the morning. Which isn't to say that throwing fuss-fits was all he did, but it certainly was the most noticeable thing.

The reason I call him hyper-boy a lot is because- well, he is. All his development- sitting, crawling, walking, talking- was faster than most kids', and as soon as he had a little mobility, he was into everything. He got into his 'why' stage at the same time as his 'no' stage- boy, that was interesting, too. Bad enough to have to answer and explain all the things a curious kid can think to ask questions about, but to get told "No!" every time you do so reeeaaallly wears on your patience- trust me. In fact, as far as I can tell, he's still IN the 'no' stage. I dread to think what's going to happen when he hits adolescence.

On the other hand, hyper-boy is totally easy to manipulate, always has been. It works like this: 
Me: "Hey, Sprout, would you (fill in the blank)?" 
Brother: "No."
Me: "No? But- well, yeah, I guess that is too tough/complicated/demanding for you to handle. Sorry, I'll get sister/brother/myself to deal with it." 
Brother: "Is not! I'll do it!" 
Me: *Keeping a very straight face* "Well, if you're sure...if you need some help or something, just holler." 
Brother: "(Some variation on doesn't need help/not a baby/)!!"

It doesn't work so well on his questions, though. My "Well, I'd tell you, but you won't believe me," ploy usually ends up with the "Hah, you don't knoooowww!" response. Can't win 'em all, I guess.

First brother got a little insecure after the hyper one was born. Sister took it in stride, but my quiet, obedient little brother did not like all the noise, or the change in habits, or the noise, or the way the little speed-demon would inquisitively stick his nose and hands into whatever brother was doing, or the noise... yeah. Mainly the noise, but really, the whole thing unsettled him and he got kinda clingy. Okay, maybe the 'kinda' doesn't belong in there...it was a lot like having a second shadow. When I was home, he was with me, in whatever room I was in. If I was doing homework at my desk, he was flopped on my bed or on the floor, playing quietly with his toys. If I went out to the kitchen to get Sister a glass of juice, Brother was right at my heels and sometimes holding on to my hand. I drew the line at the bathroom, though- he stood outside the door and waited for me if I was in there. Sometimes, like when hyper-kid was being more hyper or louder than usual, Brother would tug on my shirt and lift his hands, and that was the signal for me to carry him. Other times he'd come stand by my chair while I was studying, or crawl right into my lap and fall asleep. 

You'd think that at eight years old I might have resented having a three-year-old attach himself to me like that, but really, I seldom minded. 

It's hard to explain. Someone could say it was my family duty, which is always more important than just about anything else. The duty of the elder is teaching and taking responsibility for the younger; the duty of the younger is to obey and learn from the elder. We had that covered, but it wasn't just because it was our assigned roles. My brother depended on me- needed me- and I was pleased and rather flattered that he did. 

Someone could also point out that the concepts of personal time and privacy are things the average family hasn't much use for. That's also true, but again, that wasn't a factor for me. Heck, Brother was so quiet, I hardly knew he was there most of the time, and since he was around all the time, I didn't have to wonder what he was up to or stop what I was doing to check on him. Unlike Sister, who preferred her own room and whom I had to go check on every half-hour or so. She was two years older and much more independent; I respected that and we got along quite well, but she never came to me when she was nervous or worried and in need of a cuddle. She didn't need cuddles. Mostly, she needed somebody taller to reach things for her. 

I guess that's the root of the whole thing. Being needed can be a little...confining, sometimes, but it's totally worth it when someone who trusts you completely falls asleep in your arms, knowing they're perfectly secure and you're there to keep them safe. You feel like someone's given you something very precious, and you want to continue to be worthy of it.

What can I say, I got a big protective streak.