Cultural gap

My 13-year old son came home from school at 3 o’clock one rainy afternoon and realized that he had left his key in his locker at school. He called me up in the office and I allowed him to stay with his best friend who lives one block down the street. So he did. At 6 o’clock, when the family sat down to ear dinner, my son was asked politely to leave and hang around in the nearby shopping center until the family finishes eating dinner. He was invited to come back afterward if he chose to. His friend’s father even offered to lend him a raincoat, so he wouldn’t get wet. A clear sign of this American family’s kindness—kindness the American way, that is. In Africa, the kindness would have gone as far as inviting my son to the dinner table, although no one expected him before the preparation of the meal.

The next day, my son asked me for money to go to the movies with that same friend of his. I could not help remembering the image of the previous night when I came home at 6:30 and saw my son standing alone in front of the house, in the cold and semi-darkness, with a light rain falling. Then I lashed out: “Do you think that boy is really your best friend?!”

My son knew where I was coming from and replied firmly: “Of course he is!”

“How about last night?” I asked.

“But Dad, hey had fixed just enough food for themselves. I was not invited for dinner. I had eaten at their house before!” my son insisted.

“Yes, but how many times did we share dinner with him just because he happened to be locked out and found himself in our house? Didn’t we even sometimes fix something special for him because we were eating a spicy food that we thought he might not like?” I ranted.

“That’s us, Dad. And this is America,” my son said quietly.

It was only then that I realized the cultural gap between me and my son who was not even born in this country, but who has comprehended some of the cultural values better than I have.