Chapter XII—
Child-Rearing

Until the end of World War II, standard guides like Kaibara Ekken's classic on the proper conduct of women set forth precisely the moral duties of wives to husbands, and of children to parents. But the government leaders and Confucian moralists who sponsored the guidebooks, did not offer advice to the parents on how to handle children. As a result, there is no formal tradition, setting forth the ideal parent behavior comparable to the set of injunctions regarding filial piety. Advice on child-rearing^[1] was left for older women to pass down to younger women informally by word of mouth, and even the consensus about child-rearing which did exist in many communities was never standardized or rationalized. When one asks a Mamachi mother about "traditional" patterns of family relations, she cites a well-ordered stereotype of the ideal patterns she was taught, but when one asks about "traditional" patterns of child-rearing she has no such rationalized overview and is more likely to cite her own experiences.

Nor is the Mamachi mother clearer about what the new pattern is, for despite the plethora of printed advice now available on child-rearing and the attempt by many mothers to develop an integrated rationalized approach, there is no clear consensus on desirable practices that compares to the consensus in America represented by the wide acceptance of Spock. There is not even a single integrated set of practices which can be called the "new way."

[1] Child-rearing is here understood not as a body of specific techniques to train children but as the sum total of familial relationships of all kinds as they impinge upon the child and affect his development.

The Mamachi mother, lacking a single standard guide and confronting the difficult problem of providing her child with proper training for a constantly changing society far different from the society of her childhood, must seek advice from a variety of sources and then reconcile the conflicting advice with her own intuitive sense of what is proper. Most Mamachi mothers have worked out relatively consistent patterns of dealing with their children, but they are filled with doubts about whether their methods are the best.

Mamachi mothers approach the task of selecting proper methods every bit as seriously as husbands approach their work. Their attitude is expressed by a mother who explained that her task is more important than her husband's because he merely deals with things while she is responsible for moulding lives. Because this is the main work for salary men's wives and because of the limitless range of suggested methods, no topic evoked more lively discussion among Mamachi women or more close questioning of us about practices in America than child-rearing. On no topic do they read more avidly. They read advice columns in the daily papers and weekly magazines, information bulletins on nutrition or psychological problems issued by various branches of the government, accounts of mothers who have traveled abroad, "scientific investigations" of experts, and some even read the Japanese translation of Spock. But the amount of reading material is so overwhelming, the suggestions so numerous, and the possible solutions so different, that mothers look to intimate friends or meetings with other mothers and teachers at school for specific answers to concrete problems. These discussions with friends and other mothers are earnest, serious, and full of lively interchange of experiences and opinions.

Many conventional practices are questioned by the more modern mothers. Some question whether it is good for the small child to sleep on the same futon (mattress) with his mother. Some argue that the practice of carrying a child on the back is old-fashioned, and refuse to follow the custom. While almost no mother defends outright the desirability of bottle-feeding over breast-feeding, most no longer think it right to criticize the small but increasing number of mothers who find that they do not have enough milk and must use bottles. Others think it is not good to scare children with stories

of ghosts, and many modern mothers are adamantly against teaching the child anything that smacks of superstition. Some are even experimenting with leaving grade-school-age children at home alone while the mother goes out shopping. Others argue that it is sometimes best to allow a small child to cry and believe this principle so firmly that they are willing to endure the disapproval of neighbors who still think that a baby's crying is a sign of inadequate maternal attention. But many just as staunchly, though perhaps more quietly, defend more traditional patterns, and many who advocate new ideas find it difficult to put their views into practice. Some mothers who see nothing wrong with crying find themselves so upset by their own child's tears that they cannot permit the crying to continue. Others resolve not to carry their baby on their back but later find themselves doing so because of the convenience.

The Basic Relationship:
Mutual Dependency of Mother and Child

Despite the wide divergence of opinion and practice among women of different ages and social classes about child-rearing, Mamachi women consistently approach the task of child-rearing in a way which contrasts with the modal patterns in the American middle-class suburbs. This difference is illustrated by a Mamachi mother who prided herself in being modern and rearing independent children even to the point of incurring the disapproval of some of her relatives but was shocked when a three-year-old American child took such an active interest in playing in the home of a stranger that he did not even notice when his mother went into another room. After this mother heard in detail some of the freedom granted to American children, she concluded that by comparison the freedoms she granted her children were minor. Indeed, the typical mother-child relationship in Mamachi is very close, both physically^[2] and

[2] As part of my investigation of child-rearing practices, I arranged to have questionnaires distributed to about sixty families each in seven different communities—five in rural areas, one a salary-man neighborhood in a Tokyo suburb, and another a small-shopkeeper neighborhood in a Tokyo suburb. The results presented in thetable below are the mean age (in months) at which certain steps in child-rearing were reported to have taken place.

psychologically.^[3] It may seem paradoxical that even though the salaried family represents the most radical departure from tradition in many ways, the opportunity of the wife of the salary man to be home and devoted to the children has made the mutual dependency of the mother and child even stronger in the salary-man families than in other occupational groups. Because of the relative isolation of the mother and child from other maternal relatives, the mother-child relationship of the Mamachi salary mother is perhaps even more intense and less subject to outside interference than in traditional rural families. The father is occupied away from home long hours of the day, the mother's opportunity of seeing friends is usually limited, and once the children are born the mother turns her affection to them. She provides them with continuous attention, and, because her social sphere is so limited, she relies on them

[3] This observation and its implications for psychoanalytic theory are discussed by Dr. Takeo Doi, the only practicing Japanese psychiatrist with Western psychoanalytic training, and by Dr. William Caudill, who is currently carrying out large-scale research on mother-infant relationships in Japan. William Caudill and Takeo Doi, "Interrelations of Psychiatry, Culture, and Emotion in Japan," in Medicine and Anthropology , New York: Werner Gren Foundation, 1962. See also Takeo Doi's analysis of the passive dependency of the model Japanese personality. Takeo Doi, "Amae—A Key Concept for Understanding Japanese Personality Structure," Psychologia , 1962, 5:1–7. Dr. Doi has noted that mothers foster this passive dependency, and the techniques of child-rearing elaborated above can be thought of as a further specification of the techniques giving rise to this type of personality.

for companionship just as completely as they rely on her for care.

