The Talent for Playing with Children with All One's Might

I do not have any children.

In fact, I don't even have a wife, a girlfriend, or anyone I have a crush on.

Let me clarify, this article is not a self-deprecating story about my bachelorhood.

I have five nephews and nieces.

Three are my brother's children, and two are my sister's.

Ranging from middle schoolers down to a three-year-old, they are all mischievous little brats—I mean, good kids.

I keep a certain distance from them.

Part of that is because I'm socially awkward, but also because the rest of my relatives are way too doting.

Grandma and Grandpa (my parents) can't get enough of their grandchildren, and both my brother's and sister's families are quite indulgent, so for better or worse, my nephews and nieces run wild as they please.

Spoiling them too much is not good. Thinking this, I became the last line of defense to keep the five little monsters in check. ...Well, since I was the youngest child myself and all my cousins were older, I just don't really know how to interact with small children. In any case, when the other adults have tried their best, held on as long as they could, and simply can't handle it anymore, Ultraman Arlon appears.

In short, I don't actively try to interact with my nephews and nieces, and since they sense that atmosphere to some extent, please understand that there is a bit of distance between us.

I live at my parents' house.

In other words, I live with my parents.

Since both my brother's and sister's families live nearby, the monsters frequently descend upon our home.

My sister, in particular, comes over almost every day regardless of her work shift, so she might be the biggest monster of them all.

I digressed a bit, but that is how frequently my nephews and nieces come and go from our house.

Last Saturday, my sister's eldest son (a first grader) came over. For the sake of this article, I will call him 'Taro'.

Elementary school was closed, but since my sister had to work, she asked me to look after Taro from morning until evening.

This kind of thing is actually a daily occurrence, but that day was a little different.

In the living room, Taro was playing with origami. Grandma was there too.

Taro was making a paper airplane out of origami. But, perhaps because it was his first time, he couldn't get it to fly well. Taro asked, 'Grandma, how do I make it fly?' but Grandma didn't have any knowledge of paper airplane manufacturing. Furthermore, Grandma had a grand project of making a giant origami crane out of a June calendar. She had no spare energy to devote to paper airplanes. I wondered if we should put out a call for a first-class paper airplane engineer.

While thinking about such things and not thinking about them, I also picked up some origami paper. I don't have a first-class paper airplane engineer license, but I have manufactured and flown them as an amateur many times. There are no blueprints. However, I have experience. Relying on my memory, I breathed life into a single sheet of paper. Oh, wait, are airplanes inorganic? Well, whatever. Fold here, do this and that, and there, it's finished. A paper airplane as stylish as the Ultra Hawk 1 was completed (this is the eye-catching image for this article).

It was time for the maiden flight. Watch this, Taro. Behold the glorious, heroic figure of the Ultra Hawk 1 that your uncle made! 3, 2, 1, liftoff! Whoosh. The Ultra Hawk 1 drew an arc like a moonsault and crashed. I-impossible. There was no mistake in my calculations... actually, there was. Memories from over 20 years ago are not to be trusted. It was an acrobatic feat that would put the Blue Impulse to shame, but this wasn't it. I wanted it to fly straighter, more normally.

However, I couldn't give up here. I refolded it many times, repeating trial and error. Next to me, Grandma, who had been working on her own project, finished a crane that flapped its wings. Whoa, amazing. You can make things like that? As a result, by introducing a second sheet of origami, the airframe stabilized, and the Ultra Hawk 1 managed to save face. If anything, it had a sharp trajectory reminiscent of an Eye Slugger, though.

Perhaps because he was watching his uncle busily doing research, Taro seemed to have become interested in the Ultra Hawk 1. 'I want to make one too,' he said, volunteering to join the corps himself. Oh, Taro. You understand, don't you? This romance, no, this romanticism. Well then, let your uncle teach you. First, you fold here. And then... wait, how do you do this part? Let's dismantle the Ultra Hawk 1 for a moment, just for a moment. Since this part is like this... oh, you should fold it a bit more firmly. Hmm... once I dismantled it, I couldn't quite figure it out anymore... Oh! It's like this! So this part goes here and... Alright, it's finished! Let's call this airframe the 'Shin Ultra Hawk 1' (in my uncle heart). Time for the flight! Watch, Taro! Behold the glorious, heroic figure of the Shin Ultra Hawk 1 that I made with you! 3, 2, 1, liftoff! Whoosh. The Shin Ultra Hawk 1 drew an arc like a moonsault and crashed. I-impossible.

