Enough general knowledge of Japanese customs has now spread around the world to ensure that few newcomers to this country are surprised to find they must remove their shoes when entering someone's home. But most of those who stay for longer periods are generally surprised to learn that there is more to it than the simple equation: outdoors = shoes on ... indoors = shoes off. There are quite a number of rules governing the use of footwear around the home, and even in a small place like my 3DK apartment, it can get ridiculously complicated. The entire floor space here is only about 60 square meters, yet it contains no less than five distinct 'zones', in each one of which different footwear is required.

The 'genkan' is the first zone one encounters. Although actually located in the home, inside the front door, it is of course considered to be 'outdoors'. No matter how cleanly it may have been scrubbed, and how bright the floor tiles, it is 'dirty', and no one from the house could possibly step into it without wearing outdoor footwear.

From the genkan into the house proper, there is always a step up. In a traditional house, this may be quite a substantial stretch upwards, necessitating the use of an intermediate stone step, but in modern apartments like mine, it is usually reduced to a three or four centimetre 'bump' where the wooden flooring starts. But the change in level is mandatory, and guests are normally greeted with the words 'oagari kudasai' ... 'Please come on up.' And as they step up, stepping out of their shoes in the process, they usually find awaiting them on the new level, a pair of slippers.

There are great opportunities for personal expression in this slipper-donning ritual, and the performance can actually reach virtuosic heights. To loosen one's shoes, step out of them smoothly, leave them positioned off to one side where they won't disturb the person coming in behind you, of course 'turned around' so they will be ready to step into when you leave later (all this without using your hands), and then to triumphantly slide into the waiting slippers, without either leaning against the wall, or missing a beat in your greeting ... Yes, true virtuosity!

This ordeal over, you are now in the main 'zone' of the home, the slipper zone, these days usually wooden flooring or carpet. Although it is certainly permitted to move around this area in stocking feet, a guest will not generally be allowed to do this, and will be constantly pressed to wear the slippers. But what is far more confusing to the novice, is to find that these slippers, donned with so much difficulty at the genkan, must be removed just a few moments later, as he reaches the next 'level', the tatami room.

One could no more wear slippers on tatami, than one could wear muddy boots in the rest of the house. Although the ostensible reason is to protect the surface of the mats from abrasion by footwear, the real motivation is to reinforce the feeling of moving up to the new 'higher' level. So off they come, and during the time one is in this room, no other footwear will be permitted.

So our guest can finally relax here in his socks ... at least until the effect of the numerous cups of tea he has been served start to take effect, leading to the next stage in the footwear adventure ... Stepping off the tatami back into the slippers, which his considerate host will have turned around for him, he is directed to the small room containing the toilet (a room for which we have no word in English ... It's not a bathroom, is it?) As he opens the door to this cubicle, he finds yet another pair of slippers facing him, as the slippers he is wearing must not be allowed to become sullied by use in this room. He must repeat his genkan contortions, stepping out of one pair, straight into the other, although this time with far less space in which to maneuver.

Once his business is finished, the process is repeated in reverse. To commit the sin of walking back through the house wearing those 'filthy' toilet slippers! Of course, they will actually be 'hospital' clean, but it's the thought that counts ...

Safely back on the tatami, our guest may think that he has seen all that this home has to offer in the way of footwear, but he would be mistaken. Perhaps his host is a fancier of 'bonsai' and extends an invitation to inspect his latest tiny creation ... out on the balcony. Out on the balcony where ... you guessed it, more slippers await. This time one steps down, as befits the change from 'inside' to 'outside'.

Those slippers will be 'dedicated' to balcony use, but in homes where the garden can be reached this way, through sliding doors off one room, even more slippers are of course positioned at the ready, below the door. In this case, there is likely to be quite a flock of them waiting there. This is due to the fact that people quite frequently leave and enter their home by different routes. Out the sliding door into the garden ... back in through the genkan ... There thus has to be enough footwear lying all over the place to ensure that something is always there ready at each exit. So even households with only a few members will still have enough footwear on hand to outfit an army, and the mountains of shoes and slippers to be found scattered all around the home of large families must be seen to be believed. (Actually, there are still other 'zones' demanding specific types of footwear, but as guests are not likely to find themselves standing in plastic booties cleaning the bath, it's probably best to leave it here ...)

Now after this rather longish introduction, I should perhaps finally get to the thing I intended to mention when I picked up my pencil this evening ... I recently made a small alteration in my home, one that I am enjoying immensely, but which has had the side effect of confusing all my Japanese visitors. Shoes on? Shoes off? They can't figure out what to do.

