I visited Bob’s mother’s house for the first time. Bob is half-Japanese. His mother is Japanese, who lived in a small town next to Klamath Falls. Bob spoke Japanese a little. His mother’s English was just enough for her daily life with her husband and son. Bob had asked me if I wanted to see his mother to refresh Japanese vocabulary of both me and his mother.
The house was an ordinary house that I often saw next to ranches in Klamath Falls. Bob and I stepped into the house, of course with our shoes on. The interior appeared like others that I had seen elsewhere in this country by then. There was not anything which reminded me of residential rooms in Japan. His mother must be well adopted to the American life style. She was out for shopping. Bob told me to have a seat at the table. He suddenly opened the refrigerator saying, “Uh, I’m thirsty.”
He took a can of pop soda and put it on the table. I was looking around the interior. Everything there follows the American life style (or maybe the Oregonian life style). Envelopes piled on a corner of the table. Cassette tapes scattered around tape recorder. Several pieces of paper clipping and memos put on the refrigerator with small magnets.
Bob widely opened the refrigerator. The pockets and racks on the backside of the refrigerator door came into my sight. The entire content was visible. He asked, “Do you want something to drink, Sho?” I was not thirsty at all. But I felt like I should have something to drink, too. Probably it was because I wanted to have something I can do, while Bob drank. I must have thought it unbearable to create a choking silence in which I had nothing to do except for watching Bob drinking. I said yes.
He continued. “Let’s see. We’ve got milk, orange juice, Sprite, coke, and beer.” Then, he added, “Oh, of course cold tap water always available.” I don’t drink alcohol very much. So the alternative of having beer was not realistic. I had no particular preference over other non-alcohol alternatives. I paid a glance to the alternatives in the refrigerator and found that the orange juice was the one in the most large container. Small share did not seem to finish the total reserve of orange juice. Volume of others could make me the one to finish them. I said, “Orange juice.”
He put the container on the table and brought a big glass out of the cupboard. He showed me the glass in his hand and asked, “Is this large enough for you?” It did not matter. If I had wanted to drink more than a glass of orange juice, I could have pour it from the container. I was not thirsty at all in the first place. I would not drink more than a glass of it. I replied “Sure.”
He sat down. He opened his pop can and told me, “Help yourself, Sho.” Another question arose. “Is it cold enough? Shall I put it back and keep it cool in the fridge?” He was pointing the container. He supposed that I would drink more than a glass. He asked me if he should put the container back into the refrigerator till I drank up the first glass. I answered, “Oh, yeah. You can put it back. But probably, a glass of it is enough for me.”
These series of questions from my close friends started to puzzle me and to bug me those days. In Japan, a host will provide his guest with something to drink soon after the arrival. It is true in business and in private. The host usually serves it without asking. It is often green tea, particularly in the households. The host does not ask if the guest would like to have something else. He does not ask how much the guest wants, either. If the guest does not like the drink, he usually does not express his taste unless it is a critical issue like potential allergic reaction. He simply does not drink it and leave it on the table. The host observes how much the guest drinks and, without asking anything, decides what to serve next.
This is the typical attitude to show politeness in Japan. People do not make the party decide. It may be a practice according to the Japanese social group dynamism, in which group members do not stress their own preferences and opinions. If they do, harmonious group atmosphere could be disturbed. Actually, Japanese people tend not to express their opinions. If you watch TV news program, you will often find the pedestrians attempt to stay away from the persistent interviewers. Even if they were caught by the interviewers, they would not present decisive comments. It is not because they do not have any opinions but because they fear that expression of their own opinions be so inappropriate as to be claimed or alienated by the peers.
I believe that this is why the Japanese people consider it impolite to force someone to express his opinion. This is probably why we, the Japanese people, think asking questions as disturbing conducts.
As I experienced in Bob’s mother’s house, the American way of showing politeness and hospitality is totally different from the Japanese one. The American people ask questions to learn what is liked and then attempt to materialize whatever is wanted. The closer people become each other, the more questions they start to ask. This is a very disturbing behavior to Japanese people.
The behavior is indeed disturbing to me. When I was sick in bed, several friends visited my dormitory room to help me. But the problem is that they all ask numerous questions. They asked me about the symptoms, body temperature, if I had eaten, if I had gone to the clinic, if I have perspired much, if I like to have them buy something for me. They came in one by one and asked similar questions. I wanted to take a rest. So I locked the door. Then they rang the phone. And they banged on the door, yelling, “Sho, Are you okay?” They are nice people. They all came with one piece of information from their friends that “Sho is sick in bed.” They are practical Americans to take actions first. Without asking many questions to the informer, they rushed to my room and interrogate.
“Body temperature? I can’t answer.” Then they would shout, “Why?” “I can’t calculate.” “You mean measure, Sho?” “No. I measured it. But I can’t calculate it. I know it is 37.8 degree in Celsius.” I showed them a Japanese thermometer. They shut up for a while. They opened up and asked, “What kind of symptoms do you have?” “I don’t have much vocabulary in the medical field. So I can’t tell you without a dictionary.”
Annoying questions were always thrown to me. They were barely bearable, when I was okay. But when I was sick, they surely made me sicker.