HAPPY MIRROR (A Japanese Folk Tale)

Many years ago in Japan, there lived a father, mother and their dear little girl. There was not a happier family in all the islands of Japan.
They took their little daughter to the temple when she was just thirty days old. She wore a long kimono, as all the Japanese babies do. On her
first doll festival, her parents gave her a set of dolls. There was no finer set anywhere. Her dolls had long, black hair, silky and smooth, and
were clad in gowns of satin and silk.
Her third birthday was a happy day. Her first sash of scarlet and gold was tied around her small waist. When that happened, she was no longer
their baby daughter. She was their little girl, fast growing up. By the time she was seven, she was helping her parents in many ways. She could
talk and dance and sing, and oh! Her parents loved her dearly.
One day, a messenger brought exciting news. The emperor had sent for the father. He had to go tot Tokyo at once. Tokyo was a long way off
and the roads were rough. The father would have to walk every step of the way for he had no horse. There were no railways or even jinrikishas
to travel on.
The little girl was glad her father was going to Tokyo. She knew that when he came back, he would tell her many interesting stories. She knew
that he would bring her presents, too. The mother was happy because the father had been sent for the emperor. This was a great honor.
At last, all was ready. The father looked very fine as he started out on the long trip. He was going to meet his emperor, so he dresses in fine
robes of silk and satin. The little family stood on the porch of the little house to bid him goodbye. “Do not worry. I will come back soon,” said the
father. “While I’m away, take care of everything. Keep our little daughter safe.”
“Yes, we shall be alright. But you must take care of yourself. Come back to as soon as you can, said the mother.
The little girl ran to his side. She caught hold of his sleeve to keep a moment. “Father,” she said, “I will be very good while waiting for you to
come back.”
Then he was gone. He went quickly down to the little garden and out through the gate. There, they could see him go down the road. He looked
smaller as he went farther away. Then all they could see of him was his peaked hat. Soon, that was out of sight, too.
The days seemed very long for the mother and the little girl. Many times each day, they would pray for the good father. They prayed for his safe
journey. The days slipped by one and morning, the little girl saw someone coming over the mountains. She ran to tell her mother. Could that be
her father?
They both went to the garden gate to watch. As he came nearer, they knew that he was the father. They both ran to meet him, the little girl on
one side, the mother on the other side. They were all happy again.
As soon as they went into the house, the little girl ran to untie the father’s straw sandals. The mother lovingly took off his large straw hat. Then
they all sat down on the white mat, for the father had bought some presents.
There in a bamboo basket was a beautiful doll and a box full of cakes. “Here,” he said to the little girl, “is a present for you. It is a prize for taking
care of Mother and the house while I was away.”

“Thank you, Father dear,” said the little girl. Then she bowed her head to the ground. In a second, she had picked up her lovely new doll and
had gone to play with it.
Again, the husband looked into the basket. This time, he brought out a square wooden box. It was tied with gaily-colored ribbon. He handed it
to his wife saying, “And this is for you, my dear.”
The wife took the box and opened it carefully. One side had beautifully carved pine trees and storks on it. The other side was bright and shining
as smooth as a pool of water. Inside, there was something made of silver. She had never seen so lovely a present. She looked and looked at
the pine trees and stork, which seemed almost real. Then she looked closer at the shining side.
Suddenly she cried, “I see someone looking at me in this round thing! She is very lovely.”
Her husband laughed but said nothing. Then the mother’s eyes grew big with wonder. “Why, the lady I see has a dress just like mine!” she said.
“She seems to be talking to me.”
“My dear,” her husband answered, “that is your own face that you see. What I have given you is a mirror. All the ladies in Tokyo have them. If
you bring a smiling face in the mirror, you will see a smiling face. If you are cross, you will see a cross face in it.”
The wife thanked her husband for the lovely gift. She promised always to bring happy face to the mirror. She then shut it up in the box and put it
away.
Often, the mother would take out the box and look inside. Each time, she was surprised. She liked to see her eyes shine. She liked to see how
red her lips were. She always brought a smiling face to it, so that she might

always see a smiling face. Soon, she grew tired of looking in the box and she put it away. Only once a year did she open it and look at her face.
She decided to save the lovely gift for the little girl when she grew up.
The years went by. The little girl grew to be a woman and no longer played with dolls. Instead each day, she helped her mother about the
house. How proud her father was of her! He saw that she was growing more like her mother. Her hair was the same; her eyes were the same;
her mouth was the same. She was the very image of her mother.
One day, the mother called her daughter and said, “My daughter, I have something to give you. Once each year, you are to look into it.”
She took the square wooden box from the drawer. Carefully, the daughter untied the ribbon. Wondering, she lifted the cover and looked at the
mirror.
“Why, Mother!” she cried. “It’s you! You look just as you used to look when I was a little girl.”
“Yes, dear,” the mother answered, “that is the way I looked when I was young. Be sure to smile when you look at me and I will smile back to
you.”
From that day on, the good daughter kept a box near her. Once each year, she would open it. Her mother’s words were always true. Always,
she saw her mother’s face. Oh, the joyful surprise! It was her mother, more beautiful each time that she looked. She seemed to smile at her
daughter and the daughter smiled back at her. The daughter remembered to bring smiles to the little box and smiles always came back to her.
 The River-Merchant’s Wife: A Letter
BY EZRA POUND

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead

I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chōkan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,

I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever, and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?

At sixteen you departed

You went into far Ku-tō-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.

