The English Notebook That Was Never Thrown Away ー　June 24, 2026 (Wed) Reiwa8

Today is the day I am being admitted to the hospital.

I woke up once during the night, fell asleep again, and then woke up around five in the morning.

As I lay there thinking I might rest a little longer, I happened to pick up one of my daughter’s old notebooks.

I do not know why that notebook alone had survived.

We had sorted through and thrown away so many things when we moved, yet somehow that one notebook remained.

When I opened it, I found that there was not a single word of Japanese inside.

It was an English notebook from her sixth-grade year.

The pages were filled with English diaries and compositions, along with corrections and comments written by her teacher in red ink.

At the time, I knew she was studying English.

But I had rarely read what she had actually written.

This morning, for the first time, I found myself reading the words of my daughter from nearly thirty years ago.

Inside the notebook was a sheet of paper listing her goals.

To read English books for at least thirty minutes every day.

To memorize five English words every day.

To pass the Eiken Grade 2 examination.

And to be kinder and more patient with younger children.

All of it was written in English.

As it turned out, she did pass Eiken Grade 2 while still in sixth grade.

Her older brother had passed the same exam a year earlier, when he was in fifth grade.

At the time, I was involved in English education myself, so I never had a special attachment to the exam itself.

In fact, I knew that passing a test and truly being able to communicate in English were not always the same thing.

However, in those days, immersion education was still relatively new, and there were few ways to show parents how much their children’s English skills were developing.

For many families, Eiken became a simple and visible measure of progress.

What concerned me more was not whether my daughter would pass, but whether she would feel inferior because her brother had passed first.

Reading that goal sheet now, what stays with me is not the fact that she passed the exam.

What stays with me is the image of a sixth-grade girl writing that she wanted to learn five new English words every day and quietly working toward her own goals.

While I was worrying about things as a parent, she was moving forward in her own way, at her own pace.

Only now do I realize that.

I also found one of her old schedules.

She commuted from Shizuoka to Numazu, came home, did her homework, attended lessons, studied, and went to bed.

Many nights she did not fall asleep until ten-thirty or eleven.

English, piano, electone lessons, swimming, and cram school.

Looking back, it was an incredibly busy life for a child.

Meanwhile, I rushed from work to pick up the children, prepared dinner, and drove them to various lessons and activities.

At the time, it all seemed normal.

I simply wanted to give my children every opportunity I could.

The notebook also brought back memories of swimming.

My daughter started swimming lessons when she was only a baby.

I joined her in the pool during baby swimming classes.

Wearing flotation devices, she would move through the water toward me, and I would lift her into my arms.

Even now, I can clearly remember her little face.

Most days I do not think about it at all, yet the memory remains.

My daughter is now thirty-five years old.

Life does not always follow the path parents imagine.

She has chosen a life very different from what we once expected.

And that is perfectly all right.

This morning, I was not looking at the woman she is today.

Through an old notebook written entirely in English, I met the sixth-grade girl she once was.

As parents, we often think we know our children well.

Yet there are always parts of them we never fully see.

Even when we live together every day, we may never completely understand their hopes, their goals, or the quiet efforts they make.

On this quiet morning before my hospital admission, a notebook that somehow escaped being thrown away gave me back a small piece of precious time I had almost forgotten.

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