When a second child is born, and the mother must sleep with the baby, the eldest child ordinarily stops sleeping with the mother and begins sleeping with the father or a grandparent. While elementary-school-age children often sleep in a separate room, and certainly have their own mattresses and covers, it is not unusual for grown children to sleep next to their parents. Mamachi mothers may be embarrassed that this practice may not conform to how the modern mother is supposed to behave. They argue that sleeping with small children is convenient and comfortable. The baby and mother can go right to sleep after nursing; the mother can comfort the child without getting out of her quilt; in the winter, they can keep each other warm and the mother need not worry about the child getting out from under the quilt. One mother after seeing an American movie expressed her pity for the "poor foreign babies" who were forced to sleep alone. Even putting a baby to sleep is not done by rocking or sitting beside a crib and singing a song, but by close physical contact, by nursing him or later carrying him on her back until he dozes off. If the child is too heavy to carry, the mother may lie down beside the child, singing or telling a story until he falls asleep.

Breast-feeding generally continues slightly longer than one year. Many advice columns and even some government publications advise that it is wise to begin weaning at a fairly early age, and a few mothers are even using bottles. But there are also some at the other extreme, like the mother who weaned her two-year-old the day a younger child was born, or the mother of an emotionally disturbed child, who complained of the pain of waiting with full breasts for her six-year-old son to return home each day from school. Most mothers, however, begin weaning their children shortly after their first birthday while introducing supplementary food. The actual weaning may be abrupt but often, even up to the time the child enters elementary school, the mother's disapproval may not always be strong enough to stop him from teasingly fondling her breasts occasionally. Most mothers feel it unnecessary and even cruel to deprive the child of close physical contact.

Bathing is another opportunity for close physical contact between mother and child. While poorer families go to the public bath,

virtually all salaried families now have their own wooden tubs, which are shorter but deeper than the average American bath. One washes before entering the tub and sits in the tub for relaxing and getting warm. While older children and adults bathe alone, the mother usually bathes with small children until they are old enough to enter elementary school. Even after the child is in elementary school, on special occasions when the mother wants to have a particularly close talk, she may have the talk while she and the child bathe together in the tub. One Mamachi parent suggested that the expression hadaka de hanasu (figuratively, talking frankly; literally, talking nakedly) probably derived from the practice of informal talks in the bathtubs.

Until the child is one or two, the mother carries the child on her back in a special strap when she works around the house or goes out shopping. When she goes out in the winter, she straps the child on her back, then puts on a loose fitting coat which covers both her and the infant, and the infant's head can be seen peering out of the coat. To mothers and children alike, the idea of a child on his parent's back is a pleasing one, with connotations of pleasant intimacy. In advertisements, happy children peer over their mothers' shoulders; in children's books, monkeys or bunny rabbits gayly climb around the necks of giraffes; in their play, girls strap their dolls on their backs.

Sexual feelings between parent and child tend to be deeply repressed, and the close physical contact between mother and child during the day and night are not thought of in sexual terms. Rather physical contact is seen as a natural expression of affection, which is desirable and necessary for the proper rearing of children.^[4]

Even when the Mamachi mother and child are not in actual physical contact, the child is seldom out of his mother's sight or earshot. No one is considered a substitute for the mother, and rarely does a mother think of leaving her children with a baby sitter. Even if a grandmother is at home to care for the children, many mothers try to avoid leaving her with children younger than two or three.

[4] Cf. Drs. Doi and Caudill, op. cit. See also their articles in Robert J. Smith and Richard K. Beardsley, eds., Japanese Culture, New York: The Viking Fund, 1962. This more complete repression of sexual feelings also helps explain the great length of time it takes a Japanese couple to begin enjoying sexual relationships after marriage.

Usually the mother stays at home, or, if she goes out, she takes the child with her. If some difficulty should arise while the mother is out, the mother is blamed for leaving, and she probably would not go out again for a long time. The reaction of many Mamachi mothers upon hearing that American children are often left with baby sitters was to ask if the children would not be lonely, clearly implying that if their child was lonely or cried, they would not leave him.

Even within the home, the child is likely to be within his mother's view. Most mothers do not use cribs and while play pens or beebi saakuru (baby circles) are sometimes found in upper-class or independent professional homes, they are still virtually unknown among Mamachi salary men. Because of the dangers of bumping against the hibachi or of falling off the porch next to the sliding glass doors, the mother generally works close to a small child if she is not carrying him on her back.

It is assumed that the child will naturally want to be close to his mother and will be afraid to be alone. The mother deals with such fears not by assuring the child that there is nothing to be afraid of, but by remaining with him. The implicit attitude seems to be that the mother agrees that the outside is frightening, but that while she is there she will protect the child against all outside dangers. The mother's attitude that one must be careful in the presence of strangers is also communicated to the child well before nursery-school age. All three-year-old children known about o-bake (ghosts) and often playfully threaten each other acting as if they were the ghosts. Sometimes an adult, with fingers outstretched, jokingly menaces a child saying o-bake . If the child then becomes frightened and cries, the adult cuddles the child, promising to protect him from the ghosts. Many children who have heard stories of ghosts in the hole under the toilet ask their mothers to accompany them to the toilet even when they are old enough to manage the basic functions themselves.

