The story of dubbing 8mm videos and meeting my late father for the first time in 18 years

"Hey, look over here. Look over here!"

Deep inside the computer.
That voice, desperately calling out to the little me.

I was listening to it alone, for the first time in 18 years.

"Hey. Do you think we could dub these videos?"

At some point, my mom started saying that to me every time I went back to my parents' house.
My mom (my biological mother) had carefully stored a large collection of 8mm videos that my father had once filmed.

Every time I visited, I would suddenly remember them and say, "Yeah, maybe," but after looking into it and realizing it would be quite costly, I kept waiting for the right time.

In other words, I was hesitant.

Even so, the reason I finally took the plunge this time was because I wanted to show my children what my father looked like.

"Grandpa, is this him?"

In front of the Buddhist altar. My father's memorial portrait stands there quietly, wearing a huge, beaming smile. He was always a man who would open his mouth wide and laugh heartily. Every time they looked up at that smile, the twins would suddenly say things like that.

My father passed away when I was in my second year of high school.
By the way, my father-in-law passed away when we were in college.

That is why our children didn't really have a clear sense of what a "grandpa" was.

For them.
I want them to know their 'Grandpa'.
I want them to know my 'Dad'.
I want them to meet him. That's what I thought.

──Me too.
I, too, want to see my dad again.

With that thought in mind, I started looking for a company that could dub 8mm videos.

I decided to send five of the 8mm videos I had on hand to a certain company that kept appearing at the top of my search results. It would be a bit more expensive, but by choosing the 'Express Plan,' I could get the data back as quickly as possible.
Unable to suppress my eagerness, I signed up for the 'Express Plan' without hesitation and mailed them to the company.

They must have checked them as soon as they arrived. I was contacted to say that four out of the five could be dubbed. This was just two days after the email saying 'We have received your package'.
Since they were from about 30 years ago, I thought there would be many more that couldn't be played, so I am grateful to the wonderful company and to my mom, who lived a careful life.

There were options to have the data put onto DVD or Blu-ray. However, since we no longer have anything to play DVDs on in our home... I requested delivery via the cloud.
I am also grateful for this convenient world. (Looking up at the sky...)

And before long, it was delivered to me as data.
It was an astonishing speed of just one week from the time I applied.
I couldn't prepare my emotions for how fast it was, so I left the memories in the cloud for a while.

And then.
One day, when my husband was out training and the children were playing as they pleased.

I put on my earphones in the kitchen as if hiding, and prepared myself to take a peek at those memories.
I thought that if I watched them with someone else, I wouldn't be able to cry honestly.
But if I watched them on a quiet night alone and my father wasn't in them.
I felt like I wouldn't be able to recover.

First, the first one.
It was the only one with a title written on the video case: 'Nagasaki Homecoming'.

I didn't think it would look this clear.
I was immediately surprised by the clarity of the footage.

Was this during the Obon homecoming in the year of my grandmother's first anniversary?
My mom was from Nagasaki and lived in a massive detached house where they ran a farm.
The Buddhist altar room was huge, too. All our relatives were gathered in that large altar room and in every one of the many other rooms.

The camera wanders around the large house. It zooms in, goes out of focus. It feels like the person isn't used to operating it yet.

--- "Huh. It should work like this. That's strange."

A voice comes from the back.
............Is this, my father?
It's the voice of a much younger person.
Hmm, maybe it's someone else...

The footage is from 28 years ago. It's no wonder I can't quite place it.
Without really feeling it, I just keep playing it.

The camera films various rooms and the children gathered together in turn. My two older brothers are also on screen, and as soon as they notice the camera, they make funny faces. I can't help but laugh at how young they were back then.
The cameraman laughs heartily, saying, "What are you doing?"

And then, a little girl in a floral dress appears on screen.

The moment she turns around, I know.
It's me, when I was little.

Simple, wearing no makeup of course, letting my curly hair do whatever it wanted, tanned and sun-kissed—that was me in elementary school.
I'm just about the age my second daughter is now.

Ah, how nostalgic.
Little me runs away from the camera.
I was much, much shyer than I am now, a timid girl who hated having her picture taken.

And the cameraman chases after me desperately.

"Hey, Shiimo! Look over here. Look over here!"

That voice called out to me.

In that moment.
What had been uncertain until then came back to me vividly.

────Ah.
It's Dad.
…………It's Dad………….

Dad is calling me.

My name.
He's calling it so tenderly.

“Ah... it's Dad...”

I felt a sharp, hot sensation in the back of my nose.
And in an instant, the image blurred and disappeared behind my tears.

Alone in the kitchen.
I pushed my earphones back into my ears and rewound and played it over and over again.

"Shiimo~"

My father called me, over and over again.

I can hear you.
I can hear you.

In my heart, I answered him every single time.

When he called me,
my father would always draw out the end of my name and add a "♡" to it.

We never said "I love you"
to each other in our conversations.
But.

I am loved by my family.

That conviction still remained in my heart.
It overflowed and turned into tears, accompanied by a certain warmth.
Silently, they flowed down my cheeks.

That's right.
Dad, you used to call me just like this, didn't you?

Wrapped in memories, I quietly watch the footage as it plays.

