| Shinnen omedeto! Years ago, my parents taught my brother, sister, and me to say that during the month of January whenever we spoke to their Issei (first generation Japanese) friends. We Nisei (first generation U.S. citizens) did not greet our own friends that way. Instead, we said or yelled "Happy New Year!" However, we were taught that Shinnen omedeto! was the appropriate greeting throughout the entire month. We didn't argue with that, but I thought it a bit strange. New Year's Day was festive each year. There was a lot of food, and people whom we saw only occasionally dropped by to visit, eat, and talk. They were mostly long-time family friends, uncles, aunts, and cousins whom we children really didn't know. Nonetheless, the food was plentiful, most being seen but once a year -- on New Year's Day. My father saved and saved for the New Year's Day feast; my mother cooked and cooked. It seems as though we always had a boiled lobster as the central food item. There were lots and lots of other exotic foods that were not the usual fare. In fact, I didn't care for most of them, but I never complained because I knew the occasion was important -- culturally and traditionally. We also had to go to other homes to visit and eat. What I never figured out was how families were able to entertain guests who dropped by to talk and eat, and yet that they were able to visit their friends in the same way. It's still a mystery to me. But after so many years, I don't even wonder about it. I don't even remember if the celebrating had to be on a weekend. That would seem to make some sense, but I don't remember how it went. New Year's Eve day was an overly busy one. We all had to pitch in to help clean the house. What a lot of work! Culture and tradition had to be followed, even though we three children weren't aware of the ins-and-outs of the important occasion. We must have disappointed our parents because of our ignorance and couldn't-care-less approach to our less-than-happy cooperation. But, we ate the food without complaint. Other traditional days were celebrated by many other families; I think they were more into it than my parents, although they gave a not-too-enthusiastic demonstration. One was called Girls' Day, March 3 of each year. Another was called Boys' Day, May 5. Later, I think the tradition was revised so that May 5 became Children's Day. I remember that on Boys' Days, some families made a great to-do by hoisting large paper carp kite-like ornaments on poles. There was one carp to denote each son. So, some poles had four or five large paper carp billowing in the Los Angeles wind. Our family didn't go in for that. Another tradition that must have died out sometime in the late 1930s was the kenjinkai picnic. "Ken-jin-kai" probably can be explained by my taking a syllable at a time. "Ken" is a geographical area similar to a state; "jin" means people; and "kai" means association or club or group. Thus, a "kenjinkai" is a rather loose association of peple from a ken and nearby ken. (Incidentally, Japanese words are both singular and plural.) About once a year, usually on a Sunday, the Kenjinkai sponsored a picnic. My parents came from Saga, Japan; therefore, the annual picnic was attended by people who had emigrated from Saga and nearby ken. Parents must have known about when to go and where to go, but we children were not told until about a week or so before the grand event. We had no choice; we had to go. Food was the major draw, in addition to the opportunity for friends and relatives to socialize. Some of the children had friends and relatives to chum around with, but my brother, sister, and I knew practically no one else in attendance. It really was not a fun time for us, but life was not always fun anyway. For children, the primary activity was the race -- probably a 100-meter or 200-meter sprint. Participants were grouped in age-groups, and everyone not using crutches had to give it a try. The youngest ones ran first, then the next older, etc. So, it was fair enough; but I never enjoyed the activity. I think the first prize in each race was a notebook or pencil box. There were prizes for second and third also -- all being school supplies of one kind or another. Each runner-up received a wooden pencil, not sharpened but with an eraser. In all my experience, I never received more than a pencil for each race I had to enter; neither did my younger sister. My older brother, however, won pencil boxes and notebooks. He was much more athletic than either of us. As for me, I was glad the mandatory participation in picnics stopped in the late 1930s. Some traditions need to be placed to rest. That was one of them. |
| Some traditions to keep, some to let go By Paul Kusuda |
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