Even though the mother is not consciously aware of using such techniques, her attitudes and approach tend to arouse in the child a fear of making independent decisions and to create anxiety about being isolated from family or friends. One mother, for example, had explained to her daughter that she could choose her own grade school if she were fully prepared to pay the consequences. The con-

sequence was that when the girl later wanted to change schools between junior and senior high school, the mother reminded the daughter that she herself had chosen the school and therefore would have to stay there. The moral was clear: it is risky to make decisions on one's own.^[5] The threat to isolate a child can be illustrated by an explanation of a school principal. He said that on a school trip which he supervised, the children were remarkably well-behaved because he had warned them before that any child who misbehaved would be left at the destination by himself until his parents would come and get him. The combination of provoking anxiety about the outside and rewarding intimacy serves to keep the child dependent on his mother.

The process of encouraging this dependency begins in earliest infancy. While the American baby who cries learns that at times he himself must deal with his internal tensions, the Japanese infant learns that whatever tensions he has will be relieved by the nearby mother who offers physical comfort and, at a later age, candy or some other sweet.^[6] It is not surprising that so many children are so anxious about the mother's leaving and that so many mothers are frightened of the child's reaction if they were to go out and leave the child with someone else.

While curious, the Mamachi child is frightened of the strange outside world. We never heard of a child talking about running away from home, and the Mamachi mother has little worry about a child not sticking close by in public. While in America one sees mothers chasing down the street after a child, in Mamachi one is more apt to see a child frantically chasing after a mother who is encouraging her child to hurry by running slightly ahead. We have never heard of a mother punishing a child by forbidding him to go

[5] Mary Ellen Goodman reports that Japanese children are more responsive to adults' wishes and less determined in making up their own minds about what they wish to be when they grow up. Mary Ellen Goodman, "Values, Attitudes and Social Concepts of Japanese and American Children," American Anthropologist, 1957, 59:979–999.

[6] In a questionnaire gathered from 92 Tokyo mothers, 85 percent reported giving food between meals as a reward for good behavior. Damaris Pease, "Some Child Rearing Practices in Japanese Families," Journal Paper No. J-3872, Iowa Agricultural and Home Economics Station, Ames, Iowa.

outside,^[7] but we have on several occasions heard children frantically yelling for their mother because they had been placed out of the house and not permitted to come in again until they repented their misbehavior.

Even joking can lead to effective results. One mother suggested to her daughter that she might be able to go to America with the interviewers when they returned home. Although the daughter protested, the mother began teasing more, pointing out how wonderful America was, what a good experience it would be, how proud she could be, all of which served to make the child cling even more closely to the mother.

The Mamachi child is usually polite in public or in new situations and is slow in adjusting to outsiders, including school friends and teachers. He is likely to be reserved to his teacher, and some children who are noisy at home are quiet and reserved in school. Indeed, this pattern is so common as to be known as uchi benkei (a child as ferocious as the warrior Benkei at home, but as gentle as a lamb elsewhere). But once children have been thoroughly accepted into the new group they can display the same noisy playful behavior as at home.

There is a continuity and compatibility between the child's dependence on his immediate family and the dependence which he later feels toward his school and work groups. Compared to the American firm, where the man is expected to make decisions within the scope of his position, the Mamachi salary man is expected to go along automatically with the group, and often he is not even aware of any decision-making process.^[8] Most Mamachi residents would prefer to have things already arranged for them o-zen date (literally, the tray already arranged with food on it) rather than to carve out their own situations. For instance, the Japanese concept of hospitality is to have everything arranged ahead of time, including lodging, food, transportation, and detailed itinerary, rather than waiting to consult with the guest.

In Mamachi, as in communities in other societies, children grad-

[7] Even the punishment of locking the child in the closet (oshiire ) which is used occasionally has the feeling of shutting the child off from the rest of the family.

[8] More joint discussion and approval is required than in American firms. Cf. Kazuo Noda's discussion of ringi seidoo in "Traditionalism in Japanese Management" (mimeographed).

ually become more independent. But whereas in the United States the push seems to come from the child himself, in Mamachi the push often comes from the mother. Many mothers of Mamachi, while implicitly encouraging their children to be dependent, complain about their difficulty in getting their children to be independent and feel it necessary to give them an occasional shove so they will do things on their own. In contrast, many American mothers who complain that their children are too independent implicitly encourage independence by making it sound so attractive and by accepting it as natural that the child would want to revolt and become more independent.

In the United States, many children and even adults who have strong ties to their parents, try to act brave, strong, and independent because it is considered so child-like to admit one's feelings of dependency. In Mamachi, in contrast, feelings of dependency are accepted as much more natural, and while some children resent being tied to their parents, they generally do not have to strain to prove that they are independent even when they are not.

Although this pattern of mutual dependency between mother and child remains strong in Mamachi, even through adolescence, there is a feeling that the new way, while not yet clearly defined, is toward having less dependence. Mamachi mothers, who had an opportunity to hear about American child-rearing practices and to see American children during our period of research, agreed that their children were more dependent, yet many were displeased when we first explained that American children were usually more independent. This displeasure in part seems to reflect their belief that keeping children close is gratifying for the mothers, but that allowing more independence is better for the child. Many recent advice columns have encouraged mothers not to be selfish in wanting to keep the children so dependent on them. Many mothers, who reported how long they nursed the baby or took baths or slept with him, added that they were bad to take so long or that they continued these practices so long only because their child was unusually lonely, delicate, or prone to catch colds.