After repeating further improvements like that, the Shin Ultra Hawk 1 was also able to fly like a gale-force arrow. Grandpa, who had been watching the whole thing, said one thing to me: 'You know, when you have kids of your own, you're the type to play right along with them.'

I don't know if it was a frank observation or sarcasm, but those words hit the mark. I don't have the feeling of 'playing with them.' Rather, I feel like they are playing with me.

Something similar happened before. It was when my brother's family came to visit my parents' house. At the time, my brother's sons were in the lower grades of elementary school and were obsessed with Beyblade. They owned many colorful Beyblades and even had a huge dedicated stadium. They would go out of their way to bring it, and with the shout of 'Go... Shoot!', they would crash their Beyblades into each other with a clatter, making a fuss about who won and who lost. When you do it many times, it seems you get bored of playing against the same opponent. Since they fight each other almost every day, that's only natural. The two monsters, bored of their long-standing one-on-one battles, would try to drag the adults nearby into the Beyblade swamp, asking, 'Dad, play with us?' or 'Mom, play with us?' However, the adults wouldn't enter the swamp. The men were drinking, and the women were chatting away. There were no adults with a Beyblade soul in that place. Except for one person.

(I... I want to play...)

That uncle is me. I was just barely of the generation of the first-generation Beyblade, so I had some experience. Although I didn't own my own Beyblade, I remember borrowing one from a friend and playing with it. We used to play in what must have been a worn-out frying pan instead of a stadium. I am aware that I have enough of a Beyblade soul to get sentimental remembering my faint childhood days.

But, this uncle is socially awkward. I can't bring myself to say 'Let's play together.' That's when my brother's wife (the nephews' mother) provided a golden assist. 'Why don't you play with Arlon?' Nice! Ni-nice! A nice assist that would put Kaoru Mitoma to shame. There was no way I was going to miss this chance. 'Well then, shall I give it a little spin?' The ancient Beyblader Arlon joins the fray! I nervously choose my partner. Which one should I pick? I borrowed one of the red and silver metallic-looking cool ones from my nephews' collection, and Go... Shoot! Clatter, clatter... whirrrrr... plop. I can't win. Since they fight every day, my nephews are incredibly good. I tried to act cool as an ancient Beyblader, but come to think of it, I didn't even own a Beyblade, did I? No matter how many times I play, I can't win. I can't win, to a surprising degree. I-impossible.

"This one is stronger."
"That one over there is mediocre."

I see, so as a true Beyblader, it's only natural to understand the characteristics of a Beyblade.
But isn't it not very fun to use a strong one and win against an opponent using a weak one?
That's what I thought, but I borrowed the red and gold, cool-looking one that was handed to me with a "You can use this," and went... 3, 2, 1, Let it rip!

Clang, clang... whirrrrrrr... plop.

That was fun!
This is incredibly fun!
As expected, the spin is different; good ones are great. It deflects things just like I want it to.
The ancient Beyblader's long-awaited first victory.

In the end, after about 30 matches, I got bored, so I forced an exit by saying, "Okay, I win! That's it for now!," but I feel like the distance between me and my nephews has shrunk.
My brother, who had been watching the whole thing, said one thing to me.

"Adults who can play at the same level as children are precious and necessary."

To me, there isn't a big difference between playing with children and playing with friends of my own generation.
Of course, since I'm an adult, I make minor adjustments like giving them a handicap because I have more physical strength and knowledge than children, but when I play, I play with all my might.
If I win, I'm happy.
If I lose, I'm frustrated.
If I fail, I try again and again.
It's just that, but being able to naturally play with children with all your might might be a talent in a sense.
If that attitude has a positive influence on my nephews, then it is the greatest reward for an uncle.

In any era, raising children is not an easy task.

I don't know what the right answer is, and it's doubtful whether there even is a right answer.

If I had to name one thing, it's that whether they are adults or children, they are ultimately the same human beings, and perhaps there is no hierarchy between them.

Naturally, there are many things that adults must teach children.

On the other hand, there is also much to learn from children. After all, adults are not perfect beings either.

By treating children as individual human beings, I feel like things just "feel right," though I can't explain it well.

Playing with my nephews is a precious memory and a great lesson for me.

My nephews.
By the time you grow up and become adults, the memories of paper airplanes and Beyblades might be long forgotten, but your uncle will never forget them.
If I ever have children, I'll play with them again.

As I was thinking about that, my grandfather's nagging crossed my mind.

"Before children, you need to find a wife."

I should clarify that this article is not a self-deprecating story about my bachelorhood.

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