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Three days into a trip in Japan and my mother and I were sitting in a coffee shop in Kyoto. In came a foreigner (meaning, a white woman) with two kids. I knew they were trouble, the sort of children to whom everything–including bad behavior–is “explained,” which seems to be a trend in child-rearing these days. The younger child, a girl, had a tendency to scream, to which her mother said, “Now, do you think this is a place where it is okay to scream? If you scream, you will have to play outside.”
The girl kept screaming.
After the third screaming, my mother, ever the ferocious enforcer when she wants to be, turned around and said quite sharply (and in English) “Hey! Stop it! This is Japan. You do not scream in Japan. That is not acceptable.”
Everyone–including me–was stunned. The girl was stunned. Her older brother, her tormenter who had been the cause of the screaming, was stunned. He even tried to defend his sister, but my mother turned her steely eyes on him and said, “No. You do not scream here. That does not work. End of story.” And, really, even though Japan has seriously changes since the Showa era and I don’t get the dog-and-MILF-thing, at least the kids don’t scream.
I felt sorry for the foreign mother. She looked harried, like she was just looking for some place to rest for, oh, fifteen minutes so she could caffeine it up a bit. I thought that her kids looked mixed–like me–but that she was divorced or separated. She did not seem married. Her daughter looked wild. None of them apologized. They just ate as quickly as possible and departed. The Japanese in the coffee shop pretended to ignore the whole thing. I was embarrassed. I hate being the center of attention. I like observing. But . . . I was secretly and enormously proud of my mother. Very proud of her to try to battle social ills and try to set them straight. I love that about her.
At the same time, it can be so unsettling to see your own children publicly scolded like that by a stranger. There have been times in Japan when I’ve had the impulse to stop someone from doing something embarrassing. What are your experiences? What do you think?
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distressedIt’s hard to beat a good old-fashioned clinch if you’re looking that delicious taste of WHAT IN THE FUCK in the morning.
So here. Have some delicious WHAT THE FUCK this morning.
What color is Lulu's hair?
as far as post-coital “littering” goes, i’m guessing most dorm bathrooms have seen a lot worse than a pink t-shirt, no?
(and we certainly appreciate matt in greensboro, for snapping the photo.)
