(museum piece*) Morning Thanks--Freedom

Some local governor in Chile banned the mini, it seems. Not for long. He simply wanted to "put things in order" or something, someone there said, by telling women to pull down their skirts (that didn't come out right) and cover up their shoulders. When the whole idea was laughed out of town, the gov's spokesmen claimed it was just a joke from the get go. If he'd actually meant it, he would have got trounced come election time. More mini-skirts would have showed up on the streets of Santiago overnight, I'm sure. And sure as anything he'd have lost the male vote.

If I could grow hair, I might just go blue. Apparently, it's all the rage, the new blonde--at least that's what I've read. Blue hair--I can't imagine what I'd look like, but it sounds good. When school starts next week, we'll probably have a few.

Once, in Tokyo, I sat on a commuter train like Moby Dick, the great white whale, the only non-Japanese, one of only two or three men, and a whole generation older than the bevy of schoolgirls that filled that car, each of those young ladies in matching skirts and sweaters, holding matching cell phones and school bags, a hall of mirrors.

Community is a big deal to the Japanese, I think--looking and acting in a fashion that doesn't bring attention to the individual but satisfies clearly established standards of dress and conduct. But that day in Tokyo--and on that train especially--it felt strange to an American.

A bit later that afternoon, our friends took us to an international neighborhood, where I saw a guy--a Japanese guy, in fact--with blue hair. Right then, something about the guy made me breathe easier, if you can believe it. For the first time that day, I felt as if I was home; people just didn't look so much alike.

I've got a Puritan streak in me; after all, I'm a Calvinist. I'm for law and order. I'm glad my daughter never donned apparel like the one above, and I'd rather my granddaughter didn't either.

But this morning, what I'm thinking is freedom is a blessing, even if it means tattoos.

This morning, like that afternoon in Tokyo, I'm happy to see a guy with blue hair.
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*occasional returns to posts from yesteryear, this one from July 20, 2010.