At the time of adolescence, the mother's problem is especially complicated. Most Mamachi mothers feel that their children, especially their daughters, do not have the range of experience nor the soundness of judgment to make wise decisions about marriage and

employment. Yet it is not entirely clear how much responsibility the mother will have for making the decisions and how much the child will demand to make the decisions on his own. Commonly the child decides at an early age that he wishes to make his own decisions, yet continues to lean on his mother for assistance even though resisting many of her suggestions. The mother's task is further complicated by the fact that she does not sufficiently understand the child's outside world to be confident of her ability to offer the right kind of assistance. In traditional rural communities, where the range of social relationships was narrower, it was easier for the mother to assist her child. True, she might not have been able to find as good an opening, but the limited range of possibilities available to her for exploration made her task simpler. The suburban wife now has so many possibilities open to her which she cannot possibly explore that she can never feel that she has completed her task. The situation is so complex, the amount of potentially relevant information virtually unlimited, the mother's feeling of responsibility so strong, and the child's ambivalence about getting parental advice so taxing that many openly envy Western countries where children have sufficient experience at a younger age to make decisions themselves. It is only through narrowing down her range of possibilities through conversation with friends and the cultivation of her child's co-operation that she can hope to achieve her task.

Perhaps some of the difficulty a mother has in planning her children's marriage, especially that of the youngest, is the result of her ambivalence about concluding an arrangement whose success means that she will then be deprived of her role as mother. The problem of the empty nest is crucial for mothers in any society, but in Mamachi where the pattern of elderly parents living apart from all married children is relatively new and the mother-child relationship is so intense, the departure of children necessitates the most painful adjustment that most women will have to make in their lifetimes. Having devoted their lives so completely to their children, many have no interests which can really take their place. Golden-age clubs are virtually unknown, and going to a yoorooin (old people's home) seems as bad to old people as being sent to an orphanage would seem to children.

Many are never required to separate completely but are able to live within the same neighborhood, and often even next door, and

this appears to be the most ideal solution. For a mother who has devoted her entire life to her home and children, living apart seems sad. The Mamachis residents' deepest criticism of the American family is that young married couples are heartless in letting old people live by themselves. Japanese young couples are more apt to keep closer to their parents, but even being made aware that they are an economic burden or feeling relatively neglected by the children is often a crushing blow to parents. A large number of elderly ladies lived with and served their mothers-in-law when they were young and feel that it is a bitter fate that they now have to live alone without the attention from their children.

Such is the price that the salary-man's wife must pay for the pleasure of devoting herself to her children and for enjoying the freedom of living only in a nuclear family when at a younger age. The workings of the Japanese social structure make the tie between her and her child even more intense and more exclusive than the mother-child tie in most societies. When children are small this creates no serious problem. When children leave home, some speak nostalgically of their romanticized view of the earlier times when old people were happily welcomed into the family, when they were not treated as a burden, and when the younger couple followed the wishes of the elders without hesitation. Yet they know that times have changed and that their own attitudes have changed with the times.

Variations on a Theme: Birth Order, Sex, and Parentage

The mother's relationship with her children varies according to their birth order as well as according to their age. Everyone calls oldest children Niisan (older brother) or Neesan (older sister), but younger boys and girls are usually called by their first name or by some nickname. When a mother thinks her child is acting babyish, she does not tell him to "act his age," but to "act like a Niisan ." Older children often are given the responsibilities of looking after younger children, and when older children reach adolescence, the mother is likely to consult with them about plans for the younger children since the older children know more about the outside world. If the father spends little time at home, the mother may

share her problems with the older children and treat them like adults, even in their early teens. The mother is particularly dependent on the oldest son, and may have deeper emotional ties toward him, yet she commonly treats him with more respect and less light-hearted affection than she does a younger son. She looks to him for advice and help with younger children and for financial help in her later years.

Younger children often, in fact, fit the stereotype of being less responsible and more mischievous, but more spontaneous and charming. Many mothers delight in affectionately telling funny stories about the youngest child's exploits, tricks, and insatiable quest for attention. A mother is likely to make allowances for his "misbehavior" since he is the youngest and hence not so responsible. The youngest often is treated as a family pet and granted a certain amount of license by the older children and the father as well as by the mother. Small children call their mothers and fathers okaachan and otoochan (affectionate terms corresponding roughly to mommy and daddy). As they get older, they use more formal terms of respect, okaasan and otoosan (mother and father), but the youngest children usually continue calling their parents by the affectionate childish name much longer than their older siblings.

The youngest child is pampered and babied by his siblings as well as his mother. The mother weans him at a later age and sleeps and bathes with him for a longer period of time. Until he is three or four, he is given virtually anything he asks for. In quarrels between older siblings and children under three or four, the mother does not investigate who started the fight, but asks the older to yield. By the time the youngest is in grade school, more demands are placed on him, but often the pressure for him to act like an older sibling comes not from the mother but from the older siblings. Even then, however, the younger sibling is permitted more freedom than the elders received when they were his age.

The biggest change in the relationship of a child with his mother occurs when a younger sibling is born. The age at which a child is weaned, or required to sleep or bathe alone, or to assume responsibilities for his own behavior is determined more by the time his next younger sibling is born than by any other single factor. The youngest, having no such pressure, is permitted to remain childish to a much later age.

