Ikue The Story Teller

Whenever our big family gathers—like we did two months ago for New Year’s, though it feels like forever ago—I always look forward to one thing the most: listening to Ikue’s stories.

Ikue can do all kinds of voices. A brave young hero. A little boy in trouble. Even animals—her tiger growls and frog croaks sound so real, they make the little ones squeal. Her funny stories make us giggle. Her scary ones give us goosebumps. And some, well… they make us think. Really think.

This time, the gathering is extra special—it’s Ikue’s birthday.

The storytelling will happen after dinner, in the room behind the garden. We call it the “story room.” Ikue isn’t the only artist in the family. Some of us paint, some play music, some write poems. Everyone says it’s “in the blood,” not just a talent. That’s why the house has rooms for all kinds of art.

Ikue always sits on a big soft chair in front. The youngest kids sit on the floor closest to her. The older ones behind them. Grown-ups line the sides. That’s the rule. Even if a younger kid is taller than the others, the order stays the same. The only exceptions? Babies on laps—and me.

But today I was late. My stomach was upset. Still, even though I’m not the youngest anymore, no one would dare take my spot at the front. Ikue would make sure of that. After all, I’m her favorite. Her cherry blossom.

As I reached the story room, I heard her voice already—soft and magical. I caught words like dragon, magic pond, and giant.

Oh, Ikue… why didn’t you wait for me?

I slid the door open. Everyone turned to look. Ikue stopped mid-sentence, jumped down from her big chair, and ran toward me.

“Grandma!” she cried, throwing her arms around me. “I thought you were asleep! Dad said not to wake you.”

I glanced at Harue, my third son, sitting with the other adults.

“Happy seventh birthday, Ikue,” I said, hugging her back. “I’m sorry—I left your gift in my room. This tummy ache almost defeated me.”

“That’s okay.” She took my hand and led me past all sixteen of my grandchildren, placing me on my favorite red cushion.

Before I sat down, I looked around at them all. Sixteen little lights, each with a name I’ll never forget. There’s Ikue, of course, today’s birthday girl. Ito, the oldest—she’s about to have a baby. Sinji, recently married. I remember when he lived with me for a few years, always getting into trouble, always in my heart. Kenta, the quiet artist. Yui, who never stops talking and dreams of being a doctor. Miseo, the best little cook I know. Jiro—what grade is he in now? And why is his hair blue? That boy never stops surprising me.

Then there’s Naomi, just a baby. Kenneth, starting school this year. Claire, always singing. Michael, the drummer. And a few more. Honestly, why do their parents give them such foreign names?✦