Why wouldn't they buy me these dolls? Did they not love me? Did I not deserve to be celebrated along with all the other girls in Japan? Why not? Why not? Pretty please.
My parents answered with a very simple and powerful answer. "We're not spending thousands of dollars on dolls."
Yes, these dolls really do cost thousands of dollars. They're just dolls. Dolls every girl wants, but in the end they're just dolls. It wasn't about deserving these beauties. It was simple math. I get that now. Many, many years later, I get that now.
I do not have a daughter. I wanted one, not in place of our son, but in addition to him. For many reasons we didn't. I will take this regret to my grave. Which is why I've placed a very special order with my son. "Give me a grandbaby girl." Specifically, a red head. More specifically, a red haired girl with bouncing ringlets and gray eyes. I've seen the one I want. She walks hand-in-hand with her grandfather down the sidewalk in our city outside of Boston.
"That one," I've said to my son seeing her again as we drive through town one day. "I want that one."
"I'll see what I can do," he's promised, laughing. "But, I doubt I can get you that specific girl. She seems to belong to someone already. Careful what you say. You sound like a stalker."
"Please," I say. "Don't be so dramatic."
I sighed loudly. Whatever. My son laughs, again. I do, too. Never mind the fact research shows both parents need red haired genes in order to produce a red-haired baby, and neither my side or my husband's family has anyone who matches this requirement. A girl can dream. I'm hoping for a miracle.
Had we been blessed with a daughter would I have bought her a set of hina dolls? No. I'm firmly in my parents camp. I would never have spent thousands of dollars on dolls. Why then do I chide my parents for depriving me? No good reason, I suppose. I wasn't then, and am not now very good at taking "NO" for an answer. I wanted these dolls. It was as simple as that.
Instead of the beautiful display of real hina dolls we made our own. This was torture to the seven-year old me as they were in no way a replacement for the real thing. My mother and I would drain two eggs, let them dry over night, and fold origami kimonos for the eggs that would become the prince and princess. I would then proceed to paint faces on the eggs. Every year I would crush one with an, "Oops. I guess you'll have to buy me the real ones now" line which was never resulted in the purchase I desperately hoped for. Oh well. I tried. I truly did.
While I do not have a daughter, I have informally adopted many. We have no signed papers but just an understanding. I had to send a rather terse e-mail to one of my daughters recently. She botched something and it was my job to inform and guide her through the fix.
This daughter lost her real mother in the tsunami three years ago. She was 17 at the time. A nursing student now, she's trying to move on.
She called me 15 minutes after I sent the e-mail. We talked about its content. She explained. I listened.
"I need to tell you something," she said towards the end of our phone call.
"What is it?"
"I've been," and she pauses, "I've been diagnosed with depression."
I don't speak.
"I'm getting treatment."
"I'm glad," I say.
"I'm not excusing what I did, but in hindsight, I realize I should never have done that project. I wasn't in a good place. I should have turned it down."
She talks some more, her voice cracking in some spots. I try to keep mine steady. I tell her to call me any time she needs to. I tell her I will always be there for her. I silently curse the Japanese mental health care system again, the one that keeps people shut up about their trauma lest they become stigmatized as "mentally ill". I tell her I'm proud of her. I tell her she's brave. I ask if I can help.
As a child I prayed my parents would change their minds about purchasing hina dolls. As an adult I pray for my daughter with depression. Girls can survive being denied dolls. I'm proof. Don't pray for me that magically I'll see dolls on my front door step tomorrow. I'll be fine living without. If you do pray, if you believe in asking for help from whatever deity you work with, please pray for my daughter. Light a candle. Sing. Dance. Send good vibes.
My daughter and I ended our chat with a promise.
"If I'm still living in Japan when I'm old, I want you to take care of me," I say.
She laughs. "You'll be a handful," she says.
"Of course I will," I say.
"I'll try."
"I don't like needles," I say to her, and laugh.
"We'll figure something out."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
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