The Home to Which the Noise Returns

There came a day when I stopped going on family trips.
I had been glued to my desk preparing for university entrance exams… or perhaps, I had just come up with that excuse.
The truth was, I simply couldn’t find a reason to go to noisy places with my family anymore.

— In other words, I longed for silence.

My family silently accepted it. Gradually, the number of trips they took without me increased.
They must have sensed that I was yearning for “serenity.”

In my house, silence never truly existed.
The TV was always on, laughter shook the walls, the ventilation fan hummed, and the air conditioner groaned.
Even if I curled up in the furthest corner of the house, the noise would follow me.

— However, when my family was gone, silence would unexpectedly arrive.
A silence so empty it felt almost unnatural.
The body left behind in the stillness experienced a strange sense of liberation.
The air spreading from corner to corner of the room didn’t clear with a “shh” but instead carried a tension, as if it were on the verge of snapping. I tried to merge with it.

I wanted to live in that stillness forever.

…That was my feeling for the first three hours.

Soon, the silence turned into a ringing in my ears, summoning phantom sounds that gnawed at my mind.
I started feeling ill, and in the end, I turned on the TV and played music…

— Ah, please come back.

When the door opened, the noise rushed in.
Laughter bounced through the air, the clinking of dishes echoed, and the TV blared noisily.
I frowned, but deep inside, I felt relieved.

The stillness certainly comforted me.
But it was the noise that connected me to something.

I hear there is something called “OYAKO Day.”
I want to celebrate that day not as a day to give flowers or exchange special words, but simply—
as a day to truly appreciate the value of the noise.

The discomfort of being alone.
The disharmony born from the interactions between parent and child.
That disharmony is my life, my comfort,
— and the place to which I belong.

by Nao Sasaki / age: 22 / Ebina City, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan

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The film opens with “Chapter Three.” The world is heading toward collapse. Earthquakes, tsunamis, forest fires—catastrophe after catastrophe unfolds. Then mysterious billboards begin appearing across town:

“Thank you, Chuck.”

A sudden expression of gratitude toward a man nobody seems to know.

What is this?

At first, I assumed it was going to be some kind of global-scale disaster movie. But then the film quietly flips itself inside out. As the chapters count backward—from Three to Two to One—we begin tracing Chuck’s youth, and the mystery slowly unravels.

The “end of the world” turns out to be the end of one ordinary man’s life.

The 39 years of memories belonging to a man named Chuck—that tiny personal universe—is revealed to be equal in scale to a dying planet.

And that is something universal, something that will come for every one of us eventually.

What struck me most deeply was that the film is not about dreams fulfilled, but dreams left unrealized. The things every life quietly lets go of without even noticing. The movie neither condemns nor comforts us for this. It simply places that truth gently before us. And somehow, that sadness catches you off guard.

The characters, too, appear unrelated at first glance, yet are secretly connected by thin invisible threads. Life itself is like that, the film quietly suggests. And when Mark Hamill appears onscreen, visibly aged, the passage of time suddenly transcends fiction and overlaps with the audience’s own sense of years lived.

I was astonished that a writer nearing eighty could still possess this level of creative vitality.

This is not the kind of film where you walk out saying, “That was fun!” without hesitation. But perhaps that is precisely proof of its depth.

Among the human dramas adapted from Stephen King’s works, this has become one I won’t soon forget.

The post Thank You, Chuck — A Quiet Masterpiece That Slowly Sinks In: A Microcosm Called Life appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.

Oyako Day Essay Contest 2025 — Prize-Winning Entry

The Home to Which the Noise Returns

There came a day when I stopped going on family trips.
I had been glued to my desk preparing for university entrance exams… or perhaps, I had just come up with that excuse.
The truth was, I simply couldn’t find a reason to go to noisy places with my family anymore.

— In other words, I longed for silence.

My family silently accepted it. Gradually, the number of trips they took without me increased.
They must have sensed that I was yearning for “serenity.”

In my house, silence never truly existed.
The TV was always on, laughter shook the walls, the ventilation fan hummed, and the air conditioner groaned.
Even if I curled up in the furthest corner of the house, the noise would follow me.

— However, when my family was gone, silence would unexpectedly arrive.
A silence so empty it felt almost unnatural.
The body left behind in the stillness experienced a strange sense of liberation.
The air spreading from corner to corner of the room didn’t clear with a “shh” but instead carried a tension, as if it were on the verge of snapping. I tried to merge with it.

I wanted to live in that stillness forever.

…That was my feeling for the first three hours.

Soon, the silence turned into a ringing in my ears, summoning phantom sounds that gnawed at my mind.
I started feeling ill, and in the end, I turned on the TV and played music…

— Ah, please come back.

When the door opened, the noise rushed in.
Laughter bounced through the air, the clinking of dishes echoed, and the TV blared noisily.
I frowned, but deep inside, I felt relieved.

The stillness certainly comforted me.
But it was the noise that connected me to something.

I hear there is something called “OYAKO Day.”
I want to celebrate that day not as a day to give flowers or exchange special words, but simply—
as a day to truly appreciate the value of the noise.

The discomfort of being alone.
The disharmony born from the interactions between parent and child.
That disharmony is my life, my comfort,
— and the place to which I belong.

Nao Sasaki
Age: 22
Ebina City, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan

The post “The Home to Which the Noise Returns” appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.

The heroine of this film is Mabel, a college student. She chooses to become a beaver not out of environmental duty, nor from some grand creed of animal rights. No, her reason is more personal, more urgent than that: she learns that the beloved forest where she made treasured memories with her grandmother is about to disappear beneath a highway construction project.

