Generations can clash over many things.
The prompt is:
HERITAGE
The mansion stood on the highest hill in the county. Surrounded by blooming cherry trees, it was easy to imagine you were standing on some Japanese samurai’s estate outside Kyoto. Until you turned around and saw the suburban tract houses laid out in a perfect grid below.
“It’s beautiful,” Jules said with a tinge of awe in her voice.
“It’s a scar on the face of our community,” her father responded.
“Why? The architecture is stunning, and the gardens are gorgeous.”
Her father sniffed. “The architecture is a bastardization of our heritage and American stereotypes. The eaves should extend out further. And there is no engawa.”
He scowled when Jules frowned at the word. Her refusal to learn his native language was a constant source of friction.
“Engawa—a wide veranda. And it’s too tall. It would never withstand even the smallest jishin—” His scowl got deeper. “—earthquake.” He took a deep breath. “And worst of all, there is no wood! How can senzo—ancestors—feel at home with no wood?”
He turned away from the mansion on the hill and muttered, “These Americans have no history of their own, so they steal from other cultures.”
It was time for Jules to stand her ground—literally and figuratively—against her father’s biases. She refused to follow him as he walked away.
“You came here for a good job and to make a better life.” Her defiant tone stopped him in his tracks. “You met Mom and, like it or not, you’re raising an American daughter. I respect your—our—heritage.” Her voice softened. “But you need to respect my American heritage, too.”
Her words didn’t spawn a revelation in his thinking, but when she brought her blond boyfriend home to dinner, at least he didn’t throw him out.
THE END
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