For Ken

I was shocked and saddened to learn of the passing of a dear family friend, last week. Ken Porter was a hell of a nice guy, and I wanted to share a couple of my thoughts on the subject. I have had opportunities in my life to meet a number of hard working, honest people, who took pleasure out of the simple things we so often take for granted; eating dinner with our family, fishing with our friends, or cheering on our favorite football team. Ken was the model of that solid, southern man. He worked hard, as I learned firsthand. He once hired me to help put in an irrigation system when I was nearly broke. He could have done it without me, but he wanted to help. Even while digging ditches under a hot Georgia sun in August, Ken could laugh and carry on. Aside from his landscaping work, I knew Ken to do anything from removing trees to slinging a hammer. Anything he knew how to do, he was willing to do, but he never once took money from anyone for a job he couldn't do well. That's an honesty we don't see everyday in this world. He was the 'Jack of all trades', but anybody who says 'master of none' didn't know Ken. I couldn't judge how well he mastered any of his multiple crafts, but if he mastered anything, it was the art of being a friend. Ken was a friend to my Dad for nearly fifty years, I guess, and in all that time I never knew him to be anything but faithful. Since boyhood they got each other in and out of trouble, all in the name of fun and friendship. Even as they became grandfathers they still managed to get together for the UGA games, and drink a few beers. Ken never treated me as anything less than a friend, either. I will always remember him for the last time I saw him. My grandmother, who Ken knew since childhood, passed away last year. He was out of town when it happened, but as soon as he heard the news, he went to see my grandfather. He spent the better part of a day just talking with him, and it meant more to my grandfather, and the rest of us, than Ken probably knew. I will always remember him for how much he cared about all of his friends, especially my Dad. I know that friendship has meant a lot to Dad over the years. And I will always remember him for representing the best of what small-town America has to offer. You will be missed, Odell.

The Good Ole Days

Recently, as I wandered around in a mega-shopping center, a thought occurred to me. As such an event is rare these days, I decided I should share it with people before it left of its own accord, never to be heard from again. With the obvious exception of the fact that everything in a Japanese mall is in Japanese, the place appeared identical to those I've seen elsewhere. They remind me of casinos, really. You will almost never see a window or a clock. God forbid we should be exposed to the elements or, worse yet, realize how much of our life we had wasted looking at the most uncomfortable underwear ever invented. As a side note to this little rant, I should mention that I am still amazed that we can see lawsuits filed over a "wardrobe malfunction" during the half-time show, but it is somehow acceptable to flaunt sexy lingerie in the windows of Victoria's Secret (by the way Vicky, I think the proverbial cat is out of the bag). But I digress...
What started me down this vein of thought was a sense of loss. We have lost innumerable aspects of our culture, particularly in America, thanks to the shoe-box stores and mega-malls. Even at the ripe old age of thirty I can scarcely remember shopping on the town square. But what I do remember was great. Not only were the stores well-kept, but they were also unique. Before Barnes and Noble came to town, we used to buy newspapers and baseball cards at a little shop off the square. My father and I would sneak off between Sunday school and church and walk around the corner to the newsstand. The men behind the counter all called my father by name as he bought his paper and my baseball cards. Then we would walk back just in time to find my mother before the service started. It was a nice Sunday tradition, but that little store has long-since faded away. People are more inclined to drive their cars over to a shopping district that is completely disjointed from the town's pedestrian-friendly square. With windows rolled up, a/c on and music playing, they drive to the store, park as close as possible to the door, and walk inside to buy things from people they don't know. They return home, pull the car in the garage closing the door behind them, and go inside. During the whole process they manage to avoid any human contact beyond the sales clerk's obligatory questions, and for most people the church service never enters the equation. Its sad, really.
I find myself wondering how this happened. It seems unlikely that I am the only one who enjoyed walking down the street on a Sunday morning, visiting with the familiar faces you were destined to meet. Many of the "Mom and Pop" businesses showed genuine concern for their customers. It sounds like a foreign concept today, but I often felt like they even liked us. Maybe my memory is biased, but it just doesn't seem like it was that bad.

