“No Shame in Being Poor”
“Raising Twelve Kids on a Brush”, Yomiuri Shimbun, 23 Feb 1939.
When I was born, I opened my eyes into a world that felt complete. Rich or poor made no impression; I was loved and clothed and fed. I didn’t question our modest home or my parents’ religious beliefs. In elementary school, I came home from school to an empty house in the afternoons, because my mother worked as a physical therapist. I didn’t question how my father’s job as a fighter pilot in the U.S. Air Force impacted our finances. Bills got paid. We went to church on Sundays; I assumed that everyone was Catholic, and everyone went shopping at the Base Exchange.
It only dawned on me gradually—noticing my classmates’ clothes or playing at a friend’s house—where I fit into the socio-economic picture. This happens to all of us, I imagine. As adults, old memories take on greater significance as we begin to realize what stresses our parents were hiding from us.
Akiko’s eldest son, Hikaru, remembers that money was always a concern.[1] Hikaru’s father, Hiroshi, gave little thought to family finances. Hiroshi saw himself as an artist (the implication here is that he was ‘above’ petty money matters). This left the details of supporting a large family on the earnings of two writers to Akiko. She worked constantly, Hikaru remembers, always at her desk, rarely going to bed before midnight, but always up to eat breakfast with the children. Though they lived in a large house and had servants, they shopped among mountain-high piles of marked-down clothes.
Akiko sometimes made extra money by pawning items at a local pawn shop. As a self-respecting lady she could not be seen there by herself, so a male friend from her publishing firm would accompany her. As well-known and critically acclaimed writers, they often received distinguished visitors, and in the Japanese tradition, visitors always came with gifts. She pawned many of these, Hikaru remembers, including a watch. Akiko also pawned two kimono that her mother had given her as a wedding gift. These kimono had been sent to her in secret, because Akiko’s father had effectively disowned her when she ran off to Tokyo to marry Hiroshi. Hikaru was embarrassed, but Akiko told him, “Poor people who work have nothing to be ashamed of,” (「働いて貧乏なのは恥ではない」).
It is easy to conclude that Akiko worked too hard and worried too much. Her husband Hiroshi went to the theater every month to see his beloved kabuki plays, but Akiko never had time (“It’s best for me to just give that up”, she told her son「諦めが私は良いのだ。」). I think of my own mother as I write this. I remember her always worrying, particularly about money. As adults, we don’t want to think that our parents sacrificed their happiness for us. Yet, in many families, there is little choice. Bills have to be paid, someone has to worry about it. Frequently, working mothers shoulder the heaviest burdens. For Akiko, even as she published fresh, beautiful poetry that lives on, and even as she fought for autonomy and respect for women, she carried 12 people on her back.
[1] “Memories of My Mother Akiko” (「母晶子の思い出」), Yosano Hikaru, The World of Yosano Akiko, Issue No. 20, October 2020.
