At the end of July, we left the restaurant and headed towards the main stage of the festival together. My mother was walking slowly, so I was worried about her, but my father was even slower. My younger sister, friend, and my two kids, who were eager to see the big snake, decided to go ahead and meet up later. It had been about 40 years since I last attended this festival. My father's pace was unexpectedly slow, like a snail's pace. I wondered if the part of his body that had been operated on was hurting. His steps were so slow that he could only move about the width of a shoe at a time. I decided to walk around and follow my father at his pace. Normally, it would take about 10 minutes to walk to the main venue, but it was taking longer than expected. I suggested to my parents that we walk to the nearest bus stop and take a bus for just two stops to reduce the walking distance by half. However, my father's pace was so slow that we almost missed the bus that was approaching in the distance. I sat down behind them on the bus, feeling the "age" of the two of them up close, and my tendency to cry easily was triggered, and tears started flowing (laughs). I wanted my father to remain strong and selfish forever, even though I didn't want to be hit or scolded. Why did I feel that way? We got off the bus, crossed the national highway, crossed the railway crossing, and walked straight through the arcade to reach the main festival venue. However, the way was difficult, with traffic lights turning red on the pedestrian crossing and the railway crossing barriers coming down (laughs). Fortunately, the pedestrian crossing and the railway crossing were long and wide, so we took shelter in the middle. We finally reached the arcade, and I followed my parents cautiously as people began to gather and the town regained its former liveliness. "Teacher! It's the teacher, isn't it?" I was called out by a former student. When you're a teacher in a small town, you tend to have more former students. My father was called out by 4 or 5 people along the way. Each time, he introduced his "proud son" to them, even though I'm not really his son (laughs). With these interruptions, we didn't arrive at the venue easily. I received a call from the advance team. "Kodzi-chan, the big snake is amazing! It's breathing fire from its mouth," said my kids. In the end, I decided to let my mother go ahead as well. We finally approached the festival square. On that day, it was the day of the Gion Rokusanko Gyoko, where the six main floats of the festival parade together. The sound of festival music and drums gradually got closer. However, my father suddenly said, "I'm tired, so I'll rest here. You go on ahead." We were at the site of the former famous department store "Omuda Matsuya," which closed in 2004 and is now a parking lot. "Just a little more, shall we walk together?" "You fool! It's embarrassing! I can't do such a shameful thing! I'll be going alone to Uohan (a local popular izakaya run by my father's former student). Come pick me up after the festival." (There it is! My father's selfishness... I take back the tears from earlier, haha). Uohan and the festival square were almost the same distance away, so I decided to give up on watching the festival after 40 years... (laughs) There will surely be another chance... I couldn't leave my father alone...