While most couples are anxious for their first child to be a boy, some wives argue, perhaps partly to protect themselves against possible disappointment, that it is better to have a girl first because a boy is more wagamama (determined to get what he wants). Mothers tend to feel that boys are more difficult to manage. They are afraid that unless they gratify a boy's demands quickly he may become uncontrollable, and some mothers become panicky if their sons do not do precisely as they wish them to. Girls, on the other hand, are thought to be patient and able to endure it (gamanzuyoi ) if their wishes are not satisfied immediately. While many girls complain that their brothers are required to do less work and are criticized less, girls win their mothers' respect because they have stronger characters than their more impulsive brothers. Since mothers consistently treat boys as if they are impulsive and girls as if they have greater abilities to endure, it is not surprising that boys often do turn out to be less capable of tolerating frustration.^[9]

This combination of birth order and sex roles tends to make the relationship between mother and youngest son especially affectionate. However, as much as she is devoted to her youngest son, the mother is sometimes concerned that he does not give her a chance to get her work done or to visit friends or attend PTA meetings because he is always following her around wanting to play. And the youngest son, accustomed to his mother's constant attention, is sometimes upset when his mother has other things to do.

While the youngest son enjoys the most pampering from the mother, the stepchild or the adopted child suffers most from neglect and discrimination. The number of these cases in Japan is large because of the number of war orphans and because parentless children are more likely to be cared for by relatives than placed in new homes where they might be fully accepted as family members. Furthermore, the housing shortages after World War II and the problem of caring for children who were finishing schooling has required relatives to care for children apart from their parents for

[9] This points up the inaccuracy of one wartime interpretation of the Japanese. It was thought that Japanese were aggressive in the war because they were controlled and kept all their feelings inside. If this were true, one would expect that since women were ordinarily much more controlled they would become much more aggressive under stress. Such is not the case.

extended periods, taking on a role much like that of step-parents. A number of Mamachi families have cared for rural nieces or nephews who came to the Tokyo area to attend high school or college. In case of divorce, the custody of the children in Japan frequently goes to the father's family so the child would be cared for by a stepmother or by the father's mother or sister who might have the same psychological relationship to the child as a stepmother.^[10] Because the mother-child relationship is so intense, the stepchild is likely to feel particularly deprived. No matter how much the stepmother tries to be fair, it is someone else's child whom she is caring for, and feelings of fondness are not ordinarily as deep as those between the mother and her true children. The actual number of stepmothers is relatively small, but the public wrath against them expressed occasionally in newspapers, TV "home dramas," and "movies" suggests the extent to which everyone has strong feelings about the evils of inadequate mothering.

The Father

In the daily work of child-rearing, the Mamachi father plays a minor role. Occasionally he plays with small children or takes older ones for a walk, but he does not share the responsibility of caring for and training the children. He does not serve as a mother substitute or as mother's helper in performing the routine aspects of child care when the mother is busy. It is true that a few modern fathers, albeit a bit awkwardly and gingerly, are attempting to help their wives, but this pattern is scarcely common enough to constitute a trend. Nor does the father often consult with the mother about questions on the daily handling of the child.

In his day-to-day contact with the children, the father is ordinarily incredibly mild. He almost never gives orders to the children, and he leaves the disciplining of the children entirely to the wife. He plays on the floor with small children, almost as if he himself

[10] In one study of 3754 divorce custody cases in 1953 in Japan, in 42.1 percent the custody of the children was awarded to the fathers, in 44.5 percent to the mothers. Eiichi Isomura, Takeyoshi Kawashima, and Takashi Koyama, eds., Gendai Kazoku Kooza (The Structure of the Contemporary Family), Tokyo: Kawade Shoboo, 1956, Vol. 5, Rikon (Divorce), p. 208. In contrast, in a Detroit sample of 425 cases, mothers were awarded custody in 94.8 percent of the cases, fathers in 2.4 percent. William J. Goode, After Divorce , Glencoe, Ill.: The Free Press, 1956, p. 311.

were a child or, perhaps, more accurately, as a number of mothers phrased it, a child with a toy, the toy being the small child. He may be very affectionate to the children, and when the second child is born he may sleep and bathe with the eldest. Fathers see themselves as very kindly in relation to their children and try to avoid telling them what to do. They often side with their children when the mothers are too strict, and sometimes give them little presents without the mothers knowing about it. Children respond to this attention and are usually delighted to have a chance to go out with their fathers for walking or shopping.

Yet children are aware that this pleasantry has limits and at times are afraid their father may explode if not treated with proper caution.^[11] Children can have raucous good times with their father, but they must catch him in the right mood, and even then they may not feel free to talk to him about their own concerns. The positive bonds of affection which Mamachi children feel toward their father are not always strong enough to overcome their feeling of restraint because of the potential authority which he can exercise. In part, the respect for the father's authority derives from his expression of opinions which he does not even think of as restraining. Sometimes, as for example when the father wants the children to bring him something or to be quiet, he is so simple and direct that he does not think of himself as invoking authority; yet the children feel constrained to obey. In part respect derives from the few but memorable occasions when the father lost his temper and suddenly demanded something in a tone of voice that caused everyone to scurry to obey. In large part, however, the child's respect for the father's authority is learned from the mother. At times, she warns the children that if they do not perform properly in school or if their behavior brings shame to the family, the father will punish them. At other times the mother conveys the image of the father as an authority by more subtle means. In the father's absence, for

[11] In sentence-completion tests, children making critical comments about their parents most often describe their mother as urusai (bothersome, noisy, or strict) and their father as kowai (frightening or scary). This supports the view that while the mother takes care of the day-to-day discipline problems and is continually after the children to behave properly, the father is more readily obeyed on the few occasions when he does say something. Children can take their mother's criticisms and comments more lightly than their father's.

example, she may talk with the children about how to get something from the father without getting him angry. The impact of such discussions is to make the children cautious in approaching their father. Some fathers are uncomfortable about the reserve which the children feel in their presence, but even with their mild manner, playful behavior, and frequent presents, fathers have difficulty breaking through this wall of silence. Although kind and gentle to his children, the father nonetheless represents and enforces community standards to the children. It is he who loves and respects the child who does well on entrance examinations, the child who is admitted to a good school or job and makes a good marriage. Because he is a representative of the outside world to his children he cannot entirely escape being seen by them as they see the outside: aloof and frightening. And they feel they must observe some of the caution they do on the outside. As much as the father may try to avoid being cast as an authority and to win the children's friendship by considerateness, mildness, and good humor, his position as authority and representative of the outside always remain in the background.

