I was starting a load of laundry, my son's dirty trousers in hand, when I sensed something was wrong. I couldn't put my finger on what was troubling me. I held up my kid's khakis, looking for a clue. It wasn't that his pants were filthy. They are always filthy. It wasn't that they were full of holes. That's normal, too. Then it dawned on me: no grass stains.
Where I grew up in the United States, no self-respecting 9-year-old came home until his trousers were green at the knees. Grass stains were proof of proper play. Indelible evidence that he had slid down hills, jumped out of trees and wrestled his best friend to the ground.
Grass was everywhere. Every house had lawns front and back. The parks were grass. And of course our school playground was almost entirely lawn. So grass stains were a fact of life. You know how Japanese commercials for laundry soap always show housewives struggling with soy sauce stains? In American detergent ads, valiant moms battle grass stains.