The Joy of New Beginnings

I know I am posting at a prolific rate, today, but we have to take the time when it is available, I guess. I have been reflecting on that intangible thing that I enjoy so much about moving to new and different places. It is certainly a joy to experience a new culture, learn a new language and see new things, but there is something else that I have only recently realized. Do you remember, as a kid, how little you cared about making mistakes? When you used a word improperly your mother kindly corrected you and you thought no more about it. Or when fielding grounders in Little League and a ball inevitably slipped through your legs your father would say, "That's Ok, but don't be afraid to get your glove dirty. Try another one." And you never felt self-conscious about messing up. Then we grew up and people started saying "he's faster than you", or "she's prettier than you", or "why can't you be more like him?" Then the pressure mounted to do everything right all the time. Suddenly our teen years saw us transformed into these timid creatures, afraid to assert ourselves for fear that we might make a mistake somewhere along the way. But moving into an altogether different culture changes all that. As a new arrival, everyone expects you to make mistakes, and no one makes you feel bad about it. I don't speak Japanese. But if I try to say something in Japanese, and it comes it out horribly wrong, no one mocks the effort. Like when we were kids, they will politely correct me, but with encouragement. There is no fear of ridicule for a lack of understanding or knowledge. It provides a great freedom to try new things, and a great comfort of knowing that the people around you are there to help. I hope this makes sense, despite my failure to articulate it any better, but I thought I might share this little musing on behalf of anyone who might have been afraid to travel outside their comfort zone. Take a leap like a kid from a diving board. I assure you that those in the pool will be there to catch you.

New Stuff

I am slowly figuring out all of this computer 'stuff'. In the process I have managed to link a few sites on this blog. I am sure they are self explanatory, but just in case...
The friends links take you to...friends' sites. If you are a friend and you are not on there, then I am sorry. Please tell me if you want me to link your site and I will as soon as I can. The second group is a list of some cool projects some friends are into (believe it or not, I have friends doing cool things)...an artistic venue, a film company, a band...as new things come up, I will add them. The third section is a list of links to sites concerning things I think are important. It, like the other lists, is far from complete, but it might you give you something to peruse if apathy has not yet gripped your heart. As always, suggestions for improvements are certainly encouraged. Please muddle through these things at your leisure, and check back for updates. I hope they will be many and often. Cheers.

My New Boss

I met my new boss this week, and I found him a very genuine and interesting guy. He is very nice and sincere, but I think the emphasis has to be on 'interesting'. Our initial meeting provides a good example. I was scheduled to go to two classes with him in Oogaki, a town in the next prefecture to the north. I went to meet Mark at a train station in Ichinomiya, which is about half way to Oogaki. After our first introductions on the train, one of our earliest conversations went like this...
Mark tells me his karma is a bit out of whack, so I ask what he means.
He replies, "Well, I had mice invading my home and, you know, man...I've got a kid, right? So I can't have mice running around my house, can I?"
"Of course not," I agreed.
He continued, "Its not just that the mice were in the house, you know, its that they were so bold...I mean it was really rude, man. They just ran around the kitchen right in front of me! They didn't even have the common courtesy to wait until I was asleep!"
After a reflective pause he continued, "I had to kill them last night. But, you know, I warned them first. I mean, I told them I was going to declare war on them. I said, 'Be out of my house by tonight or I am going to declare war on you!"
"Well," I told him, "you did warn them. That seems fair enough."
But with a dejected look he added, "Yeah, but they're Japanese mice and I warned them in English. Why would a Japanese mouse understand English?"
I am still unclear about the seriousness of his thoughts on the subject, but Mark gave me no indication that he was joking. Either way, I think this story illustrations what an interesting fellow I have fallen in with in Japan.

Humility

With nearly two weeks of the Japan adventure behind me, I am beginning to accumulate thoughts and observations worthy of sharing on this site. However, as some dear family friends have recently suffered a great loss, I feel compelled to write a little about one particular aspect of Japanese culture: humility. Humility is an important part of Japanese society. The language consists of varying degrees of formality depending on who one is talking to, and varying degrees of emphasis so as to never overstate a point like no other language I have seen. And, of course, there is the ever-present tradition of bowing, a universally recognized show of humility. As I recognized the importance of this idea to the Japanese, I began to think about the general lack of humility that many of us exhibit.
Human beings are incredibly fragile on so many levels. The body is easily damaged, feelings are easily hurt, and emotions are often volatile. We see this frailty on a regular basis when an insensitive comment drives someone to tears, or when a seemingly insignificant accident takes away a life. But despite our many shortcomings and weaknesses we stand with clinched fists raised and proclaim our own greatness. We say humility shows weakness when it really shows strength. Arrogance and pride are signs of a weakness in one's ability to acknowledge something greater than him or her self. Humility, on the other hand, shows more confidence than anything I can imagine. The ability and willingness to humble oneself before others takes great courage, and it goes a long way towards solving problems between individuals and even nations.
While humility is something deeply rooted in Japanese customs, it is largely lacking in my American culture. That is what makes the humility of my friends, as they suffered an unimaginable tragedy, all the more impressive to me. In light of their example, I am making a commitment to be more humble, to more readily swallow my pride in the face of dispute and despair, and to embrace rather than ignore our human frailties. To those friends: While I will hurt with you in this time of loss, I will also thank you for helping me appreciate the importance of humility. God bless.