What did I do to cause this confusion? Simply I went to a nearby 'home centre' and picked up a few cartons of artificial turf, but instead of using it in the garden as they advertised, I covered the dirty concrete surface of my balcony with it. This 'turf' has a raised plastic base on which tufts of green plastic are mounted, and water thus drains away through it easily. So although our balcony is exposed to rain, it is now always dry to the step. And as the rain washes away any dust and dirt, this green surface is always very clean. In my mind, the balcony is now a 'no-shoes' zone ... an extension of our living space. I sit out there and read books, eat lunch at a low table, or even stretch out on the 'grass' for naps. It has become my favourite 'room', and I truly wish that I had done this years ago.

But guests? They can't figure out what to do! They pause at the door, ready to step out onto the green surface, and look around for slippers. But of course there aren't any, and they thus remain frozen in the doorway. Even seeing me standing out there in my bare feet or socks isn't enough to convince them that it's really OK to come out. Their conditioning is simply much too strong. On the balcony ... with no shoes ... On grass ... with no shoes ... Impossible!

I certainly get a bit of a laugh out of seeing them caught in the same type of situation that I faced so many times when first in this country ... So dare I say it? Now the shoe is on the other foot!

(April 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 01:51 PM | Comments (0)

For me, it was carrots. Carrots were right up there at the top of the list. Close behind were turnips, and then came liver ... and then peas ... squishy green peas ... I don't think there were a lot more foods on my 'hate' list, but these four certainly came around often enough to cause plenty of heartache.

Looking back now, I can't imagine what all the fuss was about, but at the time the dislikes were certainly real enough. I knew that if I put that fork full of carrots in my mouth ... chewed until the 'carrotness' filled all my senses ... and then swallowed ... I knew it would come straight back up again! It was an absolutely physical dislike. My body and carrots just were not made for each other. But of course, in my mother's eyes, the situation was just as clear-cut; I was simply being obstinate.

How does that song go ... "You can't have your pudding if you don't eat your meat!"? How many times did my brother and I play in that scene at the dinner table! I don't mean to imply that my mother was some kind of heartless monster. She was just behaving as her particular cultural upbringing dictated; kids did what they were told. Parental authority was absolute. Any conflict on such matters as food dislikes could have only one possible resolution ... No matter how long it might take ... that plate had to be emptied.

I wasn't laughing at the time, but I can certainly laugh now at some of the memories: of hiding peas one by one atop the wooden support bars under the table top (where I suppose she found them later, as I am sure we would never remember to come back at a safe moment to hide the 'evidence'); of taking a mouth full of the hated food and then trying to be 'excused' to the bathroom where it could be disposed of quietly (although this strategy could only be used once in any particular meal ...); or resorting to the 'tiny slice of liver washed down by a large gulp of the drink' technique ...

Talking with her recently about those days, she told me of one evening when all these strategies had failed to clear my brother's plate, and the stand-off between two stubborn people only came to an end when his head dipped to the tabletop in sleep ...

But now, one generation later, with me taking the 'mother's' part in this age old family drama, has the script changed? I am sure you can guess. It has now become easy for me to see clearly exactly what the problem really is: selfish, ungrateful, inconsistent children! I'm not going to make you laugh by trotting out that old chestnut "I've been slaving over a hot stove all day ...", because that doesn't exactly describe what I do to prepare our meals, but it certainly is frustrating to find that foods that were perfectly acceptable last week, are rejected today by my daughters. My childhood dislikes were at least consistent, weren't they? I always hated carrots ... and liver ... and ... But my two girls seem to change from day to day. So although I thought that I had a good solution to this problem ... just avoid serving food they don't like ... it has turned out to be not so simple.

Nutrition, I think, is not really much of a factor here. The variety of foods they do eat is certainly wide enough to supply their bodies with the necessary 'ingredients' for normal growth. It is that I am torn between two conflicting desires; to avoid conflict in our home, and yet not to bring up 'spoiled' selfish children, who simply take what they want from life, and leave the rest ... So, how are we making out? Do my kids hide peas under the table top? No, I have to admit that they don't have to do things like that. One way I avoid the problem is by serving all food in the centre of the table rather than loading up the plates in the kitchen. Each person only takes what they want. Fumi-chan is currently avoiding all contact with onions, and Himi-chan with minced meat. Although I suppose my mother thinks that my kids are 'getting away with murder', I don't insist that they eat everything I cook. If there is a lot left over, into the fridge it goes, to make another appearance later. Of course, they don't eat it then either, but I like my cooking, so it doesn't get wasted!

Am I making a mistake by not 'training' my kids to do things they don't like? Maybe. Will they have a lack of ability to 'bite the bullet' when it is necessary, later in life? I don't know. I really have no way to answer those questions. Perhaps my decision to 'take the easy road' now will hurt them later. But somehow, I just can't see the dinner table as a suitable place for such training. For me it is more important to try and have a peaceful time together, and to try and avoid conflict wherever possible. I am sure that there will be many other 'opportunities' for us to fight with each other during their teen years.

