"Mom," my 8-year-old son said to me about a month ago. "I want to sumo wrestle."
This request did not surprise me. First of all, my boys are always making interesting requests, such as:
"Mom, I want a clone."
"Mom, I want to name my lizard after you."
"Mom, I want a new chocolate ice cream cone. Mine just melted on the backseat of your car."
Another reason why this sumo request did not surprise me was, well, we live in Tokyo and sumo wrestling is Japan's national sport.
Not to mention, of course, there was the fact that my boys had been sumo wrestling in the living room every night after dinner.
"That's my new rug!" I yelled.
"No, Mom, it's the wrestling ring."
"Mom! Mom! Guess what?" My son said to me a few weeks ago. "I made it! I'm going to the tournament!" Sure enough, he had met the very strict criteria for an invitation to the Chofu City Wanpaku Sumo Tournament:
He had attended every practice.
He attended practice with a good attitude.
He demonstrated sportsmanship.
He showed excellent sumo skill and focus.
And, he had promised the coach I could get him to the tournament by 7:30 in the morning.
"7:30! 7:30!" I said. "Don't sumo wrestlers sleep in on the weekends?"
And, so there we were, early Sunday morning for the annual youth sumo tournament between the American School and two Japanese schools.
"You're next!" the teacher told my son. "Think of your move." (In hindsight, instead of focusing on his own move, it would have been better for my son to focus on his opponent's move which was basically this: plow my head into the stomach of the American kid and push him over the edge of the ring in the next 15 seconds.)
"It's ok," my son's teacher said when my son lost. "It's double elimination. You're still in it."
"You know what this means," I said to my boy. "This means it's comeback time. It's time to study other matches. It's time to focus on the moves. It's time to clear your mind. It's time to work on the intense eye stare."
My son started to walk away.
"Hey, where are you going?" I asked.
"To the concession stand," he said. "It's time to eat."
I started to give him the intense eye stare.
"Don't worry, Mom," he said. "Winning the sumo match is part mind game. And, my mind is made up to win."
And he did. When it was his turn to wrestle again, he won. One match after another match after another. And, he actually had a signature move: to grab his opponent's mowashi, dance around the ring a bit and then fling the opponent to the ground.
"Mom, Mom, I got a silver medal! I got second place!" A silver medal! Second place in the sumo tournament? Wow! Wow! The last time my boy won anything sports-related was in kindergarten. He won the Donut Eating Contest. And the prize was a glass of milk.
("C'mon, Mom," my son said. "You make it sound like it was easy. It wasn't easy. The donuts weren't just sitting on a table. They were hanging on a string.")
All I know is--I absolutely loved the sumo tournament. In America, I may have been a soccer mom, but, in Tokyo, I'm sumo mom.