This is the crucial point. The engine of this movie is not the abstract banner of “saving nature,” but something painfully concrete and small: memories of her grandmother. The sort of thing everyone probably carries somewhere inside them—that place, that smell, that person’s voice. It is nostalgia of that kind that hurls one young woman into a beaver robot. That the story begins from something so human gives the film its dignity.

Mabel, an ardent animal lover, uses a device invented by scientists that transfers human consciousness into robotic animals, and “hops” into a beaver model. At first she bursts with delight as she interacts with the creatures of the forest. But soon she is confronted with the severe laws of nature.

The animal kingdom, despite all its fluffy appearances, runs on the merciless logic of eat or be eaten. The romantic image Mabel had projected onto the forest is quickly chewed to pieces by reality’s sharp teeth.

But then the film takes one more admirable step forward. It refuses the easy comfort of self-righteousness. Believing unilaterally that you are right is dangerous. Mabel realizes she, too, understood nothing about the animals. Through regret, failure, and repeated mistakes, she tries to build relationships with them on equal footing. There is learning there. There is growth. She discovers firsthand how perilous it is to think that anything is justified so long as it is done “for the forest.”

Director Daniel Chong has said he drew inspiration from Isao Takahata’s Pom Poko (ah, memories!). You can feel it. The film squarely depicts the friction between humanity and nature, yet refuses to condemn either side as pure villain. That honesty toward complexity gives the story its depth.

The memories of Grandma are the film’s point of departure—but, in truth, also its destination. When people try to protect a cherished place, they often realize that what they are really trying to preserve is the relationship that place once held. What Mabel ultimately learns is not a methodology for conservation, but the patient persistence required to understand the other side.

That, perhaps, is something inherited from Grandma too.

複数の批評家がピクサーにとっての「原点回帰」と評した本作。笑いと冒険の皮を借りながら、その核心には、誰かへの愛から始まる小さな行動が世界をどう変えうるかという、古くて新しい問いが静かに宿っている。ピクサーの面目躍如と言えるだろう。

The post The Forest Was Made of Grandma’s Voice — A Review of “When I Become a Beaver” appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.

It still feels almost miraculous that one book I published led me to meet my partner, and eventually connected me to Sara—an irreplaceable life.

Before marriage, even while sharing dreams and goals with my partner, I couldn’t picture us raising a family together. But when Sara was born and our family began to take shape, I discovered her strength and kindness, and something inside me began to change as well.

Thanks to this precious being, I—someone who had always lived with myself as the priority—found myself thinking more about others, gaining experiences that added depth to who I am as a person.

In her name, Sara (桜來), we placed the wish that “no matter how long the winter, spring will always come.” We hope she will grow into someone who blossoms with hope like a cherry tree.

From now on, as the three of us, I want to see the wonderful scenery that only we can share, and experience life’s joys and challenges together. Through tears and laughter, in every moment, my greatest happiness is to live as a family.

The post Feeling an Overflowing Future in Someone More Precious Than Myself appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.

Guests: Tetsu Nakamura (Organizer of “Oyako Day @ Teganuma Park,” Digital Creator), Kei Endo (Director, Hakone Museum of Photography; Photographer), Miho Morishita (Representative, NPO “World Hibakusha Exhibition”), Naoto Anzai (Secretary-General, the same NPO)
Moderator: Satoru Seki (Editor, Producer)
Hosts: Bruce Osborn (Photographer), Yoshiko Inoue (Oyako Day Promotion Committee)
Organizer: Oyako Day Promotion Committee
Broadcast Date: Sunday, July 27, 2025 – 9:00 (Live)

The 23rd “Oyako Day” Special Live connected with Hakone, where an exhibition was underway, bringing real-time updates from the venue. Guests included Tetsu Nakamura—deeply involved with Oyako Day—and Miho Morishita, winner of the Oyako Day Grand Prize.

In this article, we present highlights from the video.
＜Watch the full video＞

Participants:

Tetsu Nakamura (Organizer of “Oyako Day @ Teganuma Park,” Digital Creator)

Since 2022, he has hosted “Oyako Day @ Teganuma Park” in Abiko, Chiba. He is deeply involved in Oyako Day, helping build horizontal links among local activity groups and contributing to community development.

Kei Endo (Director, Hakone Museum of Photography; Photographer)

Born in Hakone in 1958. While serving as director of the Hakone Museum of Photography, he presents work in Japan and abroad, including France, and participates in numerous photographic projects.

Miho Morishita (Representative, NPO “World Hibakusha Exhibition”)

She continues the activities of the NPO founded in 2002 by her father, photographer Ittetsu Morishita, advocating for a world free of nuclear weapons.

Naoto Anzai (Secretary-General, NPO “World Hibakusha Exhibition”)

As secretary-general, he organizes photo exhibitions and, from a restored traditional house in Yamanashi, works on building a sustainable local community.

Satoru Seki (Editor, Producer)

Has planned and edited culture magazines such as “POPEYE,” “BRUTUS,” and “Takarajima.” Currently a part-time lecturer (e.g., at Nihon Kogakuin College) and Director of the Stimulus Switch Laboratory. Writes the “Movie Oyako-don” column on the Oyako Day website.

Bruce Osborn (Photographer; Originator of “Oyako Day”)

Began photographing parents and children in 1982. In 2003, proposed making the fourth Sunday of July “Oyako Day.” Received the Higashikuninomiya Culture Prize for the social impact of his photography activities including Oyako Day. Continues to share the message “Present to the Future.”

Yoshiko Inoue (Head of Oyako Day Promotion Committee; Producer; CEO, Ozone Co.)

As Bruce Osborn’s professional and life partner, she has produced many exhibitions and events.

