My father worked for a toy company called Tomy (they made miniature cars like HotWheels) and I never lacked toys at home.  But my favorite toys were plentiful outside – after school, I always threw my school backpack into the house and went outside to play without even stepping into the house. Kids knew it was time to go home when we heard the crows cawed.

Wild Things in a Suburb

With the help of my mother working as a dormitory caretaker/cook, my parents were able to buy a house in the suburb of Tokyo.  I was six and transferred to a new elementary school in this new neighborhood and soon found constant playmates just around the corner.

Back then, this area was going under major developments as a “bed town” of Tokyo (close enough to commute into Tokyo by trains). Even though it was by no means a country side, natural playgrounds were still plentiful: There were woods to explore – one time, as we went deeper looking for stag beetles or bell flowers, we almost fell on our bums because we stumbled upon a farm with a small herd of cows!

There were fruit orchards nearby, and we were always tempted by ripe persimmons hanging from neighbors’ yards on the way back from school… There was a good size chicken farm next to our nearby playground, and we got muddy looking for crawfish in a pond near a train track or frogs and tadpoles in new canals snaking through brand new residential developments. 

We made forts tying up the tall pampas grass, played tug of war with plantain weeds, and floated bamboo leaf boats down a stream.  I feel blessed to have grown up in that environment because we used our imagination to play with everything around us – and we were NEVER bored.

On Rainy Days

The only time we would be stuck at home was when it rained or was too cold to go outside.  I’m sure I played with the toys my father brought home as samples, but I also loved to “create” things with my hands.  My mother sewed, knitted and crocheted everything I wore (until I was in fifth grade when it was no longer cool) – I learned all of those skills through osmosis which came in handy in my adulthood.

One of my favorite rainy day activities definitely included origami. 

A Brief History of Origami

Origami (折り紙) in Japanese means “folding paper”, and its origin story goes back to the 600s when the paper manufacturing process reached Japan from China.  The Japanese tweaked its process and created its own “rice” paper which made the paper thinner and stronger.  Much as they still do today, they started using the paper to wrap their gifts or offerings to gods.  As fastidious as the Japanese are, they developed a neat and clean way to wrap those objects. 

Soon, the samurai class formalized it into origata, a method of folding paper to wrap gifts and letters, as a form of etiquette for the samurai.  By the 1700s, during the Edo Era, the increased production of paper made paper more accessible to common folks and origami became a part of recreational activities.  The oldest origami book was published in 1797, and by the mid-1800s, origami was incorporated into the curriculum for kindergarteners.  I also should add that origami is NOT unique to Japan – Called pajarita (meaning a “little bird” in Spanish), there is a paper-folding tradition in Europe as well, although its origins are apparently unclear. 

One Thousand Paper Cranes

Today, when you think about origami, I’m sure you think about paper cranes.  The origami cranes have become a symbol of peace, longevity, and prayerful hope. There is a saying in Japanese,「 鶴は千年亀は万年（つるはせんねん、かめはまんねん）」, “Cranes live for one thousand years; turtles for ten thousand”.  (Just as an aside, the kanji characters for one thousand (千｜せん) and ten thousand (万｜まん) generally represent “very long” or “a lot” in Japanese – not literal numbers.)  Cranes and turtles are auspicious animals and you see their symbolic images often depicted in scrolls, kimono prints and obi (a sash for kimono) patterns.  You may also have seen the images of thousands upon thousands of paper cranes at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park – the site where the atomic bomb was dropped, marking the end of World War II for Japan.  

The idea that your wishes may come true after you fold one thousand paper cranes is called senba-zuru (千羽鶴).  There is a wonderful book for young readers called “Sadako and The Thousand Paper Cranes” by Eleanor Coerr.  It’s based on a true story of a girl who survived the atomic bomb, but 10 years later suddenly developed leukemia at the age of 12.  She folded over one thousand cranes with a hope that she would heal and be healthy again...  

