And In a Place So Different, We Are All The
Same Kate Snider (Herricks High School)
“I was in love with the place, in my mind.” -Sufjan Stevens, Chicago
I tiptoed around upstairs, old wooden floorboards moaning under the weight of my body. When I
reached my destination, my hands softly nudged the door open as I slipped inside and immediately became
entranced with the musty scent of age, history, and the storage of time. My eyes scanned the length of the
walls, taking in the remnants of 82 years of life. In the far left corner resided a deep brown bookcase, only
decipherable by scarce patches of wood that breathed through the clutter. I started over to the bookcase,
taking care not to knock over piles of loosely stacked cardboard boxes. My fingers grazed the buffet of
memorabilia, feasting on the grand array of literature, clothing, dishes, and antiques. There were carved,
wooden chopsticks, piles of books filled with poetry, recipes, and tales. A glass case highlighting a
beautifully painted porcelain doll dressed in silk garments stood alone, an air of elegance to her every
detail. These relics, these little moments snatched from space, now sat as reminders of a distant time. And
even in a place so different than where they once resided, these items seemed to blend right in.

My Grandpa, born and raised in Brooklyn during the 1930s, has traveled to Japan thirteen times. It
must have been a strange sight: a young wide-eyed business man from America weaving in and out of
swarming Tokyo commuters, or singing loudly in broken Japanese for the entire karaoke house to hear.

After his first visit, my grandpa was enamored with the culture. From the moment he stepped off the plane
and into Tokyo International Airport, every cell in his body became electrified. And after returning home to
his wife and three children, my grandpa longed for the day he would return.

There was much to love about Japan; however it was not the beauty, the food, nor the language that
lured my Grandfather back countless times. Instead, it was the kindness and honesty that was sewn into the
fabric of the culture. Etiquette was different in Japan, and unlike America, violence and deceit were rare
disgraceful acts. Vendors and shops would leave display tables full of merchandise outside, certain that
nothing would be stolen. Waiters and waitresses did not expect tips, as working hard was merely an act of
civil service. Men with hunched backs due to years of bowing were not uncommon, lending as walking
representations of genuine respect. This overwhelmingly widespread innate trait of kindness was nothing
Grandpa had experienced before.

As a child, Grandpa would tell me story after story about his life, usually centered around both mine
and his favorite topic: Japan. As a treat, he would welcome me into a what we called "the junk room", due
to the amount of relics crammed into a tiny space - a space dedicated to the preservation of his memories
and heartbreaking passion. He'd let me browse and rummage through the shelves and boxes of old Japanese
keepsakes, taking the time to explain the origin of every minuscule item.

Grandpa learned a lot from his time spent in Japan, and in turn I did as well. High up in an building,
Grandpa sat in a tiny bar and spoke to men who poured drinks as they poured stories of brothers and fathers
killed in the attacks on Pearl Harbor, the very same attacks that spilt American blood. Yet these men knew
grief, these men knew loss, these men were just the same. Grandpa, a WWII veteran himself, listened and
understood that even oceans away we were all inherently similar.

Growing up around a man who was molded by the ideals of Japanese culture heavily affected the
person I was slowly becoming, and the person I am still growing to be. I learned that a kind and gentle
heart can fill a person with warmth, and that generosity is better than selfishness. I learned that
classification only leads to separation, and that war does not discriminate. But most of all, I learned that as
time passes and each generation brings new ideas to the table, the roots of culture still tie us together. As
Japan is changing due to technology and westernization, the foundation of trust and respect remains the
same. As I continue to wander through life, I will carry the lessons brought home from Japan by my
Grandfather and store them here, in my own home. Just like the old antiques in Grandpas house I once
adored, these lessons will now reside in a place so different from where they were taken, and yet seamlessly
blend right in.

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