Japan has always been an enigmatic place conveniently defined by cherry blossom trees, geisha, sumo wrestlers and bullet trains. Before I moved there, my image of the country was of Japanese skiers blackening snowy white slopes with a density that was unfathomable to a young boy brought up on the ski slopes of New England and Colorado.

Japan was also etched into my brain from the World War II photographs I saw in Time-Life history books: the dead American soldier on a Guadacanal beach with a single bullet hole in his helmet; the British soldier being beheaded by a samurai sword-wielding Japanese officer; the horrifyingly beautiful mushroom cloud over Hiroshima, and the rusted pocket watch that recorded that fateful moment; and the Japanese weeping at the news of the country's surrender.

A continent away, my English-born-and-raised wife first discovered Japan in a novel about Japanese dolls. The impression of that book was so powerful that 15 years later she graduated from Oxford and decided to become an English teacher... in Japan. (She's now a journalist here reporting on Japan.)

One year ago, the circle was complete: our son Alexander was born in Japan. So his perception will not be what's Japan like compared to the rest of the world, but what's the rest of the world like compared to Japan. And while he will never be Japanese (non-Japanese need not apply for citizenship, thank you), his image of Japan will always be immediate and primal.

As my wife and I grow older, we spend a lot of time trying to understand this strange and unexpected relationship with the Land of the Rising Sun. And what surprises me to this day -- and after more than eight years of living in this country -- is just how powerful my childhood images are of Japan. This is not the case in other countries. I have long since abandoned my Charlie Chan-Fu Man Chu view of China developed by a thousand childhood tales told by my father. And I have no illusions of Buckingham Palace, tea with the Queen and beefeaters, when I think of England.

Of course, eight years of living in Japan have supplemented my childhood images with a rich tapestry of experiences that now define 'my Japan.' And yet, those initial first impressions persist. Japan somehow resists the memory bank upgrade. Could it be that Japan has never come clean about its geishas and its wartime past? Is it because cherry blossoms really do stir my soul? Can it be that Japanese ski slopes are still as anarchic and crowded as they were when I watched them on our old black-and-white television?

What is it about Japan that provokes such powerful stereotypes? Part of it is just how different the nation is than anywhere else on earth. This uniqueness lends itself to the rapid stereotyping of its culture. It is a defense mechanism of the brain that cannot adequately process Japanese imagery. I'm sure this is also true about such exotic lands as Bhutan.

But Japan is not an isolated mountain kingdom. It is the second largest economy after the United States. We eat, drink, sleep and get around with the help of Japanese products. And yet seemingly more exotic lands like India or Africa are easier to characterize.

If I believed in magic, I might argue that Japan casts a spell on all those who gaze upon this island. A fog envelops its visitors allowing them to only see what Japan wants you to see. Not that the Japanese are novices at this deception. For 300 years the nation practiced a form of isolation that many a dictator has dreamed of, but never accomplished. It also has a language designed to obfuscate.

Japan is a nation so opaque that perhaps the best way to describe it is by comparing it to watching the shadow of a body walking behind a shoji screen in an old, traditional Japanese home. There I go again, resorting to just the kind of cliche Japanese image that all of us cling to, and the Japanese do nothing to disavow.

I guess the only guy in our house who will truly understand Japan is my Alexander, my son. Too young to be spun by floating images of Japan, or the mangled efforts of people like his dad and mom to explain the country, he'll see it for what it is: a country of people just like you and me.