Musuta Kusaka's Everyday Journey with Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion in Japan

That day, she came too. Every morning, exactly at 7:30. She broke through the front door without ringing the doorbell, and came in with such force that it was suspicious that she was wearing shoes. My wife and I both knew this, and we left the door unlocked.

My morning routine is to open the living room sliding door with a clatter and yell, “It’s time to go to school!” Whether it’s sunny, rainy, or snowy.

K-ko is 9 years old and in the third grade at a nearby elementary school. She’s a classmate of my daughter’s.

She has another routine, which is patrolling the Kusakabe household. She goes into my work space, my family’s bedroom, the bathroom, the closet, wherever she goes, and pulls out something and asks, “What’s this?” It could be my work tools, my wife’s cosmetics, or my daughter’s toys.
Just to be sure, this unfolds every morning at 7:30, according to the calendar.

There’s no way that K-ko could miss my knitting box. She picks up a small red flag-like thing and asks while playing with it: “What’s this?” “Whoa! Don’t touch it! The old man is knitting a scarf!” Knitting needles aren’t flagpoles! Don’t shake them! The thread will come off! Put that down right now!

She must have found the man eating foam at the mouth with his bedhead amusing. K-chan yelled, her small eyes and mouth wide open. “I’ll do it too!” From what I heard, it seemed she liked art. And even without listening to her, it seemed she was the type who wouldn’t back down once she got started. I had no choice. I’d have to accompany her until my daughter was ready for school. I handed her the remaining knitting needles and yarn. “Here’s K-ko’s. First, cast on the stitches.”

A cast-on is the foundation for building up stitches. It is also called the first step. There are only four steps to wind the yarn, but it is complicated, like hooking this one in front of that one and dropping it in between. I knew
that K-ko would give up while practicing this.

Her innocent fingers and my gnarled ones worked in sync as we knitted and redid the stitches. “If my mom found out I was doing this at my uncle’s house, my mom would get mad at me. ” “Why?” “Because my mom gets angry easily. She’s always angry. Knitting at a stranger’s house.” There may be a lot going on behind K-chan’s energy. Being a “stranger,” I sat right next to her. Thumb, index finger, thumb, squeeze. Thumb, index finger, thumb, squeeze. Yes, the tempo of “Soap bubbles are flying.” It’s okay to do it slowly.

But. It was a mistake to teach her slowly. K-ko easily understood, and got the hang of it before she could give up. Her fingers were relaxed, and she knitted the stitches together briskly. Though the stitches were still rough, the number of mistakes was steadily decreasing. A clumsy personality, but careful work.

“This is so much fun,” K-ko said with a smug smile. And then Eureka! I shouted again with the same excitement. “I’m not going to school today! I’m doing this!” No, no, no, no! You have to go to school!

But K-ko didn’t move, clutching her knitting needles and ball of yarn like a rugby player holding a ball. I was at a loss as to what to do, unable to forcibly take her away, when my daughter whispered in my ear. I could smell her freshly brushed teeth. “K-ko, she don’t stay in the classroom during class, she wander around outside.” I see. I see. So that’s how it is, K-ko.

I turned to K-ko and said, “K-ko, you can take that to school.” “What? Seriously?” “If the teacher says anything, tell them I told you to take it.”

My wife, who had been watching, yelled at me loudly. “No! Don’t take something like that to school. If someone bumps into you, what will happen?” There she was, in Oita dialect. She was genuinely angry. “It’s okay. K-chan wouldn’t be that rough. If knitting needles are dangerous, scissors are much more likely to be dangerous.” “Don’t be silly! This is about the kids! Stop it!”

I put caps on the tips of K-ko’s knitting needles and put them in a small bag. “K-ko, keep the caps on the tips. Only take them off when you’re knitting. Keep them on otherwise. Okay?” “OK” “Then put them in this bag.
” “Okay” “And don’t run. It’s dangerous. Got it?” “Okay.” K-ko handed me a ball of yarn. I shoved that in my bag as well.

In fact, I had a good chance of winning. The elementary school my daughters attend is a public one, but it is more understanding of individual differences in development.
Children who can’t sit during class can take a walk, and those who can sit can read their favorite books. Some children wrap themselves in curtains to shut out noise. There are probably many invisible problems, but I confirmed on the open day that everyone is attending class with a moderate level of indifference.

The homeroom teacher probably understands K-ko’s knitting. It would be easier for him to keep an eye on K-ko if she was in the classroom where he could see her, rather than wandering around.

“K-ko, if you don’t like studying, you can knit at your desk. If the teacher takes it away from you, you can just give it to her.” K-ko grabbed her bag and headed to school. She was running.

That evening. She came home. It was a rattle! “It was done in no time! What are you going to do next?” She quietly took out the knitting needles from her bag. There were 20 cast-on stitches that were much more even than in the morning. “With these, I can knit a coaster.” I took them with both hands.

When I asked my daughter, she said that K-ko had attended the class properly that day. Instead, she was absorbed in knitting during the break. Children move according to their own equation. All adults can do is help them find the variable of “like” that goes into it.

From the next day, K-ko and I started knitting together. It’s only for about 10 minutes in the morning when I feel like it.
I continued knitting the scarf. K-ko is knitting a coaster. We practiced knitting and purl while knitting and undoing and getting bored.

Then I introduced myself and we started to call each other Uncle Musuta.
We were 46 and 9 years old, and we became each other’s first knitting friends.