Oyako Day” Special Live—We’re On the Air!

Seki: Hello everyone. It’s Sunday, July 27—the fourth Sunday of July—so it’s Oyako Day itself. Yoshiko, Bruce, congratulations!

Yoshiko Inoue: Today’s Oyako Day photo session is a bit different—we’re streaming from Hayama.

Seki: And today, we’re connecting live with many people from various locations—this is a groundbreaking multi-site broadcast. Bruce, could you introduce some recent photos?

Bruce Osborn: This is by Tetsuya Chiba.

Seki: Yes—the famed creator of “Ashita no Joe.”

Bruce Osborn: We visited him.

Yoshiko Inoue: Until now people came to our studio, but from here on we’ll visit the families we’ve met—homes, workplaces—go to their “castles,” so to speak.

Seki: A “Traveling Oyako Day,” then.

Yoshiko Inoue: That’s right. The very first one was at Mr. Chiba’s place.

Seki: They both have such great expressions.

Yoshiko Inoue: Exactly—so many treasures. Joe and all… I feel like taking pictures anywhere.

Seki: Truly a trove of masterpieces. “Notari Matsutaro,” too; I was watching from “Harris no Kaze.”

Bruce Osborn: He really loved our T-shirt and wore it.

Seki: I see. I’m excited for more Traveling Oyako Day sessions.

Introducing “Oyako Day” in Abiko

Seki: First, we’re connecting with Mr. Tetsu Nakamura, who hosted Oyako Day in Abiko last week. Hello!

Tetsu Nakamura: Good morning.

Seki: Where are you now?

Tetsu Nakamura: Believe it or not—Hayama.

Seki: It’s calm today. Please tell us how Oyako Day in Abiko went.

Tetsu Nakamura: Sure. Could you put up the photo?

Tetsu Nakamura: Abiko has a freshwater lake called Teganuma. We held one activity on the pier by the boat dock. You can see the Oyako Day flag behind us. We had kids join in, holding placards and taking part.

Tetsu Nakamura: We started this event in 2022—this was our fourth year. The African drumming group playing djembe that joined us the first time came again. They held an open drumming circle beside the pier where children could join freely. It was wonderful.

This is Abiko’s lifelong learning center “Abista.” We reserved almost the whole facility. This is the tatami room, where we lined up picture books for families to read on the mats. Surprisingly, some small children had never experienced tatami. Rolling around while reading together—it turned into a really nice corner.

Seki: Thanks to you, Abiko has more and more events.

Tetsu Nakamura: There are already people doing great things; the key is linking them. When everyone gathers or collaborates, new ideas come up—so I think it’s creating a positive flow.

Tetsu Nakamura: This is the cooking workshop—looks like they’re making dumplings.

Seki: How many events were happening simultaneously?

Tetsu Nakamura: Inside Abista we had about ten sessions in total.

Seki: Impressive. Do you plan to continue every year?

Tetsu Nakamura: Yes—my goal is ten years. We’ve done four, so six to go.

Seki: With such popularity, people will say “don’t stop!”

Tetsu Nakamura: We also have support from the city and the board of education. Since it’s a public center, costs are minimal—mainly usage fees and flyers. Each group runs its piece independently when we all gather.

Seki: I see. Thank you—and stay cool!

Tetsu Nakamura: Thank you!

Seki: That was Mr. Nakamura from Abiko’s Oyako Day. He’s heading out to surf now.

Bruce’s Photo Exhibition at the Hakone Art Festival

Seki: From Abiko to Hakone—Bruce’s photos are on display at the Hakone Art Festival. Hello, Mr. Endo. Could you introduce yourselves?

Kei Endo: I’m Kei Endo, in charge of the Museum of Photography at the Hakone Museum.

Eiko Endo: I’m Eiko Endo. We launched the Hakone Art Festival, with the Hakone Museum of Photography serving as the secretariat.

Seki: Thank you for joining.

Endo: We started the Hakone Art Festival, and our museum is currently the secretariat.

Seki: I see. You’ll show us around today? What’s the concept this year?

Endo: We now have 27 venues. The concept is to move around Hakone and enjoy art throughout the town.

Seki: Here are Bruce’s photos.

Kei Endo: Yes—18 works. We held a Bruce Osborn exhibition at our museum last year, and invited him again this year as a central artist. This facility is Hakone’s Social Education Center—they’ve kindly provided it free of charge.

Eiko Endo: These are Bruce’s works displayed on the second floor—18 works in total across both floors, including large tapestry-style pieces.

And here is a work by Tadanori Yokoo in Hakone Town. Facing it is Bruce’s photo of the Yokoo parent-and-child; there’s a space for enjoying the piece. The exhibition runs through August 31, with free admission. Locals love it—his Ultraman photo piece, the portraits of Yuzo Kayama and Ken Uehara are also popular.

Yoshiko Inoue: We’re so grateful to exhibit in such a lovely place. I hope many people will see it.

Seki: It’s 35°C in Tokyo—cooler in Hakone?

Endo: The max here is around 32°C.

Seki: Then it’s a bit of a summer retreat—come see Bruce’s photos, enjoy people, art, and hot springs.

Yoshiko Inoue: It’s wonderful—so much greenery, and places where both kids and adults can play. Please come!

Seki: I’ll visit during summer.

Endo: We’ll be waiting.

A Message from Bruce’s Daughter, Mika

Seki: Since it’s Oyako Day, Bruce’s daughter Mika and her family are joining us. Hello—where are you today?

Mika: Philadelphia.

Seki: Is it hot there?

Mika: It is.

Seki: A flaming-hot Oyako Day, then—please share a message for your parents.

