What struck me as rather unexpected upon returning home was that my father seemed much the same as when I had last seen him.
“Oh, you’re back. I see. Well, it’s good enough that you managed to graduate. Wait a moment, I’ll go wash my face.”
Father had been out in the garden doing something. With a grubby handkerchief tied to the back of his old straw hat for shade fluttering behind him, he turned toward the back where the well was.
Having taken it for granted, as any ordinary person would, that I would graduate, I felt ashamed before my father, who was happier than I had expected.
“It’s good enough that you graduated.”
Father repeated these words several times. In my heart, I compared my father’s joy with the expression on the teacher’s face the evening of the graduation ceremony, when he had said “Congratulations” at his dining table. To me, the teacher—who offered verbal congratulations while secretly despising me underneath—seemed somehow nobler than my father, who made such a fuss over something so unremarkable. Before long, I began to feel discomfort at the rustic, ignorant simplicity my father displayed.
“Even graduating from a university isn’t all that remarkable. There are hundreds of graduates every year.”
I ended up speaking to him in this manner. Father made a strange face.
“I’m not saying it’s good enough just because you graduated. Of course graduating is good in itself, but what I mean goes a little deeper. If only you understood that…”
I wanted to hear more from him. Father seemed reluctant to talk, but finally said:
“In short, it means it’s good enough for me. As you know, I’m a sick man. When I saw you last winter, I thought I might have only three or four months left at best. Yet by some good fortune, here I am today. I’m still able to move about without trouble. And then you graduated. That’s why I’m happy. Surely any parent would be happier to see their son finish school while they’re still well, rather than after they’re gone, wouldn’t they? From your broad perspective, being told ‘good enough, good enough’ just for graduating from a university probably isn’t very amusing. But look at it from where I stand—the position is a little different. In short, the graduation is good enough not for you, but for me. Do you understand?”
I was speechless. More embarrassed than apologetic, I hung my head. Father had apparently resigned himself to death while still in good spirits, and seemingly had determined he would die before my graduation. I had been a fool, not even considering how much that graduation would weigh on his heart. I took my diploma from my bag and showed it to my parents as something precious. The diploma had been crushed by something and lost its original shape. Father carefully smoothed it out.
“You should have brought something like this rolled up, in your hand.”
“You should have put something stiff inside,” my mother added from the side.
After gazing at it for a while, Father stood and went to the alcove, placing the diploma squarely in the center where anyone’s eye would immediately fall. The usual me would have said something at once, but the me of that time was entirely unlike my ordinary self. I felt not the least desire to oppose my father or mother. I silently left Father to do as he wished. The diploma, once creased, would not easily obey Father’s hands. No sooner was it set in place than it began at once to fall, reclaiming its natural inclination.
