DISCIPLINE
4月
22日
I know I have the ability to achieve the objects of my definite purpose in life,and I'm learning to clearly write down my definite chief aims in life.
When I was five-years-old, I lived on a 30-acre farm and in the one-room house my Dad built in 1944, during WWII. It was a place called Sand Hollow, Idaho. Our neighbor to the north was a German couple, Cookie and Agnes Koch, who lived in their small trailer house.
Agnes was a stay-at-home wife and Cookie was a farm hand and carpenter wherever he could find a job. Mom and Dad made friends with them and they soon moved their trailer on to our property. It was parked between our house and the main gravel Sand Hollow road, where there was our outdoor pump for water and our main electricity pole for them to hook up.
One of the conversations I overheard with my parents, one night, was that the Kochs had not paid their part of the electricity bill. The next day I took it upon myself to mention this to Agnes when I was playing outside.
Late that afternoon, Dad came home earlier than usual because we had been invited to dinner with some friends from church. Our car was a 1940 tan colored, one-seat Chevrolet Coupe with a window ledge behind the seat. I got dressed in my one Sunday dress and ran to the car and was lying in the window seat waiting for Mom to bring my baby sister when Mrs. Koch came running down the driveway saying, "I'm so sorry, but Dee reminded that we have not paid our bill and this is as much as I can get together until Cookie gets paid!”
Mom and Dad were so embarrassed that as soon as Mrs. Koch left, Dad came out to the car, jerked me out of the car window ledge and carried me into the house. They made me stay home by myself and they left with no discussion.
As I sat on the kitchen stool between the sink and coal stove, crying, crying, crying and crying. I was not able to stop for a long time. Then at the end, I kind of had the hiccups trying to stop. I’ve never cried like that again.
Lessons like that, in not embarrassing my family and although hurtful, have served me well in many ways. It also made me independent and responsible. I do a lot of thinking before saying things. As our girls were growing, they would say, “Spit it out Mom!”
There was a time when those of us with Japanese Heritage were discriminated against and treated with disdain because our being quiet and not being very expressive was equated with secrecy and conniving.
Seventy-eight years later, I work to be more open, but those of us with Japanese heritage may still be the more “quiet Americans”. Although I work to be more expressive, I’m watching an out of control social media allowing young minds to toss reactionary and critical language to each other while being glued to their IPhones. Do I want to promote freedom of expression? It is confusing.
I love having deep discussions that tickle and stir my soul. I am practicing to be appropriately expressive: SHARING THOUGHTS WITH PEOPLE AND BEING INVOLVED WITH MAKING LIFE BETTER.