Mika: You’ve kept this beautiful Oyako Day going for years—even through COVID. I’m so happy you can do photo sessions again. Keep it up!

Yoshiko Inoue: And Dad’s feeling great again.

Seki: Everyone supported the family during Bruce’s health chapter—we could really feel the bonds. Wonderful, isn’t it?

Yoshiko Inoue: Mika’s husband Justin and Mika researched so hard and found a hospital in the U.S. where Bruce could have surgery—thanks to that, he’s this healthy now. Justin, thank you so much!

Justin: Of course! No problem!

Announcing the 19th Oyako Grand Prize!

Seki: This year’s Oyako Grand Prize has been decided! The winners are photographer Ittetsu Morishita and his daughter Miho. For nearly half a century they have photographed the lives of hibakusha and advocated for nuclear abolition worldwide. He is also the founder of the NPO “World Hibakusha Exhibition.”

We selected photographer Ittetsu Morishita and his daughter Miho for their meaningful work—especially in times like these. Congratulations! Ms. Morishita, are you with us?

Miho Morishita: Yes, I’m here.

Seki: You’ve joined our online talk live before, but today as a Grand Prize recipient—how do you feel?

Miho Morishita: Honestly, last year in Hiroshima I thought of stopping our photo exhibitions. It’s hard to keep expanding this activity. But when we did a show in Saga this year, the response—like in Hiroshima—was overwhelming. Even so, continuing steadily is tough… and then Ms. Inoue told me, “We’d like to award Miho the Oyako Grand Prize,” and I felt encouraged again.

Seki: Like getting a push on your back.

Miho Morishita: It made me glad we kept going. It felt like a huge gift—I burst into tears. Since my father passed away, I hadn’t been able to cry… I was truly happy. Thank you so much.

Yoshiko Inoue: Congratulations. This year marks Showa 100 and 80 years since the end of the war. There’s no one more fitting than you and Ittetsu. We decided to present you the Grand Prize—congratulations!

Miho Morishita: Thank you—I’m grateful. I think I can keep going a while longer.

Seki: What are your plans from here?

Miho Morishita: I want to hold an exhibition within the year. For funding, Mr. Naoto Anzai—right here beside me—is running around helping.

Seki: Mr. Anzai, a word please.

Naoto Anzai: Thank you for this wonderful prize—it revived our motivation. This year marks 80 years since the war and the bombings, and many things are happening. But it’s not the end—this is where we begin. From this summer to the summer of 2030, we aim to expand the Hibakusha Exhibition around the world.

Miho’s father, Ittetsu Morishita, had said we would bring the photos to 100 countries by 2020. We aren’t there yet, but we’ll reset and push out globally.

People in Toronto, New York, and Los Angeles have already invited us. We want to spread across the U.S., so we hope everyone will support us.

Yoshiko Inoue: The world feels unstable in many ways, so we want to grow movements like this. Oyako Day, of course, and the message of treasuring life—we want to keep sharing that.

Miho Morishita: We have only two photos of my father and me together taken by Bruce, so they’re true family treasures. They’re displayed in our old Japanese house. It was the first and last time—so I’m deeply grateful to Bruce for taking them.

We wore “No Nukes” T-shirts made by young people. My father insisted on standing at the venue even though he used a wheelchair—he said, “A wheelchair is unbecoming; I’ll stand.” It was tough to support him, so I’m barefoot in the photo.

Seki: In the photo he looks robust.

Miho Morishita: Thanks to Bruce.

Seki: We look forward to your continued work—please keep it up.

For the Finale: Everyone Shouts “Oyako Forever!”

Seki: Yoshiko, Bruce—we’re nearly out of time. For a wrap-up, could you share your hopes and outlook for Oyako Day?

Bruce Osborn: Yesterday in Hayama we had people come for the event, and on Oyako Day many gather to take photos—it’s so much fun.

Yoshiko Inoue: I was thrilled people remembered us at the Hayama event. Drawing energy from everyone—once we clear this year, there’s next year. I suddenly thought, let’s do Oyako Day in New York next year. Whether it happens or not, we’ve got a year to plan—let’s try.

Seki: I’ll come along—oh wait, I have to be here.

Yoshiko Inoue: No—let’s plan it.

Bruce Osborn: Yes.

Seki: Thank you all for joining us today. Shall we end with something we all say together?

Yoshiko Inoue: How about “Oyako Forever”?

Seki: Great—on three. “Ready—go!”

All: Oyako Forever!

Seki: Thank you—have a wonderful day!

The post Transcript Edition – The 23rd “Oyako Day” Special Live appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.

Guest: Hiroichi Yanase (Professor, Institute for Liberal Arts, Tokyo University of Science)
Moderator: Satoru Seki (Editor, Producer)
Hosts: Bruce Osborn (Photographer), Yoshiko Inoue (Oyako Day Promotion Committee)
Organizer: Oyako Day Promotion Committee
Broadcast Date: June 29, 2025 (Sun) 1:00 PM (LIVE)

Our guest for the 35th Online Talk Live is Professor Hiroichi Yanase.
This article features highlights from the live video interview.
<Watch the video [here]>

Participants:

Hiroichi Yanase (Professor, Tokyo University of Science, Institute for Liberal Arts)

Born 1964. After graduating from Keio University, he joined Nikkei McGraw-Hill (now Nikkei BP) and edited many best-selling books. Since 2018, he has been Professor of Media Studies at Tokyo University of Science. Major works include “Route 16,” “My Father’s Encoffinment,” “Kingfisher City Tokyo,” and “Anpanman and the Japanese.” “Route 16” won the Seii Teshima Memorial Research Award. He is also active in environmental conservation around the Miura Peninsula, Kanagawa, for nearly 30 years, and works as a radio host on TBS and Shibuya Radio.