Being home even a few hours a week is sufficient for the father to serve as role model for the boy, when reinforced by the mother's encouraging her son to behave in accord with the male role. The mother's expectations are usually sufficiently unconflicted as to obviate any problem in the boy's learning male roles. Sex roles and the attitudes associated with Oedipal ties between father and daughter on the one hand and mother and son on the other hand are also learned primarily from the mother.

Oedipal relationships are especially pronounced in late adolescence. At that time the daughter, like a person fond of someone she rarely sees, often feels more positive affect for the father even though she is in many ways more intimate with the mother. Similarly, the constellation of family roles and in particular the mother's relationship to her sons is sufficient to produce the father's rivalry with his sons, particularly his eldest son, even if the father spends relatively little time at home.

Getting the Child to Understand

Most Mamachi parents, fathers and mothers, are lenient with their children, especially when they are small. By Western standards

grandparents are so uncritical that, as the Japanese saying goes, they "wouldn't even feel pain if the children got stuck in their eye," i.e., nothing the children do could possibly be bad or painful. Small children are permitted to run, climb, yell, stay up late, eat large amounts of sweets, keep their mothers occupied away from company, hit bigger children, and climb on their parents' laps or backs with almost no limit. Yet somehow, Mamachi mothers must train their children to become properly behaved adults.

So little do parents even think of punishing their children that mothers rarely if ever use techniques of discipline commonly used in the West. They rarely yell at, criticize, hit, spank a child, or mete out a specific punishment for a wrongdoing. Several Japanese mothers, visiting the United States, have expressed their shock at the cruelty and crudity of American mothers who spank or yell at their children in public places such as supermarkets. Yet Mamachi children do learn how to mind, are well-behaved in most public situations, polite to teachers,^[12] and considerate of others. Some Western observers who have attempted to explain the paradox of Japanese permissiveness toward children alongside the children's carefully controlled public behavior have argued that mothers suddenly become strict with children when they are about five or six years old.^[13] It is true that mothers become stricter as children grow older, particularly when a younger child is born and when the child enters school, but it is no sudden application of strictness that did not exist before. And even a typical three-year-old child has already learned to stay away from danger, to bow to guests, to take off his shoes as he enters the house, to treat adults with courtesy, and to be quiet in public.

The explanation of the Mamachi mother's success in training without discipline is that she teaches only when the child is in a co-operative mood. She ordinarily does not think in terms of using techniques to get the child to obey her or of punishments if the child does not obey her. Her aim is to establish a close relationship

[12] Miss Kazuko Yoshinaga who taught middle-class kindergarten children in the United States and Japan expressed surprise at the rudeness of the children in the United States who sometimes call teachers by their first name, sometimes accidentally bump into the teachers, and contradict them.

[13] See especially Ruth Benedict, The Chrysanthemum and the Sword, Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1946.

with the child so he will automatically go along with her suggestions. To the extent that she thinks of techniques for dealing with the child, they are methods for keeping the child happy and building their relationship so that he will want to do what she says. Because her interest is in their relationship, she is less interested in getting the child to behave properly than in getting him to understand. With a good relationship, she need only indicate the desired behavior and add with a tone of encouragement, wakaru ne? (You understand, don't you?). If the child co-operates, he is said to understand.^[14]

One of the principles implicit in the attempt to get the child to understand is that one should never go against the child. There is no distinction in the Japanese language between "let a child do something" and "make a child do something" (both use saseru ), and the Mamachi mother avoids any situation where she is "making the child do something" against his will. In effect she limits the child's opportunity to develop a will of his own. By responding immediately to a child's needs, by going along with what he says, she makes it unnecessary for the child to develop a strong will of his own. By anticipating problems and offering ready-made solutions but few choices, she maximizes the chance that the child will go along automatically with her suggestions. She seldom gives an outright refusal to a small child's request. She is more likely to say "later" than "no." On some occasions she will give in because she feels it better to have a co-operative child in the long run than to risk a child becoming stubborn merely for the sake of getting temporary compliance.

That the average Mamachi mother is highly successful in training her children attests in part to her genuine liking for her children and her patient attempts to understand them and respond to their wishes. While she is not as sophisticated in the use of psychological terminology as her American counterpart, she is sensitive to her child's feelings and desires.^[15] She carefully watches each child so as to learn his wishes, and she spends considerable time thinking

[14] Betty Lanham also notes the interest of the mother in wakaraseru (getting the child to understand). Betty Baily Lanham, "Aspects of Child-rearing in Japan," doctoral dissertation, Syracuse University, 1962.

[15] Cf. Betty Lanham, ibid .

about his particular nature. One of the first things a Mamachi mother attempts to do after a child is born is to find out under what circumstances he cries and to learn to satisfy him so quickly that he will never cry for more than a few seconds. She continues to be sensitive to his moods and tries to catch any difficulties before they develop. She uses a large amount of goodies of all kinds to keep him happy and sunao (gentle). Indeed, almost any mother setting out for a shopping trip with a child, especially on public transportation, is likely to carry along an ample supply of candy to dispense in case her child begins to show some sign of discomfort. She knows an almost infinite variety of little hand exercises, peek-a-boo games, animal imitations, songs with gestures, games to play with a child's arms or legs or face which can be used to distract or entertain a child. At home, she uses physical contact to comfort the child. She does not hesitate to crawl on the floor, hold, rock, or bounce a child or to let him climb on her back. With a larger child, she is likely to tell amusing stories or play little games. She may also use such games, many made up spontaneously to fit the situation at home, to motivate a child to perform necessary tasks such as putting away toys. So devoted is the mother to keeping her child happy that from the eyes of a Westerner the Mamachi child appears pampered. To the Mamachi mother, who has an intimate relationship with her child and depends on this relationship for getting the child to follow her wishes, this devotion appears natural and necessary.

