The hardest thing I have ever done was to teach my own children English. Like with most international couples, my wife and I have secured dual citizenship for our kids, meaning that they themselves get to choose their nationality once they reach adulthood. Yet, long ago we realized that the choices we made for them when they were little would pave our son’s decisions. Emphasis on either language, we felt surely would point them in the direction of that culture.

If the old saw is correct and, "You are what you eat," then Takeru Kobayashi is a hot dog. In more ways than one. First, he is the brightest star in one of the world's fastest growing "sports" – competitive eating. And what he is most renowned for is his dominance of the "sports' " marquee event, Nathan's annual Fourth of July hot dog chow down in New York, an event he has won for six years running and where he once devoured 53 plus dogs in 12 minutes.

Gaijin/immigrants and their issues are catching attention now, as a growing nationalist movement searches for bogeymen in regard to various Japanese woes, with foreign residents being an easy, defenseless and largely innocent target. Sound familiar with headlines elsewhere? I have long years at this and know few immigrants mean anyone any harm. We all gain our footing little-by-little, one step at a time, often tripping, but always rising back, as we strive to find our way i

The train roars on while the lost foreigner blinks at the map plastered above the door. It's a spider's web of crisscrosses that seems to blur the more that he stares. So, he girds himself and turns to the businessman standing alongside. "Excuse me? Do you speak English?" The man jumps, either with the shock of being approached or at a perceived slight to his education. "But of course!" The foreigner blurts his question. "Great! So what's the next station?" "Who-Wants-To-Know

I once overheard a teacher tell his students that to succeed in life all a person needed was a single clear focus. At that same time, I also had a friend who could talk like a duck. Somehow these two threads ran together for the quacky and quirky short story below.

I slouch on a rumpled cot in a hospital ward in the American Northwest. My second son lies out before me with tubes in his body and a packet of blood suspended above his head. A nurse wiping his brow tells me she too has a 21-year-old boy, a marine somewhere in the firestorm of Iraq. "He usually e-mails every day, but I haven't heard from him now in a week." There is a tremble to her lips.

Here's a fun fact to sweeten your life: The average Japanese consumes about 1.1 kg of chocolate per year. Meanwhile, your typical American gobbles down five times that amount -- which is still nothing compared to the 10 kg snarfed away by your average Swiss or German. The sugary hook on the modest Japanese figure is this: Sixty percent of the total consumption centers around one specific day. And what day is that?

Heroes, in a mythological sense, always need a guide — a spiritual beacon to lead them safely through the dark forest of doubt and then onwards to face the twin pressures of fear and fate. "And for dinner," says my guide, "how about Hooters?" Hooters? And heroism? Not a likely match, but perhaps you sense my dilemma: How should I play my first visit to the land of hamburgers and hot pants? Should I go highbrow? Or low?

Yes, my fellow competitors... it's cockroach season. And the pressure to exterminate is on. First, if you've never had the pleasure of coming face to head with a Japanese roach, let me describe the enemy: They're big. They're ugly. They're bugs. What more do you need to know?

Smoke, as they say, gets in your eyes. Not to mention your clothes, hair, nose, lungs, taste buds, teeth, gums and (if you are a smoker) your pocketbook. Yet, this well-hammered health hazard remains Japan's vice of choice -- a pastime to die for. Literally.

The snake is perhaps more tacky than menacing. To others, it shows only my poor taste in decoration. To me, however, the snake symbolizes something beyond. It signifies the choice I made in opting to live my life in Japan. An eternal reminder that I am snake-bitten. "Get rid of it," says my son. I can't. The snake, in its evil coil, is a scaly link between my two homes, one here and one in the States. Which of these is "abroad," I can no longer say.

In the heart of downtown Shinjuku there's a land -- far over the rainbow -- where dreams really do come true. That is, if your dream involves a bowel movement. Fittingly, it’s called the Toto Super Space, a showroom for bathroom fixtures set on the lofty 26th and 27th floors of the L-Tower Building, a place where visitors can flush their troubles away. And -- if they are perhaps so inclined -- their little dog too.

The Internet is ablaze with lists suggesting ways to fight back against the deadliest foe of modern man — stress. Yes, stress! It will boil your blood pressure, electrify your nerves, scramble your stomach, ruin your happiness and lead you straight to the grave. As if you weren't going there already. And to combat stress, here's a summary of what the Internet says you might try:

"Help!" she seems to whisper. She gestures with frantic eyes."The man behind me… He's got a gun in my back! Save me! Please!"

"If there's one thing I've learned from life in Japan," I tell my wife over a pot of black coffee, "it's how to worry."

I was sitting in my office on the second floor of my home in Saitama, tapping away at the end of a draft for a future edition of this column

I have actually been to the Twilight Zone.

Two years ago, I had a bet going with my younger son about who could lose 10 kg faster. So I bought a Wii Fit unit.

Time to take up the topic about which everybody moans, but no one ever writes columns about: the Tokyo heat.

There are rules in love stories.