Prayer Stitches

When I started reading about the origin of senba-zuru, I came across a term that I had never heard: sen-nin-bari (千人針) – “one thousand person stitches (knots)”.  In the early 1900s women all across Japan started making amulets for their husbands and sons as they went off to war as soldiers – and this tradition continued through World War II: they would cover a piece of cloth with rows and rows of one thousand knots in continuous red thread.  They would ask other women in the family and in their community – on the street corners or wherever they found people – to contribute their knots.  To “make a knot (玉留め｜たまどめ)” in Japanese phonetically sounds the same as “to stop a bullet (弾｜たま)”, and a “reverse stitch (返し縫い｜かえしぬい)” represented the wish for the soldier’s safe return. 

After World War II, instead of making this cloth amulet, senba-zuru replaced the practice for those who make a wish for good health or a speedy recovery.  Even to this day, the Japanese fold paper cranes to send to those who are in a hospital or to make a prayerful wish for something special to come true.  I think there is something comforting about moving your fingers and doing something tactile while you wait…

Birthday Magic

Every August, I am reminded of what my father did once for my birthday when I was 7 or 8 years old.  In my family, we did not make a big deal out of birthdays – especially mine, as my mother’s birthday was on the 5th and mine was on the 7th.  We would go out for a special dinner on the 6th and that was that.  We didn't grow up expecting a big present.

When our first daughter was born just four days after my birthday, I was determined NOT to combine our celebrations.  We always downplayed mine and celebrated hers with a big party (she would eventually take over and become the “event planner” for her own day).

Back to that one special birthday … When my father came home, he summoned me over to my room where our toys were stored in the closet (押入れ｜おしいれ) behind our bunk beds.  He said he’s going to use magic, and chanted the words, “chichin-puipui (ちちんぷいぷい)!” in the direction of the closet.  I hurriedly went into the dark closet and looked for a new toy.  Not knowing what I was looking for, I may have taken a little too long to locate his gift.  He helped unearth it from a pile of toys – it was an origami book!  

Chichin-Puipui…!

I think I was more enchanted with the idea of what he did rather than what he gave me – because when I became a mother, I came to use this “chichin-puipui” magic chant to cast a spell on our daughters.  It was so fun to see their delight while they believed I had a magical power to bring forth exactly what they wanted (or needed) at that very moment.

I gleefully abused my magical power and used it liberally, not just on their birthdays.  Suddenly struck with my "power", I would announce, “I feel the power coming over me … NOW!”  In the exact spot I wanted them to look, I would wave my hands and chant, “chichin-puipui”...!  The girls would start opening every door in the direction I waved to.  Sometimes it was in the dryer, kitchen drawer or shoe closet – in places they would least expect it.  

To be honest, I can’t even remember one good example… We would be talking about socks with holes while doing laundry. Suddenly the girls would find new socks in the freezer…  You get my picture.

My Father’s Legacy

My father was a charming and personable man, with wavy hair unusual for Japanese.  I didn’t get to know much about him – except that he left home young, and started working in his preteen years at a telephone company (now Nippon Telephone & Telecom Co., Ltd. or NTT for short).  He got himself through a university, majoring in Spanish. 

Despite his outgoing personality, my father was a loner.  He really didn’t know how to care for anyone but himself.  He probably lacked the tools to communicate love or even affection, without the support of his own family around him.  He believed that providing a decent life for his wife and his children was "love" enough.  He died alone, having been betrayed and defrauded by one man he thought was the only friend for most of his adult life.  He died penniless, giving away all of his money as a loan to this "friend". He thought he was "investing" in this man's most outrageous "business" ideas one after another, until he had nothing left to give (let alone take care of his own family)...

But I don’t want to dwell just on his lonely life – in addition to Spanish, he taught himself English by listening to NHK (Japan’s National Broadcasting Corporation)’s radio programs.  Being trilingual made him valuable enough to be sent to Hong Kong in the late 1970s by his company.  

If it weren’t for him, I would not have the life I have now: Because of him, I had to learn English and attend a convent school in Hong Kong. Because of him, I was "sent back" to Japan for university (against my will). Because of (or in rebellion to) him, it gave me the unrelenting drive to seek a scholarship to study abroad – and I ended up in New Zealand. Could he have predicted that I would marry an American sailor who followed me to New Zealand, with a ring?

We've now been married 34 years, having raised two fiercely independent and creative daughters here in America, and are about to start a new chapter of a life together in a new city, new state.

Papa, your “magic” lives through me.  It’s your legacy I’m passing on to our girls. Who knows? They may be “struck” with the same magical power just yet…!