Satoru Seki (Editor, Producer)

Has contributed to culture magazines like “POPEYE,” “BRUTUS,” and “Takarajima.” Currently also a part-time lecturer and director of the Stimulus Switch Laboratory. Responsible for the “Movie Oyako-don” section of the Oyako Day website.

Bruce Osborn (Photographer, Oyako Day Originator)

Began photographing parents and children in 1982. Established “Oyako Day” (fourth Sunday of July) in 2003. Winner of the Higashikuninomiya Culture Award for social impact, and continues to spread his message “Present to the Future.”

Yoshiko Inoue (Chair, Oyako Day Promotion Committee; Producer; CEO, Ozone Co.)

Produced numerous exhibitions and events as Bruce Osborn’s partner in both work and life.

Introducing Professor Yanase

Seki: Hello! For our 35th Oyako Day Online Talk, we welcome Professor Yanase from Tokyo University of Science.

Yanase: Thank you for having me.

Seki: Could you please introduce yourself?

Yanase: I teach media studies at the Institute for Liberal Arts. I’m not an academic by training; I worked for 30 years as a journalist, book editor, and online producer at Nikkei BP. Seven years ago, I moved into university life thanks to a lucky connection.

Route 16 and Japanese Culture

Seki: You’ve produced a lot of best-sellers. I especially enjoyed “Route 16.”

Yanase: Route 16 is a ring road circling four prefectures of Tokyo—326 km in total. In the early 1990s, Japan saw a roadside business boom, and the economy shifted that way. As a magazine reporter, I documented that transformation.

Seki: And then Yuming, Southern All Stars, and all sorts of modern culture got mixed in. It became wild, didn’t it?

Yanase: Yes. Many artists have sung about Route 16—Yuming, Off Course, and now Yokoyama Ken from Crazy Ken Band.

Seki: Places like Fussa along Route 16 always felt grown-up and mysterious.

Yanase: It was full of American culture. The first places to sell Western music, movies, foreign cars, imported furniture—all started along Route 16. Even the pizza chain “Nicholas” was there.

Anpanman: Japan’s Shared Language

Bruce: I love Anpanman too! Did you watch it with your daughter?

Yanase: One reason I wrote “Anpanman and the Japanese” is my daughter’s obsession—she was hooked before her first birthday. When she got a shot at the hospital, the nurse drew Anpanman’s face on her bandage. For about three years—until kindergarten—it was Anpanman every day. It amazed me how powerful that character is. I soon learned nearly every family experiences this.

Seki: He’s the world’s 6th biggest character business—worth 7 trillion yen!

Yanase: Nearly every baby born in Japan is, in some way, an Anpanman fan. When I surveyed students at Tokyo University of Science, 90% said they grew up with Anpanman. Almost everyone!

Yoshiko: That’s why Anpanman is a topic anyone can talk about. It’s a national common language.

Seki: I see—it really is a shared language.

Expanding Ideas from Personal Experiences

Seki: Your book “My Father’s Encoffinment” was very moving too—about becoming an “okuribito.”

Yanase: In 2021, my father passed away at 87. Because of COVID, we couldn’t hold a normal funeral, so we did a wake at home. The mortician offered to let us help dress my father. I helped with everything, start to finish.

Seki: You always start from personal experiences and then share new insights with readers. That’s your magic, I think.

Yanase: I can’t think about things in the abstract. I always start from what I’ve actually seen or touched, then let my imagination run wild from there.

Yanase’s “Layered Thinking” Method

Seki: Most people can’t develop ideas like that. What’s your secret?

Yanase: I call it “layered thinking.” Everything has layers—think of it as an underlying structure. For example, geography is at the bottom. The shape of the land influences culture, food, and even the local ecosystem.

In Japan, most towns are shaped by rivers—large river basins like the Tone River or small ones like Hayama’s Morito River. On top of that, people settle, and civilization develops in unique ways in each place.

Even if you enter through surface layers like fashion or music—say, Crazy Ken Band’s song “Mikasa Park beyond the tunnel”—you realize Miura is a classic rias coastline: hardly any flat land, seven tunnels in three kilometers. I think Yokosuka has the highest tunnel density in Japan. You start to see how the underlying geography shapes culture and history.

Seki: That’s real “Earth-diver” thinking.

Yanase: You can enter at any layer. Surface fashion, mid-layer military history—it doesn’t matter. Take the “Sukajan” (souvenir jackets) of Yokosuka—they come from the region’s silk-weaving heritage, which grew because U.S. military personnel bought them as souvenirs. So, the story of the U.S. bases and even deeper, the land itself, all stack up. Making those kinds of connections is just my habit.

Seki: Japan’s landscape is so narrow that everything is layered on top of each other. In places like the American West, it’s nothing like that, right?

Yanase: Where the “layers” are broad, you can build big cities in a planned way. But Japan’s land is steep, complex, and harsh—so towns and economies can only develop as the landscape allows. That’s why features like earthquakes and tsunamis are such powerful forces in Japan.

Swimming with Dolphins on Mikura Island

Seki: The conversation is jumping a bit, but could you explain the photo of your child swimming with dolphins?

Yanase: Mikura Island is a small island between Miyake and Hachijo in the Izu chain. Nearly the whole place is cliffs, with about 250 people living clinging to the land. 90% is old-growth forest. And it’s the only place in the world with a resident dolphin population of over 100.

I’ve gone almost every year for over thirty years—my daughter first came when she was four. The water’s 20 meters deep and you can see dolphins swimming below you. There’s so much you can only experience here: no convenience stores, just swimming with dolphins, hiking, and napping. I love it.

