Kids, Carp, and Kites

How the Children's Day holiday reflects changes in Japanese society

Koinobori sets like these are widely sold in Japan for use on Children’s Day.

It’s Golden Week in Japan, that series of national holidays that many citizens daisy-chain into an extended vacation. May 5th is one of those holidays: Children's Day. And the way Japan celebrates it is an interesting lens for Japanese society as a whole.

First, a little background. Children’s Day is a tradition of celebrating the health and happiness of kids everywhere. You may have seen its most visible symbol: the flying of koinobori, colorful kite-like streamers shaped like carp. Carp are hardy fish that swim upstream, against the current, a symbol of strength and perseverance.  

The koi-kites grab attention outdoors. Inside homes, it’s common to display miniature kabuto, the helmets worn by samurai into battle. There are other traditions, too. Families put aromatic grasses known as shobu in their bathtubs, the scent said to drive evil spirits away. We eat kashiwa mochi, rice cakes filled with sweet bean paste and wrapped in oak leaves, whose endurance on the branch until fresh buds appear is a symbol of family prosperity. And it’s a time to see yabusame, archery on horseback, rituals held at many temples and shrines in keeping with an old tradition first established by the Shogun Yoshimune Tokugawa.

The whistle of a kabura-ya, “turnip-headed arrow,” is said to ward off evil. Photo by me.

“Children's Day” this may be, but you might notice that many of its traditions feel quite boy-oriented. That’s because the current name is actually of fairly recent origin, dating back to 1948. Until then, the holiday was known as Tango-no-sekku (“the ceremony on the first horse day of the horse month,” according to the old calendar.) It specifically celebrated boys – a counterpart to Girls’ Day in March. That’s why the symbology of Children’s day tends to have a more masculine “vibe.”

When I was growing up in suburban Tokyo in the 70s and 80s, many homes flew carp streamers to celebrate the holiday. Big families would fly big five-colored wind socks above the carp streamers, a black “papa carp,” a red “mama carp,” and smaller carp for their children. The sizes of the streamers varied based on the home. Houses flew big streamers, often up to a meter or two long. Families who lived in apartments would fly smaller ones from their balconies. When I’d walk outside as a kid, I loved seeing the koinobori “swimming” in the “ocean” of the blue sky. 

There is a famous children's song called “Koinobori.” We’re taught it in nursery school or kindergarten. It goes like this, in translation:

Carp streamers fly high above the roof.

The big black carp is father.

The red carp represents children.

They swim happily together!

Even as a little girl, these lyrics always struck me as odd – I understand the father and kids, but where’s mom? Once I asked my mother about it, but she just shrugged; she didn’t know, either. I didn’t pursue further because it was just a song, and I was just a kid, and so I forgot all about it until a few days ago, when I did some digging to write this newsletter.

What I learned is that the display of koinobori has changed over the years. When that children’s song was first published in 1931, the carp pennants weren’t seen as a family, nor were they as colorful as they are today. They were just in blacks and reds, for fathers and sons, respectively. And before that, in the Edo era of the 17th through 19th centuries, people only flew one koinobori, and it was black. You can see this style in a classic woodblock print by Hiroshige.

If you look at this print closely, you can see other flags being flown on the ground. Those are banners featuring family crests and images of warriors. Only samurai families were allowed to display them. The celebration of sons began with the families of the Shogun, then was adopted by the warrior class. Eventually commoners picked up the tradition as well, using black carp streamers to differentiate themselves from the samurai. In a sense, this was a “democratization” of an aristocratic tradition. So koinobori started with a single black carp representing a boy, then expanded to father and eldest son, and eventually became a whole family by the time I was born. In other words, the idea of a mother carp didn’t exist when “Koinobori” was written. 

And there’s another lyric that isn’t really applicable to modern practices: “Carp streamers fly high above the roof.” The number of koinobori on display seems to go down every year, an unintended casualty of urbanization, modernization, and low birth rates. These days, the number is practically zero. I took a train ride through suburban Tokyo looking specifically for koinobori, but didn’t find a single household flying them this year. I’m sure there must be families out there doing it, but it isn’t anywhere nearly as common as it once was when I was a girl.

I still remember the excitement of seeing families readying their koinobori as the 5th of May approached. I loved the appearance of the streamers, their details and their sharply contrasting colors, so pleasingly bright to my young eyes. It was exciting because it was pretty, and also because it signaled the beginning of summer. These days, summer seems to come earlier and earlier every year, and there are fewer and fewer carp swimming against the skies to celebrate it. I miss them.

That said, the tradition isn't disappearing -- just changing. I went hiking this weekend, and the trail off the mountain led through a little village named Wada. The residents strung wires across the valley in which they lived, flying dozens of carp streamers all at once. It was framed as a wish for the well-being of children everywhere.

Villages like this are on the front lines of changes in Japanese society. Perhaps there are few children here. Perhaps the younger generation didn't want to follow in the footsteps of their parents. Perhaps the number of households declined altogether. The carp those homes once flew are destined to be thrown away. But working as a village to save the koinobori and fly them together isn't just fun -- it represents a new approach to a new problem.

I can't feel a little sad to see the old traditions change. I miss seeing so many homes with koinobori outside them. But maybe we don't have to stick to old definitions. Who says you have to have kids to fly koinobori? It would be nice to see all sorts of households, even those without kids, even single people, even non-Japanese, flying them everywhere. That way, we can all wish for the futures of children together.