We came upon an American house with its treasures spread across the front lawn. Tables of cups, old toys, a lamp, one coat. A handwritten sign read GARAGE SALE. In Japan, a family’s belongings stay inside, unseen, for generations. To lay them on the grass for all to behold is unthinkable. So my entourage and I understood the truth. This noble family was holding a ceremony of generosity, offering their household heirlooms down to the common people. A grand and humbling act. We approached with great reverence. The lord of the house asked one dollar for a chipped mug. One dollar, for a family treasure. We were honored beyond words. We bowed. We paid two, to show proper respect. He tried to give change. We refused it, weeping. We carried home a broken umbrella, a child’s puzzle, and a single shoe. Each one we now display like a relic of a generous American clan. Every Saturday, we tour the neighborhood searching for more ceremonies. It has become the joy of our lives. We have never been happier. Americans, please confirm. This is a sacred rite of giving, yes? And if it is not, please do not correct me. I much prefer my version.