Seki: How do you get there?

Yanase: A big Tokai Kisen ferry leaves Tokyo’s Takeshiba Pier every day. It circles Miyake, Mikura, and Hachijo in about 24 hours.

Bruce: All still Tokyo, right?

Seki: It’s a real hidden gem.

Looking Ahead: Next Projects

Seki: Could you share your future plans?

Yanase: I’m working on two books: one is a summary of my media studies classes, and the other is about city planning for high schoolers. Right now, most urban planning ignores the essential “layer” stories.

I want to explain to the next generation how to build towns as populations decline. There are two key points: transportation and water. Hayama is a great example—there’s no train station.

Yoshiko: Just buses, cars, walking, or bikes.

Yanase: As the population ages, public transportation gets harder, and people rely more on cars. Except for central Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka, Japan’s been a car society for 30 years, but most politicians, media, and scholars live in central Tokyo and don’t realize it.

So when people call for more walkable towns, they always forget to ask, “How do you get there?”

The Importance of Water and Living Things

The base of every town is transportation. In America’s Wild West, it was all about where the stagecoaches could stop. But for both horses and people, water is the true essential. Towns simply can’t exist without it—that’s the second key point.

Places with water are limited, which is why cities get concentrated. In Europe and America, water is scarce, so cities are naturally compact. In Japan, every valley head has a spring, so communities tend to spread out more.

I want to help the next generation think about city building in terms of these fundamental issues. That’s why I’m writing these books for high schoolers and middle schoolers.

Seki: That’s a big topic!

Oyako Day Event Announcements

Seki: Yoshiko, could you share some announcements?

Yoshiko: Oyako Day is July 27. We’re running a photo contest and an essay contest—entries are open until August 31. Please take some wonderful photos and send them in! There’s also a photo exhibition at the Hilton from July 3, plus other shows in Hakone and more. Details are on our website, so please come if you’re nearby.

Seki: What other events will there be for Oyako Day this year?

Yoshiko: We’re planning to host a parent-child photo session in Hayama, our hometown, and will share details online. Hope you’ll join us!

Yanase’s “Present to the Future”

Seki: To close, may we have your “Present to the Future” message?

Yanase: For me, it’s “Living things and water.” I live in central Tokyo, but even there, if there’s a stream, you’ll find lots of life. There are over 700 natural springs in Tokyo, mostly surrounded by parks—nature preserved by people before us.

Even inside the Yamanote Line, you’ll find rhinoceros beetles and dragonflies. Just because you’re in the city doesn’t mean there’s no nature. If you look, you’ll find creatures living by the water’s edge. I think it’s wonderful to search for water and discover life. Even in the city, you can find other lives intertwined with your own.

Seki: That’s the perfect topic for a summer science project.

Yanase: This is Senzoku Pond near my university. It’s home to goshawks and small hawks called tsumi.

Seki: There are always lots of people taking photos there.

Yanase: There are so many “kingfisher uncles” with their cameras, too.

Yoshiko: Even in the city, you see flowers growing from cracks in the concrete. Wild creatures are resilient, and with a little care from humans, we can live together anywhere.

Yanase: Absolutely.

Seki: Let’s keep an eye out for all the living things—and for water. Thank you for your inspiring story.

Yanase: It was a pleasure.

Seki: Thanks everyone—see you next time!

The post Text Edition: 35th Online Talk Live with Hiroichi Yanase – “Present to the Future” appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.

Guest: Tetsuya Chiba (Manga Artist)
Host: Satoru Seki (Editor/Producer)
Facilitators: Bruce Osborn (Photographer), Yoshiko Inoue (Oyako Day Promotion Committee)
Organizer: Oyako Day Promotion Committee
Streamed Live: January 21, 2024, 10:00 AM JST

For our 19th Online Talk Live, we welcome legendary manga artist Tetsuya Chiba.
This article presents a full, unedited transcript of Mr. Chiba’s vivid recollections of his wartime childhood, told in his own words and illustrated with his own drawings—just like a live kamishibai (Japanese picture story show).

<Watch the full video here>

Participants:

Tetsuya Chiba (Manga Artist)

Born January 11, 1939, in Tokyo. Lived in Fengtian (now Shenyang, China) during the war, then returned to Japan. Debuted as a professional manga artist in 1956. His most famous works include “Ashita no Joe,” “Notari Matsutaro,” and many others.

Satoru Seki (Editor/Producer)

Worked on culture magazines like “POPEYE,” “BRUTUS,” and “Takarajima.” He is also a part-time lecturer and director of the Stimulus Switch Laboratory, and runs the “Movie Oyako-don” feature on the Oyako Day website.

Bruce Osborn (Photographer, Oyako Day Originator)

Began photographing parents and children in 1982. In 2003, established “Oyako Day” on the fourth Sunday of July. Recipient of the Higashikuninomiya Culture Prize for social activities through Oyako Day. Continues to send out his message, “Present to the Future.”

Yoshiko Inoue (Chair, Oyako Day Promotion Committee; Producer; CEO, Ozone Co.)

Produced numerous exhibitions and events as Bruce Osborn’s partner in both work and life.

Tetsuya Chiba Shares His Wartime Memories

Seki: Welcome to our very first live stream of 2024! Today we’re joined by manga legend Tetsuya Chiba. Thank you so much for being here.

Chiba: Thank you for having me.

Seki: For many of us, your work is a part of our lives. I grew up reading your manga—”Harris no Kaze,” “Ore wa Teppei,” and “Notari Matsutaro”—stories about outsiders struggling and fighting back. These days, we don’t see those kinds of stories as much, so I really want to learn from your spirit of resistance and never giving up.

