My family and I were having lunch in Japan with one of my high school friends. She said,
“Do you remember the school festival where we dressed up as a prehistoric man and woman?” I searched for a picture deep among my high school memories. And then realized that we didn’t have smart phones back then, several decades ago.
This is sad. Why couldn’t I recall the experience? I’m much worse than I thought.
Several years ago, I watched my son break dance at a musical rehearsal. Back then, he was really into “Avatar: the last Airbender”. In this cartoon drama, the world is divided into four nations: the Water Tribe, the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation and the Air Nomads. People in each nation can control their own natural element. My son did a firebending dance, imagining fire was coming out of his hands; he was a true master of fire. I didn’t record it and later regretted it. In the final performance, he became self-conscious in front of the larger audience and didn’t dance very much. How I wished I had recorded the rehearsal. If I had, I would have been able to show it to my family. I’m among the parents who have this craving to capture our children’s perfect moments that will never happen again.
But what is the cost of this? This question had been in the back of my mind when I was at a Middle-Eastern restaurant with several Japanese mothers. Some of them send their children to Japan over the summer vacation each year. Schools in Japan start their summer break around July 20. So, if we send our kids to Japan right after schools close in the U.S., they can go to a Japanese school for about a month. We started sharing our kids’ experiences at Japanese schools. I learned that there are regional differences; some regions welcome children from overseas, and some are determined not to accept any.
Someone said,
“One of my friends sent her child to kindergarten. And you know, all the children were working towards a big performance at the end of July. And one of the other mothers asked the school to take this newly arrived child out of the performance. She was afraid that he might mess up the whole performance.” Mind you, this was not a gifted children’s special performance. It was a regular neighborhood kindergarten.
I wasn’t surprised by this at all. It could easily happen in Japan where people thrive for the better, if not perfection. And nowadays, for better pictures and video recordings.
“So what happened? Was he in the play?” I was curious. “No. Don’t you think that is outrageous?” My friend sounded distraught.
This outcome was not unexpected, but I was still deeply disappointed. When there’s a complaint, the natural reaction of a Japanese organization is to restore the appearance of group harmony. Not by dealing with it, but by eliminating the cause of the complaint. But everyone sees the consequence: the child was excluded from the play. When this happens, the organization loses some of its authority. It has created an environment where a complainer wins.
The kindergarten teachers could’ve said that they strive for an inclusive learning environment or that they want the students to learn to be kind to newcomers or to their friends who are a little behind. But it didn’t happen.
This is how some Japanese grow up, without learning how to be tolerant of differences. And they get frustrated when they deal with cultural differences, or even differences among themselves.
And there are a couple of additional factors that are particular to Japan: two decades of economic recession and a low birth rate. The long recession has made the Japanese society more rigid, and less tolerant of mistakes. There are fewer children in Japan, and parents pay constant attention to their children. And then came the advent of the digital age. Parents’ wishes to capture the picture-perfect moments have become excessive.
The kindergarten story suggests that Japan is still creating generations of children who may grow up to be less open and less tolerant of differences.
My fear may be unwarranted. But if we pursue perfection for our children in the present, and if we lose sight of our larger goals, then we may be creating a future that is less bright than today’s. I also believe this drive for perfection is a global phenomenon, when it comes to creating and preserving visual memories.
What children need is real experiences; real struggles, negotiating with less than perfect situations. In other words, forget about the perfect picture. Even a Humpty Dumpty moment can become a sweet memory over time. After all, children will enjoy themselves on the stage, whether the performance is in sync or not.
Can we, the parents, live with imperfection? That’s the question we need to ask ourselves.