Observations Of Japan

My dad's father was a farmer from Idaho.  Dad's mother was a talented, self-taught keyboardist from the city of Alhambra, California.  Dad was raised on a farm not far from where his father's parents lived; Grandma was a professional secretary by day and she played the organ, piano and accordion for everything from church on Sunday to dances on weekends.  She also cooked and canned and sewed elegant clothes for herself, making matching outfits for herself and Grandpa to wear when they went square dancing together each weekend.  Grandpa had a beautiful singing voice and he loved making music with his family.

Dad hated farming.  He worked hard and was proud of his reputation as a worker, but he was determined to have a different kind of life.  He began taking violin lessons as a boy and he used and shared his musical gift wherever he went.  Despite his father's assurance that there was no money in music, Dad ultimately provided for our family as a music teacher.

Dad and his brothers got up early in the morning
to take care of the milking.  After the chores, they washed and changed for school or church.  Dad never wore jeans or work boots to school, "like the poor kids."  They were all poor kids, I guess, but Dad wanted to look respectable.  This strategy was probably fostered by Grandma, who was raised (along with her five sisters) by a single mother.

Dad recalled his mortification when Grandma gathered clothes for him and his older brother while they worked at their evening chores, then hurried them off to a special event.  As they changed in the car, Dad was dismayed to find that the trousers Grandma had brought for him were his brother's.  They were far too big!  There was no belt, so a scrounged safety pin was deployed to hold the pants up.  Afterwards, Dad hung back at the rear of the room and refused to greet the admired guest speaker because of the inappropriate way he was dressed.  That night he vowed he would always be prepared so he would never have to be in such an embarrassing state again.  My dad always wore a belt.  He was even buried with one.

A couple of days ago, my husband returned from a business trip to Japan.  One observation he made was that he loves seeing people in kimonos.  "It's definitely best dress," he explained:  he saw a couple of weddings and noted that kimonos are also often worn by shopkeepers and restaurant servers, while some people are doing it "just for tradition's sake."  Though the food is expensive and many people hang their laundry outside their tiny apartment balconies, "grunge never caught on here, so everyone (I mean everyone) dresses up.  Men wear suits and women do too."  Their clothes are neat and pressed, in the most dignified of colors:  black suits and white shirts with ties.  Nobody wants to look poor.

"In the US," he said, "we seem more interested in being sexy or comfortable.  The people in Japan are very fashion-conscious, but they focus on dignity and respectability."  There were a few young women in Tokyo who were wearing miniskirts, but the most indecent sight of the trip was "a mom from Utah" at a US airport.

He told of a Japanese friend who works as a liaison between Japanese and American businesses.  This man has adopted the more casual American styles.  His Japanese associates reportedly said, "Do you have a salary?  Then buy yourself a real suit!"  They recognize that his dignity reflects on the reputation of their whole country.

As I look at photos from the Great Depression and WWII, I notice how careful people were to dress up.  There were shortages of every kind, but people went to great lengths to groom with care.  They looked nice -- and they looked forward to better days ahead, like the Japanese have.

Perhaps, as Dad suggested forty years ago, people today dress like hobos because we consider we have plenty.  What does that portend for our hope and our future?