Childhood in Manchuria: Experiencing the End of the War

Seki: I’d like to start by asking what made you want to become a manga artist. I know you brought some drawings, so could you walk us through your story—starting with your family’s repatriation from Manchuria?

Chiba: This is the part of Manchuria where we lived, in northeastern China. See the area outlined in red? Doesn’t it look like a bird taking flight? When I was a child, my parents told me, “This is where we live,” and I thought, “It looks like a bird in the sky.” We lived around the “leg” of the bird, near Fengtian—now called Shenyang. Although I was born in Tokyo, my parents moved to China for work when I was little, so I grew up there until I was six years old.

Seki: So you experienced the end of the war at six. That must have changed everything.

Chiba: We actually had a good life there. My father worked at a printing factory, and we lived in company housing behind high concrete walls—everyone around us was either a colleague or family. But when the war ended, everything changed. Suddenly, “This is Chinese land now,” we were told. The factory, the houses—everything that was Japanese was taken away or transferred to the Chinese. We had to flee back to Japan, but it wasn’t easy.

Memories of Manchuria

Chiba: What you see here is tanghulu—a local treat from Manchuria. It’s a skewer of little crabapples, coated in syrup that freezes and cracks when you bite it. The candy is sweet and the fruit is tart inside. Even today, you can still find street vendors selling tanghulu in China in the wintertime. I loved them.

Chiba: That’s my younger brother in the picture too, holding his own tanghulu. I always had a bit of a wanderer’s spirit—despite living in the factory compound, I was always sneaking out to explore the city, even if it meant getting lost. The Chinese townspeople were very kind. There were plenty of Japanese kids and lots of stalls selling things like steamed buns or birds. I got treats from all kinds of people.

Seki: So you have some really good memories from that time?

“We Might Be Separated”—The Family Photo Taken in a Hurry

Chiba: See how battered this photo is? There are creases everywhere. I’m amazed we managed to bring it home. There are four boys here—my brothers and me. I’m the eldest, just left of center with the big forehead. The one being held by my father is my brother Akio, who also became a manga artist. The youngest, Shigeyuki, is in our mother’s arms. When this was taken, things were tense—Japan had likely lost the war, and my father was in danger of being drafted. My parents hurried to take this photo, thinking we might soon be separated forever. It got battered as we carried it through all our travels, but somehow we held onto it.

Chiba: This is my father with one of his Chinese friends. He was the type who could get along with anyone—Chinese, Mongolian, Korean, it didn’t matter. They’d all share meals at our house. Later, it was these friendships that helped save our family. Looking back, I’m grateful for how important those relationships were.

The Night the Emperor’s Speech Was Broadcast—And an Attack

Chiba: This drawing shows the printing factory compound where we lived. That day—August 15th—we were all called to the manager’s office. We listened to the Emperor’s radio broadcast announcing Japan’s surrender. I still remember the cicadas singing in the summer heat and the sight of the grown women crying.

Seki: This is a really moving drawing.

Chiba: I drew it from memory. That night, the sky glowed red with dust—maybe it was the famous yellow dust storms of China. As I watched the sunset, a group of people climbed over the high wall into our compound. They carried sticks and clubs. It was a riot—many Chinese and Korean people, angry at how the Japanese had lorded over them during the occupation, came to seek revenge. I remember thinking I saw familiar faces, friends of my father’s, but my mother grabbed me and said, “Tetsu, get inside!” Our house wasn’t touched, but I heard the sounds of windows breaking and people screaming nearby. It was frightening.

Escaping by Night—Our Family on the Run

Chiba: Not long after, we realized we couldn’t stay. We packed everything—old photos, baby supplies, anything essential—into bags. Because of the danger, we could only travel at night. At midnight, we snuck out the back gate and started our escape.

Chiba: This scene shows us walking through the darkness. I was so tired I was half asleep.

Chiba: There are six of us: my father carrying Akio on his shoulders, my mother carrying the youngest, and me holding my father’s hand, half-asleep. Even today, many people around the world are fleeing wars, forced to leave their homes just like we did nearly 80 years ago.

Saved by My Father’s Chinese Friend

Chiba: There was a time when I got separated from my family because my feet were bleeding and I couldn’t walk. Suddenly, a man in a conical hat appeared, carrying a long stick. I was terrified—he might attack us. But it turned out to be one of my father’s old Chinese friends. We’d shared meals, books, and poetry together. In that vast city, to run into him—especially in the middle of the night, while I was lost and desperate—was nothing short of a miracle. Thanks to him, all six of us were safely reunited.

Chiba: We stayed at his house for a while. Space was tight, so we hid in the attic, which was usually used for storing onions and potatoes—though there was no food left in those days. We hid there until it was safe to move again.

How I Became a Manga Artist: The Origins

Seki: You were drawing even back then?

Chiba: My younger brothers were restless, wanting to go outside—especially when they could hear Chinese children playing. To keep them quiet, I drew pictures on whatever scraps of paper I could find and told them stories, like a one-boy kamishibai. I didn’t realize it then, but that was the beginning of my life as a storyteller and manga artist.

My mother later said, “Remember when you drew pictures for your brothers in that attic? That’s probably where it all started.” Wanting to entertain my brothers, to keep them from getting bored, became a part of who I am as a creator.

Chiba: This is Mr. Xu, my father’s Chinese friend, in the foreground. He taught us how to buy and sell vegetables and other things in the market—how to survive by peddling goods. My father wore a conical hat and pretended to be Chinese so we wouldn’t get in trouble. We sold to Japanese people in hiding, who desperately needed supplies. Whatever didn’t sell, we ate ourselves.

