A stranger at an American grocery store said, "I love your jacket, man." I froze. In Japan, when a stranger speaks to you, something is wrong. You dropped your wallet. Your bag is open. There is a spider on you. So I checked my jacket for stains. I checked my zipper. I turned around — maybe he meant someone behind me. He was already gone. He didn't want anything. The compliment was the whole event. It took me three weeks to try it myself. I practiced in my car. "Nice hat." "Nice hat." "Nice hat." Twenty minutes. At Home Depot, I finally said it to an old man. My voice cracked like I was confessing love. He said "Thanks, brother!" and kept walking. Like it was nothing. Like kindness is free here. Since that day, I have complimented 14 strangers. In 40 years in Japan, I never once told my father I liked his car. Tomorrow I'm calling him. Nice hat, America.