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National Geographic : 1990 Apr
Contents
Popular and powerful as head of the Japan Socialist Party, Takako Doi confers with a colleague in her Tokyo office. A stuffed panda won in a singing contest sits beside her. Doi plays pachinko, a kind ofpinball, with a passion; others among the wealthy and powerful play golf. At a club in Kagawa prefecture, radio-controlled carts on monorails ease the load of caddies, many ofwhom are farmers' wives. apologize. But when Japan's first silver medalist in the 1988 Olympics, a young po licewoman who competed in marksmanship, returned in triumph from Seoul, every inter view I heard began with the same question: "Now that you've won your medal, when do you think you'll be getting married?" It was a friendly question. Today as in the past, marriage is the only truly acceptable state of being for any Japanese woman-or man. As a woman approaches tekireiki, the "suitable age" to marry (traditionally 23 to 25, now closer to 27), all Japan will help her find the right mate. Large companies often have marriage bureaus to facilitate introduc tions between single employees. Match makers, sometimes professional, often a friend of the family, suggest suitable mates. Parents hire detectives to check out each other's families-they look for assurances of mental and physical well-being, and for signs of shady ancestors. The Japanese aren't as superstitious as some other Asians, but even for them 1966, the Year of the Fiery Horse in the 60-year Chinese calendar, was considered bad luck. Females born in that year are called man eating women, hino-e uma, literally "fiery horses." So many couples feared bearing a girl in 1966 that the official birthrate plum meted by more than 25 percent. Many young women enroll in bridal train ing courses; they work on the tea ceremony or flower arranging-or if they're very modern, driver's education or even word processing. Buffing oneself up to become the ideal oku san, literally "Mrs. Interior," can be, and often is, a full-time job. Fumiyo Arai, a 23 year-old woman who lived around the corner from us, showed up regularly at our door to practice her English on our sons; she loved to play board games with our eight-year-old and would do so by the hour when most Japanese were at work. I asked Fumiyo what she did with her time since quitting her part-time job as a receptionist. She answered, "I'm helping my mother." I was puzzled until I learned that Fumiyo was a kaji tetsudai, or "house hold helper," spending a few quiet years training to be a full-time housewife. National Geographic, April 1990
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