A 300km Trek to the Repatriation Ship

Chiba: This drawing shows us heading toward the port to catch the ship back to Japan. Off in the distance, you can see a railroad embankment. We wanted to take the train, but all the trains were taken by the Chinese army, so we walked almost the entire way. Our hometown was near Fengtian, and we were headed for Huludao Port, which was the closest place we could catch a repatriation ship to Japan.

Chiba: This was when we finally reached the port. It took almost a year—by then I was seven. People had come from even further north, and everyone was exhausted.

Chiba: Here we are, waiting to board the ship at Huludao. Some families had traveled even farther than ours—300 kilometers or more—just to get here. Everyone was tired and worn out, but at last, there was hope.

Chiba: On the ship, they gave us rations—hardtack biscuits with holes in them, and a thin soup with a bit of soy sauce and cabbage. After so long surviving on millet and scraps, these simple foods tasted like heaven.

Arrival in Japan—Seeing My Homeland from My Father’s Arms

Chiba: When the ship finally reached Japan—Hakata Port—someone shouted, “Japan is in sight!” and we all rushed to the deck. My father lifted me up in his arms so I could see our homeland. It had taken us a year since the end of the war to return home.

Chiba: When we reached my father’s hometown, we arrived late at night and knocked on my grandmother’s door. She didn’t open up at first, but when she realized who it was—her son Masaya and his family, now with four kids—she was so surprised she could hardly believe it.

Chiba: We stayed with family for a while. Later, my father got a job in Tokyo and built a small house in Mukojima, Sumida ward. That’s me in the drawing with the shaved head, surrounded by my brothers and neighborhood kids.

Discovering Manga in Elementary School

Chiba: After we came back, I started elementary school in Chiba prefecture. Classes were crowded, and sometimes we had to attend in shifts. When we moved to Tokyo, I met a boy named Kiyuchi, the son of a Buddhist priest. He was big, and I was small, but he drew manga. Until then, I didn’t even know manga existed. I’d seen picture books, but not comics. Kiyuchi would peek at my drawings and say, “You’re good! Want to draw manga with me?” That was my first exposure to this world, and it was a real culture shock.

The War Didn’t End with Surrender—Hardship Continues

Chiba: Even after we returned, life was still incredibly hard. My parents always gave what little food we had to the children—I never actually saw them eat. My mother even lost her milk from malnutrition, so she would chew up millet and spit it into my youngest brother’s mouth. We all suffered from malnutrition and illness after coming home. Just because the war was over didn’t mean life was suddenly peaceful; the scars lingered for years. Many people died from hunger on the streets. The suffering didn’t end with surrender.

Chiba: The weakest—children, women, the elderly, and the sick—were often the first to collapse. Even now, the tragedy of war still feels very real to me.

Seki: It’s important that voices like yours are heard, especially with so many conflicts happening in the world today.

The Importance of Sharing Wartime Memories

Chiba: There are still a few people left who experienced the war firsthand, but most are in their 80s, 90s, or older. Soon there will be no one left to tell these stories. We have to keep passing them on—so people know just how terrible war is. Every war happens because someone profits from it. The ones with power make the decisions, but it’s always the innocent who suffer. We must never forget this, and we must do everything we can to stop it.

Yoshiko: Even today, when a war ends, the pain and scars remain for years. Please keep sharing these memories so we never forget.

Tetsuya Chiba’s “Present to the Future”

Seki: Thank you so much, Mr. Chiba. As we wrap up, could you share a message for the future?

Chiba: I drew this piece as my “gift to the future.” Japan is a country that has survived disasters and war. Now, our athletes bravely compete on the world stage in baseball, soccer, and more—but as a nation, we have a commitment to never again start a war. That’s something I hope all young people will take to heart. That is Japan’s true pride, and it’s my message to future generations.

Seki: Thank you. That’s a message we’ll remember.

Yoshiko: The spirit of Oyako Day is about cherishing the life we receive from our parents and passing it on to the next generation. I’m so grateful you could share your story with us today.

Seki: Thank you so much for spending this time with us.

Chiba: Thank you very much.

The post Text Edition: 19th Online Talk Live with Tetsuya Chiba – “Present to the Future” (Special War Memories) appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.

Having played baseball since childhood, I am trying out various things now, hoping that he will become interested in ball games. At the moment, he can’t beat Anpanman, but I hope that we can play catch together someday.

I have a lot of business trips and busy days, but I want to get home as early as possible so that I can take a bath with him. I want to show my son a wide world and give him various experiences. To that end, I am reconsidering how I work and use my time.

When I used to live in Hiroshima, I often looked at ships. I want him to sail the ocean of life with brilliance. I named him with that feeling in mind. I’m sure that things I can’t even imagine are waiting for him from now on. It is at such times that I want him to overcome any difficulties with his natural power and generosity. I need to train hard so that I don’t lose to my son in running.

(Interviewer: Yuki Yamami / Text: Hiromi Uechi)

The post Because Every Second with Family Counts appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.

Right now, I’m doing my best just to get through each day, but when I think of how these experiences will lead to the future, I want to cherish each day and spend it with a smile.

I grew up in a family-run restaurant, and the regulars loved me in place of my busy father. One of my fondest memories with my father is playing shogi (Japanese chess). We enjoy it in the same way at home, but my children have improved so quickly that we can now even hold small tournaments. I can’t wait for the day when these children grow up and tell me about their own happiness.

(Interviewed by Suzuki Shogo/Text by Uechi Hiromi)

The post Stacking Up the Smiles, Day by Day appeared first on 「親子の日」Oyako Day.