MAGAPatriot007

In Japan, a sixty eight year old father shows affection by nodding two millimeters. We do not hug. We do not high five. Last month, a young American guy named Chris moved into the house next door to my parents. On Sunday morning, my father helped Chris carry a heavy washing machine up the front steps. When they finished, Chris smiled, held out a closed fist, and said, "Respect, sir." My father stared at the fist. In Japan, when someone holds out a closed hand, they are about to give you a piece of candy or small change. So my father politely cupped both of his hands underneath Chris's fist, waiting for him to drop something. Chris paused. Then he gently tapped his knuckles against my father's knuckles and made a quiet explosion sound with his mouth. "Pshhh," Chris said. "It is a fist bump. It means thank you and respect." My father looked at his own knuckles for a long time. "No words needed?" my father asked in broken English. "No words needed," Chris said. For a quiet Japanese man of his generation, a greeting that requires zero speaking was the greatest invention of the twenty first century. This morning, my mother served him a bowl of warm miso soup at breakfast. My father took one sip, looked at my mother, and held out a closed fist across the table. He even made the explosion sound.