In the context of positive feeling the mother's teaching and guidance take place so automatically, that she herself is scarcely aware of it. She consciously thinks about and plans how to get the child into a good mood, but she rarely plans how to teach a small child to be neat, to assume the proper posture, or to avoid dangerous places, even though her child learns these things as early or earlier than the middle-class American child. A mother does not explain these things to a small child or reason with him. She simply puts his body in the proper position until he is able to make the movements on his own. If the child gets near a fire or starts to climb up on a high place, she does not lecture him on the danger of fire or high places. She simply says abunai (dangerous), which is more of a warning signal than a command, and pulls him away before he gets

there. The child soon acquires a fear of going near such places and stays away. To offer extended explanations is contrary to the spirit of child-rearing practice. It is inconsistent with the feeling that the child should respond immediately and without question and that rational explanations are less important than preserving the basic relationship. The Mamachi mother is often vague in her reasons for postponing a child's request, and this vagueness serves to emphasize further the importance of the basic relationship. Some conscious planning enters with older children, however, as explanations become necessary to make a school-child "understand."

When a child reaches the age of three or four, he is taught to withhold his aggression. When a child below that age hits an older sibling the mother may regard this simply as a form of play, but she may say that it will not do (ikenai ) for the older child to hit the younger one. If she hears that her child has been in a fight with a neighbor, she will tell him that will not do, regardless of whether he started the fight or not. To hit in self-defense is considered about as bad as to start a fight. While the mother may sympathize with her child when he has been wronged by others, there is virtually no situation in which returning aggression is condoned. She wants the child to learn this thoroughly because in many ways any aggressive sign from the child is regarded as a result of the failure of the mother to make the child understand, just as a child crying for candy in public is regarded as a sign that the mother does not feed the child enough.

In its early stages, toilet-training is in large part mother-training. When the child is six or eight months old the mother begins to watch how often and at what time he urinates and defecates, and then tries to catch him shortly before his usual time. Many mothers watch the child at night as well as during the day. In the summer time this poses no great difficulty as the child can go without diapers, and the mother will allow him to urinate in the yard. In the winter time, however, the baby is always dressed warmly, even in the house, and because the bathroom is quite cold the child cannot be left unclothed for long. Hence the mothers concentrate their energies for training in the warmer weather. They place the child on a potty shaped like the adult toilet, or they hold the child over

the edge of the porch at the proper time. Often by the age of one and certainly by the age of two, by some combination of child-signaling and mother-training, the child is dry. Toilet-training is accomplished with a minimum of struggle. Children are not expected to resist training, nor do Mamachi mothers speak of a "no" stage around ages two or three, where negativism is taken for granted as it is by many American mothers. Toilet-training is not viewed as a struggle by which the mother imposes her will. Rather, the mother simply is helping the child to prevent the discomfort that comes from being wet or soiled.

While many aspects of child-training take place automatically, there are certain things which the mother consciously sets out to teach the child. This is not thought of as discipline or an attempt to force the child, but the mother shows the child how to do something, and then the child is expected to practice. With a successful relationship with the child, the mother can expect that the child will co-operate with long hours of training. Even small children have the patience to sit for long periods of time for tasks of memorization.^[16] They are taught, for example, how to recite poems or sing songs, how to draw, how to color, how to make the letters of the Japanese syllabary—all well before grade-school age. Once in grade school, the child is expected to practice his lessons at home in much the same way. But even for these periods of practice, most mothers feel they cannot teach the child if he is not in the proper mood to co-operate. Even in an earlier era when school children were disciplined with a whip (ai no muchi, literally, the love whip), it was thought that if the child did not feel the whip as an expression of the love and devotion of the teacher, it would do no good. If the Mamachi mother is unable to create the proper spirit of co-operation, she will try to pass on the responsibility for training to someone else—the father, an elder sibling, a relative, or even an outside tutor.

If the relationship goes smoothly, few sanctions except a vague feeling of approval or disapproval are required to get the child to

[16] Mary Ellen Goodman who has carried on extensive interviews with young Japanese children reported that the children showed an amazing ability to persist working on various projects and that when working on such projects they were not easily distracted by outside interference.

behave. If the mother uses any sanctions at all, she tries to use positive ones and to ally herself with the child rather than to create any breach between them.

Flattery is used freely in front of family members although parents try to refrain from undue praise of their children in front of strangers. The mother frequently uses such phrases as o-rikoo (nice child) and joozu (skillful) in talking to the child or in talking to a third party within the hearing of a child. These expressions are used not only to describe behavior but also to mean "Mommy's good little girl will do this, won't she" or "so and so is wonderfully skillful; won't it be nice when you become so skillful?"

The widespread use of fear or ridicule, noted by virtually all observers of the Japanese scene, also serves to ally the mother and child on the same side without creating any obstinacy or feeling of opposition. Mamachi children show an amazing sensitivity to what people might think of them, and the standard device for getting them to behave properly in front of company is the fear of what outsiders might say or think. The mother, in getting the child to behave so that neighbors will not laugh, is not seen by the child as an authority-enforcing discipline but as an ally in avoiding the negative sanctions of an outside authority. Instilling fear of fathers, ghosts, or supernatural forces (bachi ga ataru ) has a similar function. It is a way for the mother to get the child to behave without making it necessary for her to assume the position of an authority.

