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Dukakis by Susan Nakaoka When I stepped down from the podium, and looked out at the audience I felt tears rolling down my eyes. I had delivered the short speech at the graduation ceremony mainly because I wanted to thank my parents for everything they had done. I spoke of my close family, the importance of Nisei women in my life and lastly, I dedicated my master's thesis to my mother. I was sure that after the ceremony I would receive a hug from my mother, a hug for the dedication and to show me how proud she was. The next day, we attended a luncheon to acknowledge my receipt of a school fellowship. Ex-Governor Michael Dukakis was on hand to describe the importance of the fellowships and to talk of how I embodied the ideals of the award. I knew that as soon as we got into the parking lot, my father would say how proud he was. My parents never said those words, and never hugged or expressed their happiness. My mother complained that the graduation ceremony was too long, and my father complained that he had to wear a suit to the luncheon. Their expression came in different ways. In making me report the events to all of my aunts and uncles, with a very humble, "Did you tell them how short Michael Dukakis was?" Of course, then I would have to explain why I was in the same room with the man and thus, explain the award. Or they framed and displayed the pictures of my graduation speech. They also may have never felt the need to tell me anything, since they expected the best from me, why would they have to acknowledge minor accomplishments along the way? Although I knew these things and their ways, I was still expecting the American delivery of the expression of pride. The verbal or physical acknowledgment that they thought I did good. As an adult I am now conscious of the reasons for their actions, yet I still am occasionally found waiting for that hug or praise, and it never comes. In raising my three year-old son, I take the time to express delight over the things that he does and make sure that he knows I appreciate his effort, even when he fails. I tell him that he is smart, good and talented. It is interesting that I have to intentionally do these things, I have to remind myself to be communicative and praiseworthy. Even then, some of my friends say that I am harsh with him, that my face is expressionless when he does good or bad things, and that I should "lighten up." I guess there is a part of me that respects how my parents raised me, how they expect the best and how they express their pride. I hope to strike a balance as my son grows older: to be able to give praise and show pride when appropriate, while making it very clear that I have very high expectations of him. As a fourth generation hapa man, I hope he will understand.

Response by Grant Hagiya I think many of us can relate to Susan's story of our Nisei parent's expectations and responses to us as their children. There is a particular Japanese American way, and really a "Nisei" way of relating to our successes and failures. I might call the form of parenting we experience in this particular descriptive way: " PRAISE: NO! CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM: YES!" We might know intuitively that our Nisei parents are proud of our accomplishments, but when it comes to their verbal recognition of such successes, there is nothing but silence. There might be a short grunt of approval, but no formal and deep congratulations on a job well done. On the other hand, if we fall short of our parent's expectations, you will be sure to hear all about it! Culturally, we might trace this value to any number of socially conditioned values. One, stems from Japan's need for conformity. It is the value that says: "the nail that stands up gets hammered down." We should not seek recognition, nor single out others for such recognition, especially our own children! The second cultural norm might be "enryo-syndrome" concept of "Hi-ge," or the sense of submissiveness in the face of authority. Harry Kitano's classical example of this is the business executive who introduces his wife to his foreign counterpart with: "Here is my stupid wife." Finally, as relating to the high expectations that we seen in this story, we might trace it to the high sense of industriousness we hold as Japanese Americans. We don't acknowledge high achievement, but you can be sure that we expect it for others and ourselves! When one is the recipient of such behavior, and not praised when one does well, but criticized when one does not, it may lead to low self-esteem and identity. It is a real problem in our culture, but one that we have lived with so long, it is almost an expected norm in our parenting. I agree with Susan, there is a middle ground that would be the better way, but there are positive factors to this style also. It creates a certain humbleness in our relations with others. There is a quiet dignity in the way we have been taught to carry ourselves, and coupled with such high expectations, it leads to the dealing with success in a humble and gracious way. I also agree with Susan that we need to forge a new way of parenting with our own children, and a movement toward the middle might be helpful. I would like to affirm my children when they do well, but often catch myself in the Nisei paradigm. This is best exemplified when one of my children brings home a report card with all "A's" and one "B." Instead of praising the many "A's," I immediately ask, "Why did you get a "B?" Shades of my parent's subconscious voice rising inside of me. Of course, my children's reply is also a unique one to their generation: "Have you taken Organic Chemistry lately Dad?" I would never have dared say that to my parents!