I hear my father, kenjutsu instructor, Kenji Hiko come through the door. At once, my mother and I rush to greet him. We bow our heads low to show proper deference. My father returns a slight nod. His face is stoic and unmoved by emotion. This is the proper way for a man to greet his family, especially for one who’s a proud warrior. However, being the man that he is, my father soon breaks character and his face alights with a smile.

He steps to an inch in front of my mother and takes her by the hands. They search one another’s eyes and say in an instant what words couldn't speak in an eon. Nonetheless, he still delivers his daily haiku as is customary for my family.

Cherry blossom lips

Move me with fierce desire

To kiss my good wife.

My mother, Kasumi, leans forward to receive his kiss and replies:

With joy and honor

Rejoicing in your pure love

I accept your kiss.

My parents then proceed to make out like newly weds while I tap my feet waiting for my turn to greet my father. When he finally finishes smooching, he turns his attention to me.

My sincerest wish

Is happiness for my child.

I give my blessing.

He kisses me on the forehead. I reply:

My father, my king

I promise to make you proud

With my sword and life.

He takes me by the hands, “My precious daughter, I am always proud of you. Come now, let us have our tea.”

Following him, we move into the next room, which harbors our small rectangular table. The rest of the room is only sparsely decorated. There are a few scrolls written in kanji on the walls, scattered plants, including my father’s prized bonsai, and a large painted vase in the back corner. Yet its relative emptiness is rendered a work of art by the meticulous care with which my mother keeps the room and the entire house flawlessly clean.

My father and I sit on the floor with our legs tucked underneath the low table. He sits on its left side facing into the room, whereas I sit on its opposite side. We wait for my mother to bring the teapot from the kitchen, which is adjoined to the room’s left side in a tiny compartmentalized space. Sadly, our tiny kitchen is standing room only, but it works out since only my mother and I use it. She believes that it’s a woman’s job to prepare food and tea. That’s how it is with my parents. They’re both tradition-oriented Chowans.

With the teapot in hand, my mother comes towards the table taking dainty steps with her thin legs poking out of the bottom of her pink kimono. Carefully, she pours a bit of hot tea into my father’s cup, then into mine, and then into her own. Once her family is suitably served, she takes her rest at the table, sitting beside me rather than my father.

He looks at his two girls proudly, “So my beloveds, tell me, how were your days?”

My mother answers, “Very peaceful dear. And yours Fuu?”

“Stressful. There are so many disruptive idiots in my classes that it’s hard to listen to the teachers.”

My father sighs deeply and then takes a sip of tea. “My Fuu, you’re a good student and a hard worker. I know that you’ll be able to excel even in difficult situations.”

“Yes dad, but it’s still annoying.”

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He and my mother exchange sympathetic glances. He continues, “You know what? Why don’t we do something special to celebrate Fuu’s hard work?”

“What do you have in mind dear?” asks my mother.

“How about the three of us go out for ice cream?”

I take a sip of tea. “We don’t have money to waste on something as superfluous as ice cream.”

My father’s smile withdraws uncomfortably. “Come on Fuu. Your father can afford to spoil his girls every now and then.”

I look at him seriously. I can see that he’s practically begging me with his eyes. My father is generous and kindhearted to a fault. I have to be strict with him or else he’d ruin himself attempting to please my mother and me. But I suppose that every now and then I should cut him a break.

“Alright. Fine dad, but one scoop not two.”

He grunts in disagreement. “One scoop for your mother and me, and two scoops for you.”

“No father. That’s not fair.”

My mother seizes my right arm. “Please Fuu. We’re your parents. Let us dote on you for a change.”

I shake my head with apprehension. Ice cream is not a good way to spend money. But if it makes my parents happy, then I must consent.

“Fine. I’ll have one scoop strawberry and one scoop vanilla.”

“That’s my girl!” my father chimes pleased.

We rise from the table and head out the door at once. Unfortunately, the first thing we see when we leave our house is the brick wall across the way. It has the words “Wild Men” tagged on it in big green letters. The gang of delinquents known as the Tiger Lily Wild Men fancy themselves as legitimate artists, but in actuality they’re nothing more than a bunch of high school students and dropouts with poor tastes. They do their graffiti work in the cover of night like the cowards that they are. I’d love to give the ones who painted the wall a piece of my mind, but I don’t know who they are or where to find them.

Walking down the crumbly gray sidewalk, I soon pick up on the second most noticeable thing in my environment. The streets of our town, Prosperity, are cluttered with garbage. How this is possible in the face of so many readily available trash cans, I don’t know. Perhaps it has something to do with the subconscious mind demanding one’s external environment to match one’s internal reality. We, the people of Prosperity, are unanimously poor. We have the worst of everything from schools, to unemployment, to crime rates, and suicides. On the other hand, teenage pregnancies are way up this year, so there's that. But to sum the town up in a phrase, Prosperity is our own little ghetto wonderland.

As usual, my family doesn’t travel far before encountering a crime in progress. On this particular occasion, we find a man beating his girlfriend senseless. He has her pressed against a brick wall in a narrow alley. She covers herself as best as she can while he pounds her furiously with his fists. My father, being the man that he is, jumps in immediately to save her.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” he calls to the abuser.

The man doesn’t take kindly to my father’s words. Rather, he turns on him with evil eyes and pulls a metal chain from his pocket.

“Wrong day pops.”