Besides, I'm just too amazed at watching them shovel all those carrots into their mouths!

(April 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 01:37 PM | Comments (0)

Back in my favourite park again ... Sitting on that grassy hillside, soaking up the spring warmth, and watching the people go by... I haven't been here for a long time, not since the mild days of last autumn. But as I was passing by this place a few days ago, I noticed that the colour was coming back to the grass, so I made a date with myself to drop by again the first chance I got.

It's just the same as I remember it ... and it's different. The park itself hasn't been altered, but with the change of the season, of course all the greenery looks different. I don't remember seeing those vivid yellow bushes before ... but I suppose that last autumn they weren't trying to attract so much attention to themselves. And as the trees are still quite bare, the overall appearance is still somewhat wintry.

But there are any number of different little green sprouts poking up from the ground around the place where I sit, and I am sure that in just another week or so, the whole place will be lush and verdant again.

Just as I did so many times last fall, I watch the parade pass by along the path at the foot of the slope. This is one thing that never changes. No matter how many months, and how many years go by, the makeup of this parade never changes one bit. In the space of just a few minutes, I see a panorama of my life pass in front of me.

See there, that young couple, the woman pushing a baby stroller. That's me lying in there, just a few days old, and sleeping peacefully while my mother gets me out of the house for some fresh air. How many miles she must have walked pushing me around!

And just over there, not too far from where I sit, a fat little toddler, barely able to stand by himself, chases the ball his father rolls down the slope towards him. That's me too. I can't pretend to remember those days, but I know I was there in the park ... chasing a ball just like that ... falling on my face just like that ... yelling and crying just like that ...

Where next ...? Over there ... there I am, in that group of young boys kicking a soccer ball around. They've set up a couple of goal markers with their jackets, but somehow the game seems a bit one-sided. All the big kids are on one 'team', and the goal-keeper on the other side (That's me! I'm sure it's me ...) is getting plenty of exercise retrieving the ball from where it has been kicked past him so many times ...

I look around carefully, but can't seem to find my next self ... It seems that there are times in our lives when parks are important, and times when they are not. Perhaps there's going to be a gap here ... But maybe not. Over there, in that family picnic group ... isn't that me? He seems a bit too big to be spending the day with his mother and father in the park, but not so big yet that they are willing to let him go off on his own activities. Yes, that must be me ... I remember those days. Caught in the middle between two worlds ... not comfortable in either one.

And now, there is a gap. A gap about ten years long. Go to the park? What on earth is a 20-year old boy going to do in the park? Get serious! He's got places to go ... people to see ... things to do ... and a quiet Sunday afternoon in the park is not one of them!

But the gap turns out to be not so long after all, and after a short pause ... here I come again. And this time, I am not alone. I don't look too sure of myself, do I - walking along over there with that young lady. You can hear the sparkle in her voice even at this distance, as her laughter fills the air, but he doesn't seem to have too much to say. He doesn't quite know what to do with his hands, his clothes don't seem to fit very well ... and he even walks funny! What does she see in him? Yes, I remember those days very well ... But I wonder sometimes ... does she?

Getting close now ... The young couple with the stroller comes back, I suppose on their way home. This time, he is pushing the stroller. I didn't recognize him earlier, but yes, I see now, it's me. He looks fairly happy, quite contented. I don't think he really understands well what has happened to him over the past couple of years, but he is going to take things as they come, and try and enjoy the new adventure opening up in front of him.

And that father over there, rolling the ball down the slope to his toddler ... I notice now, that his wife is wearing a long sack-like dress ... Yes, she's pregnant. Has ten years really passed since those days? Somehow it seems like just ...

Now, looking arond, I can see myself everywhere in this park, playing with my kids. How much time during those years did we spend in the park? Uncountable hours, day after day. Any time that it wasn't actually raining ... we were here. The two of us ... the three of us ... the four of us ...

And as I sit musing on those times, I notice a man sitting on the hillside just over there. Sitting alone ... idly watching the parade go by, and now and then bending his head to scribble something in his notebook. He too, looks quite contented. His kids are probably off somewhere busy with their own activities, he has a couple of hours to himself, and what better place to spend it that this grassy hillside ... Yes, this time it is me ... no doubt about it.

I see him nibble the end of his pencil, as he thinks about what to write next. As he tries to decide ... to decide whether or not to continue his little story, writing about the park visitors who represent the next stages in his life, or to stop at this point. To stop here, and leave the future undisturbed.

What should he do? Continue ... or stop ... What should he do ...

(April 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 11:18 PM | Comments (0)