Parenting

Beyond Wonderland by Akira Ohiso

On our second trip to Pullman, I continued on I-90 instead of State Route 26 as we crossed the Columbia River. I wanted to try another route and have options for future trips to visit my eldest at Wazzu.

Route 26 is a one-lane driving experience, whereas the I-90 always has one or two passing lanes. It’s a more leisurely drive.

We climb the eastern side of the Columbia’s canyon walls towards George, home to The Gorge Amphitheater. Last summer, two women were shot and killed during the Beyond Wonderland music festival at a nearby campground. A 26-year-old man said he had taken psychedelics that made him feel like he was going to die. Without a gun, he would have just had a bad trip.

We took a lunch break at Schree’s Truck Stop. Since Fat Burger was closed, we ate at Subway. The George Sandoval Market and a food truck outside looked delicious but crowded. Many Spanish-speaking men and women were sitting out front and socializing. Some were drinking, others were bloodshot and wobbly.

I’ve noticed agricultural workers in cornfields as pickup trucks haul water and Porta Potties along the edges of the corn rows. I learned that the number of domestic workers in Washington State has decreased due to the H-2A Temporary Agricultural Workers Program. Temp workers generally have fewer attachments than domestic workers, so they are preferred for economic reasons. Domestic workers have roots and rights.

Although the law now requires hourly wages, many workers prefer piecemeal work because it incentivizes them to work faster and make more money. Hourly wages can be a pay cut.

Inadequate housing, racism, mental health issues like anxiety and depression, limited healthcare, and addiction are common concerns for workers.

The Subway is inside the truck stop, a standard convenience store with restrooms. Some foods cater to agricultural workers. The restroom is disgusting, with puddles around urinals, wet toilet paper mixed in, and missing tiles with rust-colored drips. Traffic is busy with a mix of travelers passing through, sun-leathered locals, the Latino worker community, and, on occasion, Gorge concertgoers from cities and suburbs grabbing munchies, alcohol, and smokes. I fall in the city folk passing-through bucket.

Mulleted young men in work gear buy giant energy drinks and jump in their trucks. A glassy-eyed man holds a 12-pack of Coors Light by the cardboard handle and walks furtively around the building, out of sight. At Subway, though, we all know the rules.

Near Sprague, we head south on State Route 23. It's a winding single-lane road through miles of remote dry farmland. Harvester tracks leave attractive designs in the waves. No one is driving south with me for 70 miles until I get closer to Colfax. Sometimes, a vehicle passes going North. Otherwise, humanity is absent.

I drive through a quaint Main Street with old buildings and storefronts in St. John, but many look closed, and I don't see a single person. It looked like a Hollywood set and felt unsettling. Growing up in a populated New York suburb, I can easily be terrified by folk horror. Fed a steady diet of seventies and eighties horror, I know a flat tire could reveal a town's secret.

I'm relieved when I see a sign for Pullman 🪧.

Orientation by Akira Ohiso

We arrive in Pullman around 6 p.m. Parents and incoming first-year students wearing crimson crowd the hotel lobby. Our freshman, a big sports fan, is wide-eyed and excited as we pass Gesa Field.

We eat dinner at Birch & Barley and then crash. Orientation is at 8 a.m. My sleep is intermittent because the pillows are always too soft and the mattress too hard.

***

The complimentary breakfast always features people from disparate places sharing space in flip-flops and summer wear. I thoroughly enjoy the polite camaraderie as we silently maneuver the bacon tongs and Fruity Pebbles dispenser like good Americans.

We dropped him off at orientation and explored the campus and Pullman. The modern Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art, also known as the “Crimson Cube,” is a standout building designed by architect Jim Olson of Seattle-based Olson Kundig. Schnitzer is a prodigious art collector and philanthropist of the arts.

There is a variety of public art on campus, such as “Technicolor Heart” by art Jim Dine, installed in 2008—or “The Caring Call” by Larry Anderson to commemorate the university’s veterinary program and centennial in 1990.

Veterinary medicine is an example of land grant schools focused on practical education like agriculture and science, a mandate of the Morrill Acts of 1862 and 1890 that provided land and funding during Reconstruction after the Civil War.

I believe land grant funding continues to be vital to education. Practical skills and trades are in high demand again as people turn to computers and fragile digital careers. Our son will study architecture, a timeless trade that requires adaptation to climate change and new environmental realities.

