My coworker Nomura's son Haruki was eleven when the family moved to a small town in Virginia for a year. Before they left, Haruki's mother warned him to be careful. Americans could be rude. She had seen it on the news. Haruki didn't believe her. So he made a bet. He bought a tally counter. The little metal clicker that traffic surveyors use to count cars. Every time an American did something kind for a stranger, he would click it. His mother bought one too. Hers was for every time an American was rude. Loser washes the dishes for a month. Last week, Nomura showed me Haruki's notebook. Haruki had sorted his clicks into categories, because he is the son of an engineer. Called me "buddy," "bud," "little man," or "my man": 311 Said "Have a good one" to someone they did not know: 446 (Haruki's note: I still do not know what the "one" is. I stopped asking. I just have it now.) Dogs introduced to me by name: 58 Dogs introduced by FULL name, including middle name: 6 ("This is Rosie Marie. Say hi, Rosie Marie.") Asked if we were lost (we were not lost): 17 Asked if we were lost (we were lost): 4 Said "Just follow me" and drove five miles out of their way: 4 out of 4 Old ladies who told my mother my eyelashes were "wasted on a boy": 9 (I do not know what this means. My mother was very proud.) People on the pier who clapped when I caught a fish: 23 Size of fish: 4 inches (They clapped anyway. One man took a picture. He was not my dad.) Mrs. Patterson, my teacher, said "Good morning, Haruki" at the classroom door: 180 Number of school days: 180 Final count, the day they flew home: 1,427. Then Haruki asked his mother for her counter. She didn't want to give it to him. When she finally did, the little window said: 0 Haruki asked if she had forgotten to use it. She said no. She had clicked it once. In the first week, at a grocery store, she was slow counting out her coins at the register, and the man behind her sighed loudly and said, "Come on, lady." She clicked. She was almost glad. Finally. Proof. Ten minutes later, the same man found her in the parking lot. He had been looking for her. He said he was sorry. He'd had a bad morning, and that was no excuse, and could he please carry her bags to the car. That night, she sat at the kitchen table and figured out how to make the counter go backwards. Nomura says his wife washed the dishes for a month without complaining once. Haruki's counter still sits on his desk in Tokyo. It doesn't say 1,427 anymore. His mother borrowed it. There's an American family two floors down from them now. She's been counting. She's at 31.