By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me.
I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Chō-fū-Sa.
 THE STORY OF THE AGED MOTHER
A Japanese Folktale

Long, long ago there lived at the foot of the mountain a poor farmer and his aged, widowed mother. They
owned a bit of land which supplied them with food, and their humble were peaceful and happy. Shinano was
governed by a despotic leader who though a warrior, had a great and cowardly shrinking from anything suggestive
of failing health and strength. This caused him to send out a cruel proclamation. The entire province was given strict
orders to immediately put to death all aged people. Those were barbarous days, and the custom of abandoning old
people to die was not common.

The poor farmer loved his aged mother with tender reverence, and the order filled his heart with sorrow. But
no one ever thought a second time about obeying the mandate of the governor, so with many deep hopeless sighs,
the youth prepared for what at that time was considered the kindest mode of death. Just at sundown, when his day’s
work was ended, he took a quantity of unwhitened rice which is principal food for poor, cooked and dried it, and
tying it in a square cloth, swung and bundle around his neck along with a gourd filled with cool, sweet water.

Then he lifted his helpless old mother to his back and stated on his painful journey up the mountain. The
road was long and steep; then arrowed road was crossed and recrossed by many paths made by the hunters and
woodcutters. In some place, they mingled in a confused puzzled, but he gave no heed. One path or another, it
mattered not. On he went, climbing blindly upward ever upward towards the high bare summit of what is known as
Obatsuyama, the mountain of the “abandoning of aged”.

The eyes of the old mother were not so dim but that they noted the reckless hastepning from one path to
another, and her loving heart grew anxious. Her son did not know the mountain’s many paths and his return might
be one of danger, so she stretched forth her hand and snapping the twigs from brushes as they passed, she quietly
dropped a handful every few steps of the way so that they climbed, the narrow path behind them was dotted at
frequently intervals with tiny piles of twigs.

At last the summit was reached. Weary and heart sick, the youth gently released his burden and silently
prepared a place of comfort as his last duty to the loved one. Gathering fallen pine needle, he made a soft cushion
and tenderly lifting his old mother therein, he wrapped her padded coat more closely about the stooping shoulders
and with tearful eyes and an aching heart said farewell. The trembling mother’s voice was full of unselfish love as
she gave her last injunction. “Let not thine eyes be blinded, my son. A” She said. “The mountain road is full of
dangers. LOOK carefully and follow the path which holds the piles of twigs. They will guide you to the familiar way
farther down”. The son’s surprised eyes looked back over the path, then at the poor old, shriveled hands all
scratched and soiled by their work of love. His heart smote him and bowing to the grounds, he cried aloud: “oh,
Honorable mother, thy kindness thrusts my heart! I will not leave thee. Together we will follow the path of twigs, and
together we will die!” Once more he shouldered his burden (how light it seemed no) and hastened down the path,
through the shadows and the moonlight, to the little hut in the valley. Beneath the kitchen floor was a walled closet
for food, which was covered and hidden from view.

There the son hid mother, supplying her with everything needful and continually watching and fearing. Time
passed, and he was beginning to feel safe when again the governor sent forth heralds bearing an unreasonable
order, seemingly as a boast of his power. His demand was that his subject should present him with a rope of ashes.
The entire province trembled with dread. The order must be obeyed yet who in all shinano could make a rope of
ashes? One night, in great distress, the son whispered the news to his hidden mother. “Wait!” she said. “I will think. I
will think” On the second day she told him what to do. “Make rope twisted straw,” she said. “Then stretch it upon a
row of flat stones and burn it there on the windless night.” He called the people together and did as she said and
when the blaze and died, behold upon the stones with every twist and fiber showing perfectly. Lay a rope of
whitehead ashes.

The governor was pleased at the wit of the youth and praised greatly, but he demanded to know where he
had obtained his wisdom. “Alas! Alas!” cried the farmer, “the truth must be told!” and with deep bows he related his
story. The governor listened and then meditated in silence. Finally he lifted his head. “Shinano needs more than
strength of youth,” he said gravely. “Ah, that I should have forgotten the well-know saying, “with the crown of snow,
there cometh a wisdom!” That very hour the cruel law was abolished, and custom drifted into as far a past that only
legends remain.
REACTION
Our elders have gone through a lot in their lifetime.

I think it is important to respect our elders because they have experienced life and gone through a lot more than we
have. I think history has shown that we are a successful, rich country. I don’t think we would have the freedom and the
respect from other countries if it weren’t for our elders and their sacrifice to get us where we are today.

I respect my grandfather because he was captured and taken to a concentration camp during World War II. My
grandfather escaped from a camp, ran into the woods and went into hiding for a year. My grandfather is one of the
lucky Jews that survived because he had the will to live. Why shouldn’t he be respected?

I respect my parents because they are the ones that brought me in this world and have taken care of me until I was able
to take care of myself. I personally have a lot of respect for my parents because they did a lot for me over the years. I
wouldn’t have the education without them. They got me where I am today and I am sure it wasn’t easy for them. I
believe they deserve thanks for everything they have done for me and thus deserve my respect.

The idea of the importance of respecting our elders raised many questions in my mind.

Do most even know what respect is?

Wikipedia defines respect as taking into consideration the views and desires of others and incorporating it into your
decisions and being truthful to people.

Why shouldn’t we respect anyone?

I think everyone should be respected unless given a reason not to be. When you meet someone for the first time are you
disrespectful? No. Why should you be? I think everyone deserves a chance and once you get to know the person you can
decide based on your own values whether or not you should respect them.

I have a lot of younger cousins that respect me because I am older and know more about life than they do.

I don’t think elders should be singled out and immediately respected because they are older. Why shouldn’t respect go
both ways? I think my friends respect me because I respect them.

I think it is important to understand what respect is and understand what your elders have gone through to get where
we are today. I think everyone deserves the same amount of respect unless given a reason to be disrespecte