We walk to the Voiland College of Engineering And Architecture. The triptych of bas-reliefs over a set of doors harkens to 1920s design and depicts engineering, science, and the literal fruits of industry.

Ellie and I enjoy walking the campus and can picture our son thriving in an environment that will challenge his intelligence and curiosity. A striking white sculpture of wavy vertical columns is situated at the top of a grassy hill. It's called “Palouse Columns” by Robert Maki and symbolizes the landscape of the Palouse. From different vantage points, the waves interact with each other and the setting to create the movement of rolling farmland.

***

Main Street, currently a dirt road, is undergoing a significant infrastructure upgrade. Project Downtown Pullman is creating a people-centered shopping district to benefit local businesses, students, visitors, and residents.

The Jackson Block building was erected in 1915 and housed The Grand Theater until 1928. In 1930, the theater was remodeled as the Audian; the marquee is still present today.

Sidewalk detours direct us to N Grand Avenue, where the Cordova Theater, a silent picture house, once entertained Pullman residents. It was the first theater in Pullman to screen “talkies,” when films featured sound and dialogue. It’s now the Pullman Foursquare Church.

Across the street, the Regional Theatre of the Palouse (RTOP) is performing Broadway shows.

Near Palouse Games, a woman wears a faded t-shirt that says, “Biden Quit.” In light of recent events, be careful what you wish for. We cross N Grand at Olson and walk through Cougar Plaza, a well-manicured welcome for WSU students and families.

The owner of Dregs, a vintage clothing store, says the summer months are quiet, but tens of thousands of students arrive in the fall, and the town almost doubles in population. I get a Grateful Dead tee. The kids love the selection of faded and dusty Gen X clothing we wore without being ironic.

A walking path along the South Fork Palouse River connects River Park near the Wazzu campus to NE Kamiaken Street next to Porch Light Pizza. An eponymous bus stop is in front of Porch Light.

Angsty graffiti covers a skatepark near River Park. The message is less important than the vibe.

South Fork Palouse River

Float For A Bit by Akira Ohiso

When I gamify my health, I have improved outcomes. The Habit Tracker reminds me to eat an apple a day, which keeps the nurse practitioner away (who can prescribe while the doctor is on vacation).

***

When I need pomade, a hibachi, and ingredients for a chopped Greek salad, I go to Fred Meyer. I drive through the Ballard industrial zone, where breweries have not reached yet. Near the defunct 7-Eleven and Big 5 Sporting Goods, there is human activity outside broken down vans and cars with plastic bag windows.

Jaywalking ghosts shuffle draped in wool blankets in the sun. Leaves drag like a ceremonial train. A woman sits in a broken wheelchair on the threshold of a corner sidewalk ramp and the street where puddles collect when it rains. A man sleeps in a blue recycling bin turned sideways, used food and beverage containers surprisingly far from the blue bin, yet strangely constellatory.

Once anchored by New Seasons, which closed after just two years, the mini shopping center is a place to turn around or stop to answer a phone call as smaller stores languish. Dented Winnebagos park until they are moved along by police or a homelessness task force, leaving random mechanical innards in pools of oil.

***

I go to my son's high school graduation at Memorial Stadium. The stadium was constructed in 1947 and dedicated to Seattle Public School students who died in World War 2. Seattle Public Schools owns the stadium and mainly uses it for football games, but with minimal upkeep, it needs to be updated.

Wooden benches designed by the Silent Generation, who didn’t speak up, trigger lower back pain and gluteus Maximus cheek shifting. My Tempurpedic upbringing couldn’t handle it. The once elegant water fountains out front no longer work, and the press box attached to the ceiling of the North Stands roof is brutalist, perhaps luxury seats for the autocracy.

Still, there are plans to either renovate or rebuild a new stadium, with a groundbreaking scheduled in 2025. The old structure has charm, and I hope the developers will pay homage to it.

In true Seattle fashion, intermittent cloud cover spits moisture as Seattleites flip up Patagonia shells or do nothing. Lights on timers get activated by the lead-grey sky. Getting him through high school in these challenging times is a relief as a parent. It’s not a relief that he took a step up a rung on the social ladder, but that he is free from an educational environment that was detrimental to his mental health.

For him, it was an educational experience forever interrupted by COVID-19, helicopter teachers with political agendas, asynchronous learning, and wealthy, competitive parents looking to give their children an edge. Millions of angsty selfies are buried in the depths of Snapchat servers documenting the highs and lows of mental health since the pandemic.

My son, float for a bit…drift…bob…

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