How to Be an American Housewife - Margaret Dilloway [18]
“You’re not interrupting at all,” Lorraine said.
I glanced at Lorraine, hurt, realizing that for all the times I popped in, she never did the same.
“I was going to run to the mall. You want to come with?” Charlene avoided my eyes.
“Sure. Let me get my purse.” Lorraine launched up from the chair.
I waited for them to ask me to go. Of course, they did not. I could have invited myself, but why? So I could tag along? “Thank you for Coke.” I put the glass down on the table, where someone who was not Lorraine would pick it up later.
“You want us to get you anything?” Charlene asked. “We could stop at the grocery, too.”
“I get myself. You girls have fun.” I left, remembering what it was like to have girlfriends to giggle with.
CHARLIE AND I ARRIVED HOME on Jacaranda Street. In the next driveway, Lorraine was getting out of her Mercedes. She was bigger than ever and moved slowly. Her hair was gray now. She waved. “How you doing, Miss Shoko?” she called. “Not working too hard, are you? Your roses look beautiful!”
“Thank you.” I simply shut the car door and turned away. In the old days, I would have stayed out and chatted with her. Finally I had realized it wasn’t worth it. She was only a neighbor, not a friend. I no longer had the energy.
“I was going to get you out.” Charlie tried to run around the car.
“I fine.” I smiled.
He paused and looked at me. “I’m sorry about Japan, Shoko.”
I glanced at his eyes. He really was. “Maybe next life, huh, Charlie?”
“There is no next life.” Charlie turned and went into the house.
I followed, formulating a plan. I would have to call on my daughter.
The only question was whether she would ignore the request.
You must pay particular attention to raising daughters in the Japanese tradition. With American daughters, there are more ways to get into trouble, as she will want to be American. Teach her to resist this urge if you want to avoid the shame of having a daughter who runs with the fast American crowd.
—from the chapter “American Family Habits,”
How to Be an American Housewife
Six
When the Americans first took over Japan, my father said to me, “Shoko. You must learn English. Now we all have to be like Americans.”
“No,” I said. “I will never be an American.”
But he was right. He always was. Japan was going nowhere.
Our village was tiny, with only fishermen and farmers. There was nothing for young people to do but get married and work in low-paying jobs. Most girls sat around at home, waiting to get married. I dreamed about going to college, though there was no money for it.
I wanted to be a diplomat. I loved reading about different cultures, especially the European ones. I went to the library and found every book I could about France, England, Germany. I wanted to learn their languages, but my all-girls high school didn’t have such courses. They had grammar and math, of course, but they also had flower arranging and dance as requirements.
Somehow, I thought I was smart enough to go to college and learn about the world there. My brother, Taro, told me that was nonsense.
“I make all A’s. Do you think you’re smarter than me?” I asked him.
“That’s not the point. You could be the smartest woman in the world, but you’re still a woman. A poor Japanese woman from a country that has lost a war. There is no way you could ever be a diplomat.” He was right, and I knew it but didn’t want to believe it. Taro, like me, spoke the truth, no matter how distasteful it sounded. “The best you could hope for is to go to college, pretend you’re high-class, and marry a diplomat.”
This was not how things worked out. I told my mother I wanted to go to college, and she said no, that there was no point in it for girls. My mother wanted me to marry one of the boys from our shuku—our community. People of a shuku worked together, and usually married each other.
Father disagreed with Mother. “She’s too good for those bakamonoshuku ,” he said, lifting his proud nose. “Too clever. She