In Nagasaki, people set off fireworks in front of graves during Obon.
We would set off massive amounts of firecrackers and rocket fireworks, spending the time being grandly noisy.
Having experienced this routine since I was small, I thought it was the norm.
However, I would learn some time later that this was apparently not the case in my hometown of Kanagawa.

I was a timid child and disliked fireworks and firecrackers, so I would stick to my young mother the whole time, looking perpetually grumpy and very unhappy.

When returning to Nagasaki, we would drive from our home at the edge of Kanagawa in my father's wagon, taking about two full days.

Footage remained of the three of us lounging around with the back seats folded down, and of us sleeping side by side at night.

It seems that parents can't help but film their sleeping children, no matter the era.

The remaining three tapes.
Two of them contained footage of elementary school sports days.

But since it was usually my father doing the filming, his own figure naturally didn't appear in the shots.

Well, I'm happy just to have heard his voice, though.

I thought to myself as I played the last tape.

What immediately played was the sight of me at my Shichi-Go-San celebration.

I was more glued to this view of my mother's back than to my own dressed-up self.
I had visited the same shrine for my eldest and second daughters' Shichi-Go-San celebrations.
It was because I looked so much like her back then.

Me. I've really started to look like my mother.

Feeling happy and a little embarrassed.
I watched over the family heading to the shrine visit.

The time between finishing registration and the start of the prayer. Perhaps feeling restless, or perhaps out of curiosity. From behind the camera, I heard my eldest brother's voice. It seems he was filming.

"Shiimo! Over here!"

My eldest brother, before his voice changed, is calling me. Whether I notice it or not, I am wandering around looking at my surroundings.

Before long, a person in a large suit, seeing this, gently put their arm around my shoulder.

"Look, Shiimo! Hey! Smile, smile!"

There was
a nostalgic figure crouching down with a smile next to me.

He was 180cm tall.
With his solid build, he played as a lineman in college for American football and led his team to a national championship.
Even though he was purely Japanese, he didn't look like it, with his dark skin, white teeth, and deep-set features.

He looked so much like him that we even called our father 'Little KONISHIKI'.
Really. I have no idea what that was even about.

“...He was on there...”

I rewound the tape and pressed the stop button.
And then, I stared at that figure again and again.

There he was. My father was definitely there.
My father, who was about the same age as I am now, and my mom.

“What are you watching?”

Before long.
My eldest daughter came to see how I was doing.
I quietly showed her the footage, trying not to let her notice my tears.

“Oh! That's Grandma. She's so young. She hasn't changed at all.”
“Is this little kid you, Mom? Wow, so cute!”

My eldest daughter seemed happy to see what her family looked like in a time she didn't know.

“The person on the screen here is Grandpa. Mom's father.”

I rewound the footage and showed her Grandpa.

Is that so? My eldest daughter gazed at her grandfather, who was much, much larger than she had probably imagined.

"Shiimo~"

From deep within the footage, my name is called.
So tenderly.
Hearing that, my daughter laughs.
So happily.

"Ahaha, wow, he's really calling you."
The face she makes as she looks up at me has come to resemble mine so much.

"……Yeah. He really is calling me, isn't he?"

I laughed too.
I felt that familiar stinging heat in the back of my nose again, but I didn't cry.
I knew that the reason I cried that day was not because I was sad.

To think I could meet him again.
To think I could have my name called once more.
To think I could show my children today the version of myself from that day.

To my late father.
To think I could meet him. Again.

It has been 18 years since my father last called my name.
Those years.
They have turned my tears into something warm.

"Hehe. That's right. That's how it was..."

That day. After putting the kids to bed.
In our living room, I was watching footage of my father with Mom.

"He loved new things, you know. He bought this video camera right away. He was always filming something."
"Wow, this shrine hasn't changed at all, has it?"
"Oh, that's Uncle XX. And over here is Mr. XX. That's right, Mr. XX was there too. Oh my, who is this child... I have no idea~ there were just so many people..."

The Nagasaki chapter, the sports day chapter. While watching the old footage together, Mom and I listened to my father's voice.

"Shii-mo~"

Mom's face softened at the sound of him calling my name again and again.

"Hehe... That's right. That's how it was..."

Mom said that, and took a sip of her beer.

That night, we didn't cry.
We just laughed and watched the footage with nostalgia.
Probably, while holding back all sorts of emotions.

Mom and I aren't very honest with our feelings.
Or rather, I think I take after my mother, who isn't very honest.
We are exactly alike in how we can't really show our weaknesses to others.
That's why I understood.

Mom had surely decided to cry in her heart.
Because there must be tears she wouldn't show her daughter.

So, I've decided to gift this to her along with a computer next time.
Then, surely.

Mom is honest and straightforward, too.
Because you should be able to reunite with the person you love.

Hey. Dad.

I haven't forgotten. I haven't forgotten.

To be precise, I remembered.
That this was your voice.

────Because.

You left for the other side too soon, Dad.

But you know, I was able to remember.
So I'm okay now.
When it's hard, I'll watch it again.

Hey, and then, you'll call my name again,
just like you always did, right?

It reminds me that I am loved.

Hey.

I'll still make you feel lonely for a while.
Wait for me.
Please wait for me.

Until the day I go beyond that footage.
And go to see you again.