In simple matters where the child is not ego-involved, the mother may merely say that the child should not do something, or if he has done something wrong, she may scold him for his improper conduct. However, when the child becomes adamant in wishing something, the mother is not likely to start a hassle, but to say that something will be done later (ato de ne ) or that it is impossible (dekinai ) without giving much of an explanation. Even if she is refusing the child because he has done something wrong, she does not usually make this explicit. Indeed, the vagueness of her refusal and the lack of explanation make it difficult for the child to rebel directly yet make it clear that it would be wise to try to get on the mother's good side the next time.

If the child is uncooperative the mother may make vague threats of abandoning the child, of leaving him home, or throwing the

child outside until he learns to show the proper attitude.^[17] By showing disinterest or by not quite understanding or remaining impassive, she makes it clear that the child does not have the proper attitude, and the usual response of the child is to try to gain back his mother's good graces. Even her techniques of refusal have the effect not of setting up a battle line between the two but of getting the child motivated to try to restore the understanding between mother and child.

Mothers who do not have the relationship with their child that leads to automatic compliance are often frantic, being caught between their inability to control the child on the one hand and their feeling that they should not punish the child on the other hand. Once the magic of the close relationship is broken, there is no legitimate way of getting the child to behave without starting all over again by building up the positive relationship. Indeed a few Mamachi children, usually in homes with a conflict between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, are virtually uncontrollable despite constant pampering because the child does not feel close enough to the mother to go along automatically with what she suggests.^[18] Mothers do sometimes become angry at their children and do sometimes spank them, but they never consider their indignation righteous, and are more likely to feel that their anger represents failure on their part than that it teaches the child a lesson.

In some ways, the mother's position is precarious. She is held responsible for the child's behavior and yet she does not have clear authority for laying down rules. If the father or mother-in-law disagrees with the mother, she must yield to their authority. Her only hope is that her relationship with the child is sufficiently close that the child will follow her wishes. Her authority position is not suffi-

[17] In a study in smaller city in central Honshu, Betty Lanham found that of 255 mothers using a threat, the most common kind was that someone would laugh at them (162 cases) or at their family (47). Many threatened that the child might become sick (116), that the mother would leave home (53), send the child to another house (49), or lock the child outside the house (42). Betty Lanham, op. cit .

[18] Clinicians at the Japanese National Institute of Mental Health have noted a regular syndrome centered on a pampered yet uncontrollable child caught between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law who both undercut the child's close relationship with the other. Neither is able to develop the kind of relationship with the child that leads to automatic compliance.

cient to produce compliance otherwise, and it is always possible for the children to complain to the father that the mother has been too strict. Even in the modern salaried families where the mother is given considerable freedom at home during the day, the husband may overrule some of her decisions. The techniques by which the mother builds a close relationship with the children may be viewed as a brilliant adaptation to the problem of managing the children without a clear mandate of authority that would permit her to exercise more direct sanctions.

Getting the Child's Co-Operation in Study

Since the mother must get the child to do an enormous amount of work in preparation for entrance examinations, during the grade-school years she is in many ways like an assistant teacher and in the summer vacation like a regular teacher. Even when the child is in high school and the mother is unable to help with the content of the study, she must continue to bear the responsibility for seeing that the child puts in a sufficient number of hours of study. And even if she does not understand the content, she may hold the answer book and drill or quiz the child about his lesson. She does virtually everything the teacher does except give a grade for the course. The situation here is an intensification of the Mamachi mother's basic problem in dealing with her children: she must get the child to co-operate in doing his work without having the clear-cut authority to enforce it. It is a problem so serious that some mother-child relationships crack under the strain.

Yet many do succeed, and one of the basic means by which they obtain co-operation is to convince the child of the importance of the examination. So all-pervasive is the spirit of the infernal entrance examinations that she rarely needs to use special techniques to get the child motivated to achieve. The continual talk about report cards, school preparation, and examinations, along with specific concern about the child's performance is adequate to create an impression on the mind of the child, but the mother often consciously tries further to increase the motivation. She does not hesitate to play up the status distance between her family and a higher-status family in order to indicate the advantages of studying

hard.^[19] Because the Mamachi standard of living is low enough that minor differences in income determine which electric machines a family owns and how nice a toy a child can have, the Mamachi child is taught that the job he attains will make a crucial difference in the style of life he can lead and in the security which he can have later in life. The Mamachi mother does not hesitate to connect the importance of examination success, and hence examination study, with success in later life. Not only does she typically do little to ease the child's anxiety about examination success, but she even encourages the child's uneasiness. By creating this uneasiness about success, the mother encourages the child to respond to her direction. She need not force the child to study because the child himself is so anxious about his success that he "understands" and wants to co-operate with the mother. She passes on to the child the demands of the outside world not as an agent of the arbitrary outside authority but as an ally who will assist him in meeting these demands.

Creating anxiety about possible difficulties in making the wrong marital choice has similar functions. It increases the probability that the child will voluntarily want to co-operate with the mother.^[20] Most mothers do not consciously plan to make their children more anxious. But being anxious about their children's success and desirous of motivating the child to co-operate mothers create these anxieties almost instinctively.

[19] I am indebted to Tadashi Fukutake who first alerted me to this problem.

[20] Evidence from psychological testing reveals how deeply children have internalized the feeling that they should follow the mother's wishes in studying and in finding a spouse. Cf. George De Vos, "The Relation of Guilt Toward Parents to Achievement and Arranged Marriage among the Japanese," Psychiatry , 1960, 23:287–301.